Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Fear and Rage. Pulse racing, blood rushing in the ears. Cold air burning sharp in the lungs. The gasp feels like the first breath he's ever taken in his entire life. The blaring alarms are muffled inside the pod. Body starts into a coughing fit. This time, when he slams his fist the pod door opens. Why didn't it open before? They're gone, his mother and son are gone! He had been helpless to stop them from being taken away. His mind's jumbled, and his foot slips on the puddle of water on the step. His body slams to the floor. It hurts, but he knows he's alive. The alarm is clear now, and painfully loud.

Life support failure.

He doesn't want to think about being the only one left. Not again. His body shivers involuntarily, even as he makes his way to the escape tunnel, the chill from the pod has sunk in deep. Deep like the snowdrifts of Anchorage. He can only hope that the feeling will fade away to a dull numbness, just as his thoughts of that place had. The huge cockroaches are disturbing, as are the skeletal remains strewn about the vault. The gun and pipboy are welcome windfalls. If there's anything bigger than the roaches, the soldier in him knows he'll be needing something more than a lead pipe. The elevator ride back to the surface feels like a descent into Hell, in the opposite direction. Or maybe it was the ride down that was the way into Hell? His mind is on autopilot, trying to cope with what has, and is happening. The sound of the huge vault door above him opening snaps him to attention. There's daylight above him... and the unknown.

Sunlight blinds him to the point of tears. Or is it that he doesn't want to see what the sunlight shows?

There is nothing.

Far in the distance the tattered skyline of Boston sits, it's jagged ruins a monument to man's folly. Below can be seen what remains of Sanctuary Hills. Collapsed homes, rusted out vehicles, debris, and cracked asphalt as far as the eye can see. The trees are barren, erect corpses jutting from the ground along the mountains. What remains of any grass is tinged a sickly yellow and dots the landscape in oddly dispersed patches. The world he knew has long since died away. Gone in an instant, a flash of atomic fire.

For a while he considers putting the 10 millimeter to his temple and pulling the trigger. He has lost what he had and come into this terrifying new world a stranger, with nothing. His mother, his son, his home, his world; everything he knew or cared about is gone. He doesn't even know if they’re out there, still alive, or where to begin to get them back.

A gust of warm air blows across the flattened hilltop and settles something near his feet. He catches the glimpse of color out of the corner of his eye. It's in stark contrast to the brown hue of the barren earth and the off white of the 111 entrance. He picks up what appears to be a flower. It's a deep navy on the outside, but the inside petals shimmer in iridescent tones of blues and purples. The blossom is beautiful. If this apocalyptic wasteland can produce such beauty, surely there must be more out there than what he can see from the vault on the hill.

Tears fall freely from his dark eyes, soaked up hungrily by the parched earth. He remembers something his mother would say after reading one of her favorite stories.

'To hope. To never lose hope. For if we lose hope, we lose ourselves.'

The flower is left on the platform, save for one petal, that he tucks into the pipboy cuff. He heads for the path to Sanctuary with a renewed sense of purpose, the chill of the vault forgotten, for now.

Traveling back down the path he finds the rickety bridge still intact over the little creek, marveling at how it has survived all this time. He stands amidst the ruined homes of his neighbors and feels a twinge of sorrow, knowing that some are back in the vault, frozen corpses. He doesn't have time to dwell on the sad thought as a metallic buzzing catches his attention. Outside what had been his old home, there's a Mr. Handy whacking away at what would appear to be dead shrubbery.

"Codsworth?"

"As I still function! Mr. Nate? Is that really you? Do my optic sensors need adjusting?"

"No, Codsworth, it's really me." He feels the familiar prick of tears at the corner of his eyes. The robot had become part of his family, and here he was, trimming the hedges as if life hadn't stopped when the bombs fell.

“Oh sir! It’s so wonderful to see you again...though you are looking a bit worse for the ware. Don't want to let your mother catch you like that.” Three mechanical eyes spun on their stalks, searching. “Speaking of which, where is Madame, and young Shaun as well? Are they with you?”

Nate's head bowed. “No Codsworth. Someone took them. Abducted them from the vault while we...while we were…” He shuddered. “I couldn't stop them.”

“Sir...Sir these horrible things you're saying…You’re not making any sense.” The machine's robotic limbs rotated and spun. “I know what you need. Nothing a good meal can't solve, even after 200 years.”

A deep chill ran down Nate’s spine as the number registered. “Wait… 200 years? That...that can't be right.”

Codsworth’s pinscher appendaged reached up and tapped at a deep dent in his round outer shell. “Give or take a few years, thanks to a couple knocks to the old chronometer, I’ve lost a bit of accuracy. But, yes Sir, roughly two centuries have passed since the bombs fell and you took shelter with your family in the vault.”

Nate reached out to trace over the damage. He felt a wave of guilt hit him, mouth sinking into a deep frown. “Cods, I’m sorry we couldn't take you with us.”

“It's alright, Sir. Everything happened so fast that day. The sirens and the screaming, and the...the bomb… Once it quieted down I carried on here at the homestead. Awaiting the day you, or your descendants, would emerge from the Vault.”

The hot sting of tears threatened at the corner of his eyes, but Nate rubbed it away. This was all too much, and he was too raw to deal with any of it.

“Sir?”

Nate sniffed lightly, giving one last swipe over his eyes. “Yeah?”

“My sensors are detecting movement in the houses. Small life forms. We should deal with these before you settle in.”

Nate held up the scratched 10mm, nearly forgetting he had been holding the weapon during their reunion. “Alright. Lead the way.” His mind switched to mission mode, focused on the task Codsworth had just given, and pushing everything else to the back corner of his brain to sort through later.

“Very good, Sir. This way.” The robot glided away with a pulse of its thruster. Nate followed, clicking off the safety and bracing himself for more roaches.

The houses were all in similar states of ruin. Decaying from centuries of sitting, unoccupied and unkempt. The force from the bomb had swept over the entire area. Nate had felt the beginning of it as they were lowered into the vault. The explosive force had knocked over fences, lawn decor, and blasted out windows. Entire walls had either fallen or rotted away. The asphalt had cracked, and heaved, forming deep crevices and leaving large mounds in the road. The concrete sidewalk had been swallowed up by the earth at points, and at others was broken through and turned to nothing but debris and powder. Dead trees and the rusted out husks of cars littered the once pristine Sanctuary Hills community.

“Over here, Sir” Codsworth brought them to one of the still standing structures. It had been the residence of Ms. Jenkins. Nate remembered her in not the fondest of terms, as she hadn’t been to keen on him or his mother. He heard an oddly loud buzzing noise from inside the home. Before he could ask Codsworth what would be making the sound, a positively gigantic fly floated into his cone of vision. The robot went right for it, with a whooping hollar. Nate was struck by the absurdity of it all, and remained in the doorway as Codsworth’s buzzsaw sliced through the insect. Two heavy pieces of flesh fell to the floor with a sickening squelch. Nate paled as he walked forward, thinking how this was all the world had become, giant insects and one crazy robot for company.

“Sir!”

Nate hadn’t seen the second fly, it’s bulbous body somehow supported on miniscule wings, hovering down the hallway. It’s fatty thorax contracting as it launched some form of thick, gelled substance at him. The stuff splattered all over his lower abdomen and there was something squirming, something alive. A giant maggot! It had attached to his suit, propelled by it’s mother fly, and was now trying to burrow into him. He knocked it away, leaving it to writhe on the floor as he took a single shot, killing the fly, before it could launch another long range attack. It’s body exploded, covering the back of the hallway in sickly, green chunks. Nate hadn’t wanted to waste ammo on insects but he was panicking. His boot slammed down on the maggot, stopping it’s disgusting movements, and silencing it’s squelching.

“Well done Sir. You’ll want to get that washed off. Perhaps the neighbors have something you can borrow?”

Nate watched the robot float by, feeling a creeping numbness sink through to his core. He wiped at the muck, and grimaced at finding that it seemed to be hardening in place. He followed Codsworth back out into the street.

“Mr. Finiker had that shelter he was building. I’d start there myself.” His eyestalks rotated several times, as Nate nodded in agreement.

“Good idea, Cods. I...uh...I’ll go check it out.”

“Right behind you, Sir!”

Behind the Finiker home were several large bushes, laden with dark, maroon colored fruit. Nate reached out to palm one, hefting its weight, and feeling how the skin was bumpy, with a similar waxy texture to a nectarine.

“Codsworth, is anything edible anymore?” Nate wasn’t sure if the robot would be able to answer the question, with having no need for nourishment. He wasn’t exactly keen on trial and error testing.

“Those that have come and stayed while you were in the vault, did ingest certain fair from the surrounding area, Sir. If my memory serves. It has been quite a number of years since anyone has been out here, however.” Nate left the odd fruit there. If worse came to worse he’d at least know where to find it.

The hatch to the Finiker bunker was sealed. Codsworth was able to heat up the seams and cut through the latches. Nate felt a twinge of remorse at wasting such a good hiding spot as he wrenched the door off, but any thought was removed from his head as the smell of stale decay hit him. He stumbled back, covering his nose and mouth. He gave it a few minutes before venturing into the small, dug out, bunker. A rack of shelves was lined with supplies, many of which looked unused. There was a radio, a safe, and a cot. Nate took in a breath as he saw the corpse. Sunken in eye sockets, hair fallen away to nothing but patches. Scraps of clothes and flesh melted into one, to form a macabre funeral shroud. The bones of the feet and hand had fallen away onto the mattress and floor. Mr. Finiker had most likely died shortly after entering his bunker, sealed himself into his own tomb. Nate didn’t want to know how the man had died, didn’t want to know how he’d suffered while Nate had slept in the Vault. He’d come back and give him a proper burial later.

Nate watched the corpse’s withered features as he reached for the rucksack by the cot. He felt like Mr. Finiker would suddenly spring back to life, grab him by the collar, and accuse him of stealing. As he hauled the pack to his chest, the body remained still, it’s eyeless sockets staring, accusingly. He shoved everything that would fit into the rucksack, suddenly very aware of how much he didn’t want to be there. The bunker felt like it was running out of breathable air, as his chest began to tighten. He tried the handle on the safe and of course it was locked. Lost to him then. Nate slung the pack on his back and grabbed the dial radio that sat beside the cot, cautious in his fervor to avoid any pieces of Mr. Finiker.

Back up the ladder he went, pushing the radio up before him, and scurrying onto the sun bathed earth. He took in several large gulps of air. He’d never been claustrophobic before...

“Good haul, Sir?” Codsworth whirled about, seeming all too chipper over his grave robbing.

“Uh...yeah.” Nate got first to his knees then to his feet, proceeding to grab the radio. “Cods, put the hatch back in place, please.” He walked away without hearing the robot’s affirmative reply.

Chapter Text

Nate lugged his spoils back to his old residence, stopping outside the blue door that sat ajar. It's a feeling he’d had before. The feeling of returning as a stranger to a place that he’d once called home. When he had been discharged and returned to Sanctuary Hills, bandages still fresh upon his face. He’d left a battlefield and come back to the false serenity and security put forth by the American public in wartime.

Now he stood amidst the aftermath of that same war, and he felt that sense of being an outsider once again. He pushed open the door holding his breath, exactly as he had done, so long ago.

Codsworth had done his level best to keep the home tidy. But what could one lonely Mr. Handy hope to do against the ravages of time and nuclear fallout?

“I apologize for the state of things, Sir.” The bot floated into the house. Gliding past him, and taking up a familiar position by the kitchen island.

The large living room window had been blown out, not even shards remained. Below it had sat the massive record player, and now it lay rotting. Broken in half, and exposed to the elements, it barely retained its original shape. Nate recalled with a painful twinge how it had constantly been on to fill the space with music. Now, besides the constant thrum of Codsworth’s thruster, there was silence. It was an unnatural state for the home to be in. Certainly the disrepair, and dilapidation, but it was the utter lack of noise that bothered him the most.

His mother's laughter as another pet project fell to pieces. Shaun, cooing in his highchair. Codsworth clanking about in the kitchen. Music wafting through the house. The utter lack of noise, of life, was deafening. Nate felt defeated all over again.

Nate dropped the rucksack, and staggered over to a fallen chair, setting it up straight, before throwing himself onto the table. It wobbled beneath him but held. The radio had fallen hard onto the table's surface, sliding away from him, it’s back falling open. He buried himself into the folds of his arms and wept, shoulders shaking from the force.

His tears were hot, falling fast, forming a puddle on the old table. He choked on his own breath, hiccupping to try and catch air into his lungs as snot clogged his nostrils. He’d never cried this hard in his entire life. There’d never been a tragedy in his life that cut as deep as this. Even when he’d woken up in the military hospital, with his face bloody, and discharge papers on the way. Even then, when he knew he'd never see his squad mates again, it hadn't felt akin to a loss; not like this.

“Sir?” There was a plunk on the table as something was set next to him. Nate sniffed, chancing a glance through watery eyes. A bundle of some kind sat on the table. He recognized it instantly. It was his mother's toolset.

“Those should help fix the radio, Sir. Now, let's see about getting you something to eat, hm.” He floated away, going to retrieve the rucksack from where Nate had tossed it on the floor. The man watched in stunned silence for a moment before focusing on the gift he’d been brought. He reached for the radio, pulling it towards him as he unraveled the wrap of tools. Codsworth whirled about in the kitchen and for a short time, things almost felt normal.

The Salsbury steak was chewy but cooked with edges nicely burnt thanks to Codsworth's flamethrower attachment. Nate choked it down, tearing it apart with his teeth, and mixing the meat-like substance with a swig from a bottle of purified water. He had become used to MRES during his service time, and he was figuring that any food he was going to come across was going to be similar or worse.

With a click, the back of the radio snapped into place and Nate turned the machine around. He set the small screwdriver down and with a sigh, clicked the knob. A flicker of light illuminated the radio’s front, and a crackle of static sounded through the dual speakers. Nate’s face brightened with a large smile but fell with dismay as a loud crack emanated from inside the radio and it went dark.

“No.” He whispered. “No, no, no!” His voice turned to a shout as his hand slammed into the side of the radio. Both in rage and in the hopes of bringing the thing back to life. He’d heard the crackle, it hadn't been a delusion. The radio sat silently on the table.

He fell away from the table, the kitchen chair bowing with his weight, as he sank back to stare blankly at the lifeless machine. All he wanted, a spark, a single shred of evidence that there might be other people still out there.

“Sir?” Nate didn't turn to acknowledge the robotic butler. “Sir, if you’re in the mood for music, perhaps the Pipboy could be of service?”

Nate glanced at the bulky contraption strapped to his left wrist. Its display screen was dark, several dials on its faceplate, and another along its side. He wasn't entirely sure how to work the damn thing. He’d been a soldier, a front lineman, and never needed to deal much with tech out in the field. Not that Vault-Tec would have let the troops have access to their precious technology. Pissed Nate off to think about it, but now he had one of their gizmos. The only thing left to do was to try and figure out how to make it function.

Nate had used it to open the vault entrance, but he wasn't sure of the computer's full capabilities. Pipboys had been a revolution when they were first invented. A fully mobile, wrist-mounted computer, capable of monitoring a person's vital signs, as well as integrating with computer systems. It was a Vault-Tec mechanical marvel at the time of its conception.

He turned the large cream-colored knob on the faceplate and the screen powered on with a distinctive, programmed hum. The vault boy mascot appeared on screen, glowing neon green and giving a thumbs up before the screen blinked out and loaded in a readout of information. Nate's heart rate, blood type, current radiation level, and other health-based statistics appeared on the screen.

“Good thing it's user friendly.” He mumbled, eyes scanning over the multiple lines of information. Experimentally he clicked the knob on the side of the Pipboy. The screen flickered, changing to display something new. Sequences of numbers appeared, in a vertical line. Three digits, a period then another digit. Radio frequencies!

He used the much smaller dial and clicked it to the first frequency. Several sad chords echoed from the Pipboy, the final notes of a song. A man’s voice broke through as the last note played.

“That was Ms. Skeeter Davis.” A nervous chuckle. “What kind of a name is Skeeter? Huh?” A pause, as if there was going to be an answer to his question. “Heh...well, uh, um, let's get back to the music, shall we? Here's another classic by Bing Crosby.” The intro began and Nate recognized the song. Was there an actual person out there playing music or was this all pre-recorded? He dared to hope that there might be living people still.

He waited till another two songs had played, and the man came back on, introducing himself as Travis. Nate sighed with relief, thinking that this must be some disk jockey in a faraway city of survivors. Revitalized by this revelation he stood from the table and proceeded to search the house as the radio played a song by Kay Kyser.

The home he’d once known was in shambles. Wallpaper peeling, exposing the rotting wooden beams underneath. Some walls were gone completely. He ambled down the hallway, looking to see what had been left behind in his long absence.

The laundry room, with it's now useless, oversized appliances, still held the box Codsworth had come in. Nate hadn't been there for the robots unpacking but Mr. Handy had become an integral part of their family shortly after being activated. Nate wasn't sure if Codsworth’s attachment to them was normal for a robot, and he had never given it much thought. The Mr. Handy boxes non-deterioration made him wonder at what it was made of, but a few Abraxo boxes still left on the laundry shelf turned his attention to collecting supplies. There was a blue plastic, rectangular crate on the floor, perfect for placing a few miscellaneous things into.

The bathroom held much less in the way of usable items. A single bar of soap, somehow miraculously still intact. The tiles were cracked and chipped and many littered the floor of the shower. Nate recalled wiping the steam away from the mirror that day. He had been getting ready for the VA banquet, where he was going to give a speech. He’d practiced the damn thing for days on end, speaking into the mirror, making sure his inflection was just right. Public speaking wasn't his strongest skill but he did want to do well. After all of the practice and reciting, he could only remember the first line.

“War...war never changes.” He spoke into the shattered pieces of the bathroom mirror that still remained, his shattered reflection mouthing the words back to him. He turned from the glass and moved on to the next room, his mother's room.

The windows had been blasted out, as with the rest of the house. Curtains had long since been torn away. Her bed still held the same patterned duvet, but it was worn and faded upon the double bed.

He didn't want to go through her dresser drawers. He didn't want to search through her things as if she was gone, as if she was never coming back. Tears pricked at his eyes again but he stifled them. Time for crying would be later, now he had to focus on surviving and eventually searching for his family.

Chapter Text

Sleep doesn't come. Nate stares up, through the holes in the ceiling. The night sky is clear, and the stars are bright. He rises from the couch, not sure what to do but knowing that he can't sit with his thoughts. Codsworth is on the floor, arms and eye sensors tucked away inside his metal shell. It's a miracle the bot is still functional let alone remembers him. Nate smiles softly at the mechanical marvel. He doesn't know what being alone in the ruins of Sanctuary would have done to him and he'd rather not dwell on it.

He left the house, grabbing his gun on the way out the door. He glanced around the neighborhood. The wind gently whispers through the cracks of each structure creating a strange and sad melody, a melancholic ode to the world that was and the lives that once were. For Nate, it was a brief moment, the blink of an eye. The cryo didn't feel like sleeping, it's just a lingering cold and now he's here again, standing on the same street he'd walked down 200 years prior. It was time for another walk.

Piles of debris, made up of indistinguishable detritus and hunks of the cracked sidewalk, litter the street. He'll need to search through the still-standing houses, though he doubts there'll be much in the way of usable supplies. As he looks at the collapsed shell of what had been the Able home, something in the distance catches his eye.

The power pylons still stand up on the hills and beneath one of them is a light, burning bright against the darkness of the night. It's a clear indication of some form of life and he begins to move towards it on instinct. He's to the small brook surrounding Sanctuary when he realizes the world isn't what it was and he should treat everything with caution. He sighs, beginning to find a path up the hills and through the underbrush. The light is a fair distance from Sanctuary and when he gets close enough to see figures around the fire he's glad they hadn't come knocking on what was left of his door.
There are multiple figures he can make out, two round a fire, another standing next to a group of four, huddled together by one of the cement feet of the pylon. The standing figure definitely has a weapon of some sort. Nate moves closer, crouched down and careful as he can be of his footing in the dark. The figure's voices become clear as he moves in.

"Would you guys hurry the fuck up, I'm starving over here."

"Shut up, dumbass, and keep your eyes on the merch."

"The big ones gonna pop any day now."

"Ha! Well, we'll have something to eat at least."

There was a round of raucous laughter from the group then a sharp yell from the standing figure.

"Stupid bitch!" A crack and a loud thud as a body hit the ground. "Fucking feral bitch bit me!"

The figures around the fire laughed. "Put her down. They don't sell for much anyway." The group of huddled figures cried out as the gun was leveled at the one on the ground.
Nate took a shot, not intending to hit but to get their attention. He'd found a large rock to hide behind at the edge of the clearing.

"What the fuck!" There was a commotion as the three tried to figure out where the shot had come from. "Find whoever's out there!" Two walked away from the fire, one opposite of where Nate was and one moving toward him. Nate watched, before moving backward, hiding in the shadow of the boulder. His pulse was racing as the figure moved by his hiding spot. He didn't hesitate, he couldn't afford it. He raised the pistol towards the person's head and fired.

"Oh shit!" The one still standing by the group shouted to the other. "Over there! Get that motherfucker!"

There's a rush of footsteps, heavy on the ground, moving fast towards his hiding spot. He waits, and they present themselves as they kneel over the fallen body. Nate takes the shot and the body crumples to the earth. Two down, one to go. His mind is focused now, finding the best way to neutralize the remaining hostile.

The figures on the ground are yelling something, but Nate can't make it out. The only thing that comes through clearly is the man's response. "Shut the fuck up. I'll end you, ya hear!" He's turned, his back visible in the firelight. Nate takes the chance, moving fast, he barrels towards the figure and bowls him over, gun flying from the man's grasp as he cries out in surprise. Nate's on top of him, his weight pinning the man down, as he pummels him with blow after blow. His hands have gone numb by the time he's done, worn out from the exertion and the adrenaline. The man's face battered and bruised but he's still breathing.
Nate's suddenly pushed to the side, his body giving up the ability to stay upright as he lands hard in the dirt. One of the other people has the man's gun, they're standing above him, breathing heavy and pointing the barrel at his broken face.

"Fuck you, asshole." The words are stilted but dripping with hate. The sentiment is blown away by the shot that echoes around the clearing.
Nate steadies his breathing, seeming to return to his senses, he tries to climb to his feet but his body has had enough and gives out. He falls to the ground again, dust kicked up around him. He has enough strength to roll onto his back and that's it, nothing left. He stares up at the stars and thinks how this world is a waking nightmare, similar to the ones he used to have after the war.

"Hey, buddy." It's a man's voice. "Buddy? You okay?" The man's face is illuminated by the fire's glow. He appears a bit older than Nate, features carved with wrinkles of worry and stress, like a wooden statue. His eyes are kind, a beautiful deep color, as he looks over him. "That was a hell of a rescue."

Nate huffs, "Don't mention it." He forces himself up to a sitting position. After all, 200 years is more than enough downtime.

"Thank you." A woman's voice whispers softly from a few feet away. Her voice is tinged with sadness, her face streaked with tears. She wipes at them with one hand while her other strokes her obviously pregnant belly.

"Sally, it's alright sweetie. We're okay now. Those fucks aren't gonna hurt your baby, okay." The older man speaks soothingly to her.

"These shit heads had crap for gear." A man walks over, guns slung over one shoulder and a sack of some kind in his hands. "We won't get far with this." He's younger than the other man, younger than Nate as well. His hair is bedraggled, angular face caked with mud, his eyes sunken but alert as they met each other's gaze.

"Thanks, man." Nate nodded at the younger man.

"Iris." The older man had wandered away to where the woman who had shot the man was now sitting. "Iris let's get your head cleaned up." Her arm swung out swiping at the man.

"Fuck off, Jerry." Her voice is raspy, angry.

"Iris," Sally spoke up. "The babies kicking, come feel."

The other woman got up, limping over to the soon-to-be mother. The fire made her appearance visible and Nate gave a small gasp. Her nose was gone, ears as well. She had little to no hair, and her face was scarred as if from being burned. Half her face was covered in blood, a wound open upon her forehead. The blood was caked into the grooves of her scarred face, looking like a horrid red mask.
Sally took her hand and placed it on her belly. "See, right there." Iris gave a sniffle as a small smile. "They can't wait to meet you." Sally pulled her close and kissed her cheek. "Please let Dana look at your head, okay."

The younger man held up a cloth and a carton of water as he wandered over, "C'mer you angry old bird." Iris chuckled, sitting back to allow access to her head. As she did her eyes met Nate's for the first time. She glowered at him. "What're you staring at, never seen a Ghoul before?"

"He's a Vaultie, Iris, so probably not," Jerry said as he sat down next to Sally.

"Came from a vault, huh?" Dana asked, lightly patting at Iris's head with the cloth. "What in the world are you doing out here? I'd never leave if I had a nice cozy vault to stay in."

"I-uh, I woke up just a little while ago. I wouldn't exactly call the vault cozy." Nate's mind was racing, and filled with so many questions.

"Woke up?" Sally asked, reaching out to hold Iris's hand as she gritted her teeth in pain.

"Yeah. They froze us. It's kind of hard to explain, but... I'm the only one."

"Oh shit, sorry man." Dana looked a bit sheepish as he handed the cloth to Iris to wipe the blood off her face.

"I suppose we should introduce ourselves. I'm Jerry, this is Sally, Dana, and Iris."

"I'm Nate." It felt surreal to be having a normal conversation with people after what had just happened.

"Well Nate, thank you again. I don't know what would have happened if you hadn't come along when you did..." There was silence as everyone worked out the scenario.

"As great as this is, can we not be out in the open anymore. Those dead assholes will attract predators." Iris indicated the one she'd shot earlier.

Dana sighed. "I'll drag em over and throw em on the fire."

"Nate, is there someplace to stay near here. I'm not trying to put you out or anything but..." Jerry looked to both Sally and Iris. "We aren't in the best shape to travel at the moment."

"Yeah, of course, Sanctuary. It's just down the hill. There's plenty of room if you'd like to stay."

"Are you sure?"

Nate nodded, a smile working its way onto his face. "Yeah, absolutely. Codsworth is gonna love having people around."

"Codsworth?" Sally asked as Jerry helped her up.

Nate got to his feet. "My family's Mr. Handy."

"Oh wow, I've never seen a Mr. Handy before."

Iris rolled her eyes at the woman as Dana dragged the last body over. The three were piled on each other, flames beginning to lap at ragged clothes.
Dana clapped his hands together, satisfied. "I picked out everything I could in the dark. I'll come back tomorrow for anything the fire doesn't get."

"Dana is our scavenger extraordinaire." Jerry explained as he followed Nate down the hill.

"Damn right." The man exclaimed as he ran over to help the two women down the cliff.

"I suppose that's really important." Nate waited for the group to catch up with him before continuing.

"Shit yeah. I can always find us some salvage no matter where we are. Bet I could teach a Vaultie like you how to pick the best stuff."

Nate chuckled, "I'd appreciate that."

It was slow going but they reached the edge of the culdesac in time.

"Wow. So many buildings." Sally exclaimed, glancing down the main roadway.

"Some are still usable inside." Nate looked at the ruins. "Some not so much."

"My fingers are twitching. Look at all this salvage."

"Easy Dana. Let's get some rest, then food, then salvage." The young man gave a whine but followed as they walked further into the settlement.

"Sir! Mr. Nate!" Codsworth came rushing down the street, the flame of his propulsion casting shadows behind him. "Oh Sir, you're back, I was so worried."

"Sorry Cods, I didn't mean to be gone so long."

"Sir, I heard the gunfire. Are you alright?" One of the robot's eyes swiveled around him to look at the group. "Oh, and who's this then? Guests? Oh, Sir, you didn't tell me we'd have guests. Let me put some tea on right away."

Nate laughed. "I think just sleep is good for now."

"Of course! Right this way."

Codsworth led the group down the road, stopping between Nate's home and the yellow house across from it. The home still had decent covering from the walls and ceiling. He left the group of four to figure things out and returned to his own home. His body exhausted, his mind reeling. He fell onto the worn couch, it groaned in protest. Everything was different yet still somehow the same. He wasn't sure how to process anything that had happened. He decided to deal with it in the daylight.