thearena | how many roads we've traveled; open;

Entry tags:

how many roads we've traveled; open;

Who| Joel and YOU!; Joel and Riley; Joel and Riley and YOU!
What| After the cornucopia run, Joel is injured and looking for Ellie. Riley is going to save his ass and then they're going to look for Ellie together!
Where| Some of the old abandoned houses probably.
When| The first 2-3 days of the arena.
Warnings/Notes| Probably the usual TLOU stuff - violence, injury, monster killing, cussing.

[OPEN - before meeting Riley]

Joel is hurt. He took a beating from that kid before he ran off - broken ribs for sure, probably a concussion considering the dizzy spells. He needs to sit down, take a breather, and go through this bag of stuff he almost gave his life for. But to do that, he needs to find shelter. He's a sitting duck out here.

He stumbles into the first building he finds, sliding down a wall until he's seated against it. He hasn't even bothered to check if the building is empty - possibly a big mistake, but he's having a hard time thinking straight right now, he needs to catch his breath and go through this bag.

Then - then when he's rested a little - he'll go back out and look for Ellie.

[Closed - to Riley]

He's running on fumes, hasn't had any food or water since he arrived, his ribs ache and make him walk funny, and he still hasn't found Ellie. Frankly, Joel is getting desperate, despite the haul of supplies he was able to grab. The bag is slung over his back, and he's got the piece of wood studded with nails in his hands, ready to use it against anyone or anything that might attack.

He's been hearing the dogs howling and growling in the fog since his arrival, but none of them have ever been close enough to be really concerned about. That is, until he stumbles over a piece of debris in the fog and twists his ankle, letting out a surprised sort of half-yell as he lands in the dirt.

"Goddamn it," he mutters, reaching for the piece of wood again and stumbling up. He's in bad shape now, unable to run on the twisted ankle, taking shallow breaths because of the broken ribs, and dizzy from a concussion. And then there's a dog growling right behind him.

No, not just one dog. At least two or three.

"Shit."

The first one, he manages to send flying with the wood, as it lets out a surprised yelp of pain. But there are a couple more shapes approaching him in the fog, and he doesn't have the strength to keep them all back. Not when they're obviously hungry.

[Open - For anyone who wants to run into Joel AND Riley!]

A house. They need to find a house that's empty, that's not about to fall down around their ears, and that they can defend easily. If only long enough to get a little rest. Joel hates it - he hates being the one to slow them down. He hates it enough when it's Ellie he's with, and he hates it doubly so now, with this other girl, this Riley.

But he knows it's true. He knows they have to stop - that he has to stop - and eat, and rest soon. Otherwise he'll be good for nothing but a quick death. And he hasn't even found Ellie yet.

He has to find Ellie.

"Think that might be somethin', up ahead," he murmurs to the girl next to him, pointing at a shadowy shape starting to form in the fog as they approach. "Wanna check it out?"

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It's the barking that draws Riley's attention. She's got a good start, with her crowbar and her bag of goodies, but she's not going to turn down more that could be useful. Particularly she remembers, mostly on instinct, that the noise of animals fighting could lead you to food they'd found. She's going to need food, soon.

She approaches quickly but cautiously, so she can assess the situation before deciding to go in. She doesn't want to get torn apart by a pack of dogs her first day out of that little playpen the Capitol put them in. She sees that there's just a few, not bad odds for driving off a kill, but she hesitates initially on seeing the large shadow; she doesn't want to save someone with an obvious chance of hurting her through sheer weight.

Then she hears him curse, and recognizes his voice just as she creeps close enough to see him more clearly through the fog. Joel. Sure, he's an asshole, but he's Ellie's.

The decision is instantaneous. She bursts into motion, sprinting around the building, slamming her crowbar across one dog's neck so hard its throat is crushed. The other one she kicks in the stomach hard enough to send it flying a small distance backwards.

"So I guess Ellie does all the work in your glorious partnership, huh?" she shouts back to him teasingly, her grin fierce and excited.

For a brief, wonderful moment, he thinks it's Ellie. Like in Colorado, those weeks he was so sick and she kept him alive. Or any number of other occasions when he found himself in trouble and she had his back.

But as the shape materializes in the fog, that hope is crushed, and he turns away from her as he rolls up onto his hands and knees, then eventually gets back to his feet, pain etched on his face as he does so - he's got a few more bruises and lacerations for his trouble now, too.

"You asked her that yet?" he asks after a moment to catch his breath.

"Nah, not yet. She'll tell me at her own pace, whatever she wants me to know." Riley shrugs with a pleasant smile.

One of the dogs lunges for her. She turns quickly and slams the crowbar sidelong against its skull; dazed, it drops, whimpering and bleeding. The other one decides it doesn't like its odds anymore and turns tail, fleeing into the fog.

She notices now that he's wincing, moving carefully. She frowns. "You look like shit, man. Where're you hurt? Was it the dogs, or someone else?"

And yet that doesn't stop her from asking him potentially-intrusive questions - but he doesn't say that aloud. He doesn't have the energy to argue with her, not here, not when he's in this kind of shape.

He grabs up the 2x4, checks that it's still usable as a weapon, and grimaces a little. He probably does look pretty bad, bruises and scrapes at the very least, but his worst injuries are internal right now.

"Nah, some punk-ass kid thought he could take me back there. Minute I put up a fight, he turned tail and ran. Got these out of it," he adds, pointing at the bag of supplies slung across his back. "Couple of cracked ribs, maybe a concussion. The dogs're just scavengers."

Meaning: they wouldn't have attacked him if he hadn't looked like easy prey, so he knows he looks like easy prey right now.

"I gotta find Ellie."

"Yeah, well, that makes two of us," Riley replies, her voice just a little sharp, a little reminder that hey, dickhead, you're not the only one worried. Still, she's brisk and neutral with him more than anything as she continues, and she keeps her voice quiet so they can't be easily heard.

"Hey, are you limping? Let's find somewhere to get you off your feet and assess our supplies. Ellie's not gonna forgive me if I let you run off and get yourself in trouble. Shouldn't stay here with all that noise we just made anyway." She looks around, trying to make out if there's a likely place to sit themselves down for a few minutes.

Well, that answers his question. Obviously he didn't phrase it as a question, but that's basically what he intended it as - to see if Riley has found her, or knows where she is.

Goddammit.

"We gotta find some higher ground, get out of this fog so we can look for Ellie," he says gruffly, though that's not really a direct contradiction of what she just said, either. Stopping and resting is also part of the 'find higher ground' plan.

"I agree. But I'm not gonna let you walk more'n a half hour if we don't find high ground. I've been wandering around a while and all the terrain's flat as a pancake so far. I've got the crowbar, some chain, wire, kindling, some kinda bug spray and goggles." She speaks almost in a whisper, in case there's someone around they might not see. "How about you?"

She raises her voice again - not loud, just normal. "So, you need my shoulder to lean on or are we gonna get going? I can even slow down so's you can keep up, pops."

"A wrench, sleepin' bag, kindling, bug spray, some other odds and ends I can make use of," he says automatically, his own voice low and quiet so as not to carry. His tone never changes.

"I'm fine, just keep goin'. Might be a house or building with an upstairs we can use. Anything to get out of this fog and get a better vantage."

"You're fine for now. If you blow all your energy pushing yourself today, you won't be fine tomorrow. I refuse to explain to Ellie that I got her pseudo-dad killed because I let him be a fucking moron." The word dad sounds crisper, more bitter than the rest of the sentence. "I was a military kid and then I was a Firefly, okay? And I was good at it. I know what's what and I know how you keep people on their feet in bumfuck nowhere, so don't try and brush me off like that."

She clears her throat slightly. "We're in luck on the houses front. I raided a few before I found you. Hung out with some guy calling himself Roland. Not a fun bone in him I could see, but an all-right guy for what you're gonna find in a place like this. It's hard to tell where to go in this fog, but I'm pretty sure of the direction I found some apartments in. Good place for holing up for a little bit, all those hallways can be like a rat warren."

Joel just scowls even more, if that's possible. It's not so much what she says as a whole that bothers him, but what. "How the hell'd you get in with the Fireflies?" he hears himself asking. "Kid your age should be in school."

Except Ellie, but Ellie's special. And okay, so maybe the injuries are making him even grouchier than usual. And having his ass saved by a kid. A kid he doesn't like or approve of. Who is apparently a freaking Firefly. Christ.

"I'm sure you know all about survival outside the zone," he mutters sardonically.

"I was in school," she snaps. "And about to turn legal adult, shithead, so you can stop condescending to me anytime. I didn't much fancy a soldier's life and I know damn well how the fucking civvies get treated, so yeah, I decided to say fuck all that shit and go do something that wouldn't make me feel dirty for existing. What a concept, right?"

She scowls at the ground. "I coulda dumped your ass and left you to die, pops, but see, you're important to my girl. So you get to be my deadweight instead, and you know what? I hate your guts but I will still take a fucking bullet for you if I gotta, so I'd really like it if you'd shut the fuck up with the growly jackass routine to the girl sticking her neck on the line for you. Just because I'm looking out for you doesn't mean I won't punch you in the fucking mouth if you start trying to play papa bear to me too."

Edited 2014-06-14 01:06 (UTC)

That is some rich shit coming from such a small mouth, Joel thinks to himself. He is reasonably sure that even in his current state, he could stop this little shit from doing much more damage to him.

"I am nobody's dad, and if you think the Fireflies ain't got their hands dirty, well, I've got a bridge to sell you in Tahiti. Nah, Fireflies're plenty dirty, don't kid yourself. It's all just different ways of killin' each other."

He comes to a pause at an old fire hydrant, leaning against it with a heavy sigh as he tries to catch his breath. "You don't owe me shit, kid, so if you hate me so much, you can just head on out now. I'm not interested in listenin' to you moan about how much you wanna punch my teeth in. If your hackles were up any higher, I'd expect you to piss on Ellie's leg when we find her. That won't do her no good, so how about we both just cool it?"

Stealth was the simplest thing in the world, just now. The fog moved like waves, now obscuring, now revealing the twilight forms of buildings and creatures, the ground subtly strewn with the detritus of a lost society, long overgrown and left to its own devices. Shepard doesn't doubt that but for the interference of the Capitol's Gamemakers, this would likely be a thriving— if perhaps radioactive— nature preserve. Like so many good things in this world, lost.

She'd gotten out of the Cornucopia with relatively little trouble. Once the mad scuffle for supplies, the screams in the greyness, had subsided, all had turned to lonely greyness and the lilting shapes of things not human. Shepard was smart; she knew when to run. One did not willingly engage in mortal combat this early in an arena, if one wanted to see the end.

That was what made her wary against the twin shapes she saw in the fog, even moreso than the notion that they might be tributes. She'd found refuge in the half caved-in remains of what had once been a very nice suburban home. One-story, open floor plan— more open than ever, now, with the garage-half of the house slumping and split open like a broken shoe. It looked fine from the front, and one of the bedrooms was structurally sound, even if the glass was half-gone, but there was no mistaking the main living room for indoors.

Jane squinted around the edge of the gaping lintel, sidelong, listening hard. One of the figures lifted an arm and pointed, almost directly at Shepard herself. Could they see her?

"Sure," Riley tells him quietly, hitching her bag against her shoulder. "Duck in over there and I'll take a look." She points to a nearby, dilapidated dumpster against a brick wall, anything inside long since so rotted that there's no smell of refuse. It's big enough to hide Joel's bulk, and that's something she has to think about with him not being as small and lithe as her and Ellie, not so easy to overlook.

She approaches the house, swings the door open gingerly. She steps carefully through the room, avoiding the few shards of glass, listening hard. But it's her eyes, not her ears, that alert her to the presence of another Tribute - a glimpse of red hair at a corner, and she realizes someone's peeking around at her. Shit. She grips her crowbar a bit tighter.

"I can see you over there. Come on out or make an exit. I'm not looking to fuck with anyone but I will bash your head in if you try to fuck with me."

Ah, hell. Wasn't that always the way?

"That's real nice coming from someone standing in the only easy out," Kid with a pry-bar, nice. She looked mad and she looked determined, but she didn't look scared. The girl had that firm, no-bullshit attitude that reminded Shepard of...

Shepard stepped around the corner, grip easy on her sledge. It was an affect of nonchalance— or, it could have been. She could respect the danger-of-injury represented by a stick of iron in the hands of a determined assailant, but she wasn't going to fear it.

But she had her high ground, still. There had been two shadows in the fog, and this wasn't the taller of the two.

"I know you're not alone. I'll make you an offer," Gentle enough words, delivered in a firm, military cadence that turned them hard. She was not a gentle person, "You go get your friend, and get the hell out of here, or you go get 'them and we can work together like civilized burnt sacrifices."

She's not going to introduce herself, of course, and Riley's identity means nothing to Shepard.

Joel was just settling against that dumpster when he heard the voices - Riley's and - oh.

"It's alright," he called out through the fog, trusting Shepard to recognize his voice. "Shepard, meet Riley. Riley, Shepard. Get on over here and sit your asses down, I need a breather."

Riley relaxes when Joel identifies the stranger, but just minutely. She lowers the crowbar, swings it idly as she gives Shepard a businesslike nod. Anyway, she has to like anyone who'll sass her back.

"More like you should be getting in here, Joel," she calls as she walks over to him. She loops her arm around him, under his shoulders so he can lean on her. "Still too open out here, even if it's foggy as shit. C'mon, you can manage a few more feet, pops."

"Joel?"

What the hell? Did he just collect smart-ass teenagers, was that his bag? He looked like shit, pallid and sweating, hands shaking a little when she steps down to take his other side.

The kid— Riley's alright. Moves fast, doesn't fuck around with stupid questions, but time enough to think on that, later. For right now, it's one step and then the other; Joel doesn't weigh all that much, really. It's just that he's tall enough to be an awkward burden.

"You look like shit," She muttered, since they're all enjoying a nice little group hug on the way up the crumbling steps, "Where's Ellie?"

Edited (what am tenses) 2014-05-20 04:42 (UTC)

"Haven't found her," Joel muttered through gritted teeth - in part because of the pain, and in part because god, he really did hate to be babied like this.

"I'm not that bad, goddammit, stop treatin' me like an invalid. I can still walk."

Just, not very well, with the broken ribs and the twisted ankle.

"Hey, you're the one who was bitching about how we should come out in the open to hang out with you at the dumpster, some of us can read between the lines," Riley replies as they help him into the house and settle him on a ruined piece of furniture.

"We've been looking," she tells Shepard. "Ellie's tough, she can take care of herself, but I know I'm gonna feel a lot better when she's hooked up with us. Not exactly easy to find anyone in this fog, though."

"We'll find her."

There's not a hint of question in her tone, no shadow of uncertainly. They are going to find her, and she is going to be fine when they do. There was as much point in talking about anything else as there was wondering if the sun would rise tomorrow.

She watched Joel settle himself on the edge of what might once have been a child's twin bed, one of two, under Riley's hands, noting where he winced and what he protected.

"Alright, you wanna keep a lookout?" Best to get to work, no time for bullshit anymore. N-school had certainly prepared her for this much, at least, "Ribs and ankle, Joel. What else?"

He hated the helpless feeling. Hated being treated like a patient in a hospital, or a baby. Despite the fact that they were both totally right of course.

He grimaced at Shepard, but eventually nodded in acknowledgment. "Head. I might have a concussion." He didn't want to be treated like this. He had to get up, keep moving until he could find Ellie. She could take care of herself, sure, but she'd have better odds with him. They both did.

"We need to check this whole building if we're gonna stay here," he muttered grumpily. "Make sure it's clear, that there's no nasty surprises waitin' for us."

"On it," Riley says, standing up and doing a few quick upper-body stretches. "Unless you already scoped it, Shepard. In which case I'll keep an eye on the door while you two catch up."

"I gave it a sweep earlier, but it's still day one. Things can change fast, and everybody's hungry," Not that nobody's hungry, but... Well, you never knew when someone might come through who was just looking for a few easy Assi early in the round. They were a bit of a target, just now, "If you see something that'll work for a splint, we can get some support on this ankle."

The other bed was a ruin of rusty springs and tatters, and the cloth cover stained grey-black, but the tough acrylic satin fibers are still strong, and Shepard fishes out a long, sharp pair of shears from her back and cuts a long strip. Can't beat plastic for longevity.

"We need to bind this," not ordinarily reccomended, but they couldn't exactly slap medigel on it and go. Time for a more primitive field dressing, "Shirt off."

"For god's sake, I don't need a binding, you think this is the first time I've ever had a few cracked ribs?" Joel was clearly the worst patient ever, Shepard was about to learn. It might've been easier if he was completely unconscious - at least that way he couldn't object.

"I just need a rest is all."

"Joel, shut the fuck up and take the fucking help," Riley calls back to them. "Or I will let Ellie pound her fists into your cracked ribs till you learn better! My girl packs a sweet punch, you know!"

She gives Shepard a sloppy mock salute, then leans around the door again.

"Sure, I can wait a week. Wanna take some bets on the survival rates for your stupid kid in that time?" Ignoring his protests, she took him by the elbow and forced his compliance. Arms up, and wrap around. Tight, yes, but not restrictive. For long-term recovery, he'd have to have the bindings off as much as possible, and take rest-- but that wasn't her concern.

After all, it would do him no good to heal clean if he starved to death in the meantime, or if being a sitting duck got him killed. Or, perhaps more vitally, Ellie.

After a moment of quiet work, Shepard glanced up at him, holding the cloth taught while she tied on the next strip, "Something I said, Joel? You haven't been showing up, lately."

Joel scowled at her. "She's not stupid," he muttered darkly. "I'll give you Riley, but Ellie's not stupid."

She'll find them. Or he'll find her. One way or the other, it'll happen.

"You didn't say anything. Personal shit came up."

"Oh I see how it is," Maybe this strip doesn't need to be quite this tight, but really, Joel, "Personal. Private. Just you, them, and all our fans at home."

Scowl all you want, Joel, you can't stop Shepard from rolling her eyes. Personal drama makes for good television, lest they fall into the omnipresent pitfall of being boring.

"C'mon, talk to me. I can guess what happened, but it's better if I don't have to."

Shepard, you are just going to have to get used to Joel not wanting to talk much about his personal life, or anything that might even hint at feelings.

He grits his teeth a little, and sighs.

"They brought my partner here. With the others." The guests, he means. Shepard got an expose, Joel got to deal with his dead partner. "She died, back home. They brought her here, and then they - took her away again."

If Shepard stopped and asked people what they wanted, she'd never get anything done at all, now would she?

"Is 'Partner' code for girlfriend?" Subtle and gentle are wonderful words, but they are not meant for women like Shepard, "So you just hole up. This place is gettin' to you, Joel."

"It's code for nothin'," Joel says irritably. What is he, fifteen? Girlfriend, Christ.

Yeah Joel, with a woman for ten years and you can't put a label on it more intimate than 'partner'.

"I didn't hole up, I just needed time to get my head on straight," he mutters. "She died. Seein' her again - Fine, sure, it's gettin' to me."

Screw waiting. Screw not knowing. Screw any aimless wandering. He had heard those dogs, he knew the unsound structure of the buildings, he knew how easy it was to get a foot caught in the fractures in the streets. Hawkeye had gone and sprinted down Main Street, tugging the hoodie closer to his body in some attempt at invisibility or anonymity. He had worked his way into buildings like a roach or a rat- for some reason, even every half-cracked window seemed to hit him with memories of old days. It meant Hawkeye knew, suddenly, how a plank of wood could prop up a pane of glass while he slipped inside. It meant he knew how to tip-toe around the rotting hardwood floors or stairs while making the house creak a little less. Now, call him useless all you want- the guy knew how slip in and out of bedrooms without waking up the parents.

So in Main Street were the businesses, and out those branched into homes. The more Hawkeye observed, the more he felt an unsettling creep. He knew someone with those same exact dinner plates, he knew someone with that model of car that was parked out front. He was in the kitchen and thinking of rummaging under the sink- cable ties would be useful, so very useful- when suddenly someone just gimps in. And Hawkeye stays silent. Even though the grayness is lessened in the homes, the fog cover not quite reaching all it can with the walls in the way of its conquest, the shape of the man is what Hawkeye focuses on first. It's all he really needs.

He inches closer, more or less silent, not exactly hidden when the kitchen's open for any pair of eyes of search. And if Joel didn't appreciate the fact that Hawkeye damn well could have gotten his hands on a knife and didn't, then he wasn't sure what more he could do for the fellow. Hawkeye entertains the thought of making a quip on the trails and tribulations of domestic life. Only he can't see sign of Ellie near, can't see any indication that she will come through the door like Joel just had, and the urge is squandered. "So what'd you get at the fair, son?" He asks, "A goldfish?" The bag- "A shiner?"

If he was a little more alert, Joel would've heard him coming earlier. Normally, Joel's hearing is nearly preternatural. But he's running on fumes right now, so in the end, it's probably a good thing that it's Hawkeye who creeps up on him, instead of someone more hostile - more willing or capable of putting up a fight.

He gives the man a glare, as though it's not fair he's run into this guy instead of Ellie. It might almost be petulant, if Joel was capable of that kind of emotion.

"Stuff I can make use of," he mutters, cracking the bag open, not even bothering to get up - an insult, of sorts. Hawkeye is such a non-threat, it's not even worth getting up when he shows up. He pulls out a wrench, setting it aside, and a bag of what looks like a fire-building kit.

The wariness wouldn't disappear but Hawkeye stands his ground. And just as well, if he was the one to always approach the fella anyway. He doesn't even balk at the glare. In fact, he doesn't even raise a chiding brow or giggle just for the sake of driving the man mad. Boundaries had been set or drawn in the sand some countless times by now, and for once Hawkeye wasn't eager to try them. He watches Joel demonstrate what's in the goodie bag, takes it as a victory, actually. The surgeon might only be deluding himself, but it looked like a small step towards trust to him. With the way Joel hobbled in, Hawkeye bet he could snatch the fire starter and sprint off and be done.

He slipped closer. He eyed the wrench more than the other man- a wrench to the face would hurt much more than a fist-- and he already knew how Joel's fists felt. When Joel didn't rise, Hawkeye kneeled instead. He pried his gaze from the loot with no intention of being confused for wanting any of it and searched Joel's face instead. He could ask that's all? or where's Ellie? but the answer to those could either be that's all or dead, so he doesn't. "Tell me where you're hurt," he offers. "And I'll tell you what a good idea it is to keep barging into stranger's homes."

It definitely was his first thought, on Hawkeye's approach. That the man was going to try and take one of his weapons or tools away from him - especially the wrench or the wooden board or the fire kit or - jesus, a sleeping bag, too. Bug spray?

Joel hit the jackpot, apparently.

"I got a couple of cracked ribs, is all, not the first time and it won't be the last," he muttered impatiently, waving the other man away. "I just need a breather, an hour or so to rest and figure out how to find Ellie."

Now he finds himself smiling. To Hawkeye's credit, it's nothing vengeful or especially pleased, it was just something to accompany the passing wave of disbelief as it transitioned into credence. Just a small, nearly amused twitch of his lips. He even shook his head, like he was aware he shouldn't be so ready to take the self-diagnosis to heart and he inched back when Joel waved him away, only to inch back closer when that was done with. "Let me at least make sure they're all you broke. If they are, count yourself lucky." And he was fussing. Before Hawkeye could even acknowledge it, he was urging the man, one hand raised and the smile turned into a small frown. "Should I be worried about the Other Guy?"

And screw the Apocalypse, or whatever history hadn't happened for him yet. Personal space was a luxury, and one that injured men did not have. Hawkeye reached for Joel, confidence or something spurring him on. He tacks on, "You need more than an hour or so to heal those ribs, by the way. Where did you last see Ellie? What's the plan for when you get separated?"

"Doc, I have been in more fights than I can count. I know exactly what broken ribs feel like and how goddamn long it takes 'em to heal." His hands went up, to fend Hawkeye away, but it was somewhat halfhearted. He wasn't going to hurt Ellie's friend, and he wasn't really in much shape to anyway.

"The plan is to find some higher ground, out of the fog, and find her," he muttered. What kind of plan did he think they had? They don't know what the arena is going to look like until they show up in it.

"Then I'll spare you the anatomy lesson and just ask that you don't kill me while I do my job." He said, ready to retreat and try later if the swatting ever turned into anything more violent. When it didn't, Hawkeye took it as a green light. He could see perfectly well if Joel ever reached for the bludgeon and he knew he could spring away if he had to and maybe only lose the skin on a knee or forearm. And speaking of forearm or arms in general, Hawkeye first ducked his head to wipe his forehead on the shoulder of his own hoodie before he positioned himself so he wasn't horribly cramped. Then he began to feel from Joel's stomach- up an inch at a time until he could find or hear a wince or a hiss or feel a mislevel. Or the wetness of a cut, rather than the dampness of sweat and mist. "How'd it happen?"

Annoyed, Joel pulled up his shirt so Hawkeye could get a look at the bruising - no cuts, just as he'd said, just some really nasty scars. One especially on his right side, large and ugly, actually a matched set, an entrance and an exit wound. It was the newest of the bunch, but Joel didn't comment on that or any others, just gave Hawkeye a quelling look.

"A psycho kid with a goddamn sledgehammer."

"Oh, goody." At both the sudden show and the news. Hawkeye didn't mind the scars- saw them, but didn't mind. They were no business of his and the interest of their stories was, at the moment, little. He at one point thought he remembered Ellie saying something about a rod, a pipe-- something like that. He couldn't be sure he remembered anything right, but if he had he figured maybe that was what had made Joel's ugliest mess of tissue. "I thought you had bulldozed into the broad side of a barn in your senility." And Hawkeye thought about the weapons he had seen sitting pretty in the grass. His hand's large- nothing cumbersome. There's heavy, even pressure as he moves up and around Joel's chest -and wouldn't the cameras love it- and if this were a friend, he'd be purring just to hear a laugh. "Or tripped on your own two feet and had a run-in with your big stick. A sledgehammer makes things much better." But the bruising is nothing that's not expected, and Hawkeye can't find a swell or a rise of ruptured vessels. Not to say there weren't ruptured vessels- but for getting hit with a sledgehammer, Hawkeye wasn't sure how the man hadn't burst his spleen.

Hawkeye pat Joel square in the chest twice, then he let his hand drop and rocked back on his heels. Apart from recommending bed rest (and he should say that aloud right now, he should say it aloud right now), he didn't know what to do but find a bed sheet and wrap the guy in it. "I can find you something for those age spots," he finally offered, decidedly serious. "My grandfather would freeze them." Wrenches and sledgehammers and clubs- and the strong man was hurt and the girl was missing.

"I asked what the plan was when you got separated from Ellie. I spent some time at the Cornucopia-" or around it "-and I never saw her there. I guess I was expecting something more concrete than I'll find her to be the answer. Because then if I find her I can say more than I'll send her your way when I won't know where that is." Something like 300 yards east of the Cornucopia mouth. 12 minutes brisk jog from it, sharp turn left, 3 minute walk. Wait there. Something. Then the search party wouldn't have to just be one guy. "Anyway, your ribs aren't fine and I recommend two month's bedrest. Since I can't prop you up on a board and I'm sure you'll object to me tying you down with soft lace and bringing you breakfast, I'm going to look for something to wrap around you so that, on top of the sharp pain you're feeling, it'll be a little harder to breathe, too. But it's better that than jiggling and having to continuously suck in your gut."

"Stop fussin', for Christ's sake," Joel muttered, annoyed. "He just grazed me. Believe it or not, I know how to duck a goddamn sledgehammer."

He sighed, scrubbing a hand through his hair absently. "If we knew anything about the layout before they sent us up here, we might've been able to plan, but as it is, the only thing I can do is find higher ground, out of this goddamn fog, and hope I can spot her. She'll be doin' the same damn thing, I guarantee it."

Hawkeye had already regaled someone of the time when he did, actually, fuss over Christ, and telling it twice tasted cheap on the tip of his tongue. Hawkeye settled for a high little scoff and a little shrug like there was a third person present, and he was egging on the comment of can you believe what this guy just asked of me. "It's called a middle-age crisis. Men start thinking they're invincible, then their back gives out," he called, moving to stand and dust himself as if the floor of the home was dusty instead of grimy. And he was about to say that that was the reason the military tried for younger blood, because the bravado was there but so was the spring, but Hawkeye remembered Joel wouldn't take well to soldiers.

He huffed, glad again that he had ditched the dog tags God knows where. And if everyone knew the layout of the battlefield before they were thrown in, there'd be pits and traps everywhere and plans galore, but that hadn't been what he had meant. Prevention could be insisted on without having a map. Or so he thought, but what had he tried to do about it himself? Hawkeye clicked his tongue. "I'll be right back. I'm going to go look in one of the rooms- the table cloth's got mold and I don't want to use that. It's just you and me in here but I wouldn't doze off just yet."

"A middle-age crisis is what you call it when a loudmouth doctor thinks he can get away with actin' like a smartass kid without someone decidin' to sew it shut for him," Joel growled darkly, and waved him off.

"I don't need it, it's a waste of your energy. You wanna help, go use some of that endless supply of air you got in your lungs to find my goddamn kid."

Rude, much. Though Hawkeye was strangely delighted at the abuse and it took a second to wrap his head around the sensation. It was as close to banter as he had ever gotten with this guy and honestly it may not speak well of him that he was willing to shoot a haphazard grin at the man who had either tried or offered to kill him twice now. Hawkeye keeps from grinning harder when Joel refers to Ellie- it wasn't something he could see himself congratulating, not on the first day of their newest Hell, not when he knew nothing apart from the fact that Joel was protective and Ellie obviously loved him. What did kids know about good sense?

The idea of a search and rescue crosses his mind for maybe the twentieth time since meeting Joel. This time, it's as much of a bad idea as the last nineteen. "I think you're getting a hot flash," he says. "You're getting all cranky." And takes a step away. And sobers. And thinks finding a needle in a haystack's more difficult than just saying do it. And Hawkeye thinks it's plain unfair of him to keep thinking of Ellie and to just not know the other kids' names. Being a keeper wasn't his job, healing was. "Your girl's a lot brighter than you are, I'll give you that."

But honestly, he didn't know how smart Sarah had been. And panicked children was the ingredient that had launched the Hunger Games to success. Hawkeye cocked a hip with purpose. "I'll be back before you can say baleboste."

"I never claimed otherwise," Joel pointed out tiredly. He would never try to claim anything less of Ellie - that she's stronger, smarter, better than him, in so many ways.

But he didn't have any interest in continuing to argue with the guy - he was exhausted and in pain, so he just leaned his head back against he wall and closed his eyes. Screw Hawkeye, he needed to rest.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

how many roads we've traveled; open;

closed;

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For Joel and Riley

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hope my tardiness wasn't too much trouble for you

nope!

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For Joel!

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