Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

They make it to a circle of holiday cabins infested with Ferals. Joe has felt like he's been electrocuted ever since the blimp flew over them. They take out the Ghouls and Joe watches Andy fiddle with a terminal while Pete and Patrick check out the cabins for loot and the most corpse-free place to spread their bedrolls.

Andy logs off the computer and turns to him. “Joe?” He asks in a worried tone of voice.

“I really didn't think it would work.” Joe says. It sounds like his voice is coming from a very long way away.

Andy says “Joe?” again. He also sounds weirdly distant and watery.

Joe is tugged down to the floor of the barn they're in. From outside he can hear the cheery mechanical voice of the Mr Handy robot as it floats by. It's the only thing in Joe's life that seems in focus right now.

“The airship.” Joe explains, “I didn't think they could actually get it to fly.”

Andy crouches in front of him, resting his hands on Joe's shoulders. “Are you with us right now, Joe?”

While Joe had been secretly filling his backpack with caps and drugs in preparation for his grand escape from the Citadel he had heard the engineers talking about it - how they could build a massive airship, a mobile Citadel that they could use to travel further than they ever could in their salvaged Vertibirds. It had been a terrifying thought, the idea that the Brotherhood could spread out across the Wasteland, and even though he would stay tucked up in the biology lab most of the time and could easily go for months without picking up a screwdriver, he'd felt guilty about it. Guilty about the settlers who would have their lives completely upturned by bands of Knights in power armor stomping around and demanding their technology and root vegetables.

He hadn't thought they'd be able to get something as big as a fucking airship working, but the very thought that everyone around him thought it was a great idea with no downsides had definitely spurred him into leaving as quickly as possible.

“They're gonna fuck things up.” He mumbles now to Andy.

There's a small, fake sounding cough and Pete peers around the doorframe in a sort of anxious way as though he doesn’t know if he'll be interrupting a nervous breakdown or some kind of romantic interlude. He watches them for a second before saying, “We've cleared the cabin just outside, but there’s a radstorm rolling in, so we should get inside and wait it out.”

They all troop out and join Patrick in the closest cabin. Andy jiggles the door shut behind them just as they hear the first distant crackle of the storm.

Joe drops to the floor beside Patrick who is sifting through a small pile of scrap and loot. He shoots Joe a small smile. “You wouldn’t believe the sorts of things Feral Ghouls carry around in their pockets.” he says, holding up a small toy Nuka Cola truck. He spins the rear wheels with a finger. “Why do you think they had this?”

Joe knows that Patrick is trying to keep him calm. Everyone is trying to keep him calm in their own way. He’s not used to being on the receiving end of something like this. It’s nice, but strange.

Pete rifles through Andy’s bag. “We found a can of beans.” he announces, “And we still have the rest of the radroach meat that we cooked yesterday. Dinner might be cold, but at least we won’t have to wait until the storm is over before we eat.”

Andy pulls at his arm and opens Joe's hand to drop two pills into it. Rad-X for the radiation from the storm. Better the prevention than the cure. He swallows them dry and watches Andy hand out more pills to the others. He should have thought of that, he thinks muzzily.

It’s almost cozy as they all sit close together, passing around the can of beans and grabbing chunks of radroach from the pile they leave in the center of their circle. Every so often, whenever it gets close enough, they can hear the Mr Handy chattering away over the crackle of the storm and the sound of the rain hitting the thankfully intact roof of the cabin.

“I’ve left a message for the Railroad.” Andy says eventually. “We should head for Diamond City tomorrow. It sounds as though we really need to catch up on all the news before we make any more decisions.”

“If the Brotherhood are here…” Joe starts, but trails off as everybody looks up at him.

“It sounds as though there’s nothing we can do about the Brotherhood right now.” Andy says, still annoyingly calm. “We should find out about the Minutemen first.”

Patrick wrinkles his nose. Pete pats at Patrick’s crossed knee with the same hand as he’s holding the bean fork. The movement smears Pre-War tomato sauce onto Patrick’s trousers. Patrick doesn’t seem to notice, but Joe watches as Pete guiltily tries to clean it off. It just makes the stain bigger.

“There's people in Diamond City who'll know what’s happening with the Minutemen.” Andy continues. “I know you want to plan out the next few weeks down to the last second, Joe, but we need more information before we can make a move. Maybe we go and see the Railroad, maybe the Minutemen, I don’t know right now and neither do you.”

“I keep thinking about the Minutemen.” Patrick admits quietly. “I think part of me still thinks it’s a trick - that those Caravan Guards were wrong, or it was just someone pretending to be a Minuteman for some reason.”

“That’s one of the things we’ll find out in Diamond City.” Andy says with finality.

Everyone is silent for a moment. Finally Pete says in a low voice, “There’s Gunners on that overpass.” he inclines his head, nodding to the south.

Joe swallows. It sounds loud even under the noise of the storm.

This time it’s Patrick’s turn to rub a comforting hand down Pete’s back. “We’ll head out to the East,” he says. “Really early so they won’t see us. Andy, have you been to Graygarden?”

Andy blinks at him for a second. “The farm?” he asks.

Patrick shrugs the shoulder he hasn’t got wrapped around Pete. “The robots there are happy to trade food if you’re polite.”

“Who cares if you’re polite to robots?” Joe demands.

“The robots.” Patrick replies simply. “If they’re still there, we can trade the scrap with them, and maybe even sleep there. Which side of the river were you going to approach Diamond City from, Andy?”

Andy scratches at his stubble. “Maybe south? Go down the railway tracks and around the pond? There’s always Raiders in the tunnel, but we can always go round them. And there’s less chance of Supermutants.”

“Crossing the river is always easier out of the city.” Pete says.

Patrick nods. “Yeah, I think there's a few nests of Ferals there though. There were two settlers running a Tato farm down by one of the old stations who used to complain about them if we came through on patrol.”

“Better Ferals than mutants.” Joe says, just to have some input into the conversation.

“So,” Pete says, “avoid the Gunners, make friends with some robots, shoot some Ghouls and find a way of smuggling me into the largest settlement in the Commonwealth. Should be simple.”

“Pete.” Patrick sighs like an overprotective Ms Nanny bot. “It'll be fine.”

“Sure. I'm sure they're just fine with letting Gunners run around their nice, well defended city.” Pete snaps back. It's an argument they've all been having for the last few weeks. The more they try to convince Pete that it'll be okay, the more prickly he gets about the entire idea. It's beyond obvious that Pete is beating himself up about his past with the Gunners to an extent that rivals Patrick’s survivor’s guilt about Quincy.

“What Gunners?” Patrick demands, spreading his hands and gesturing around at the empty corners of the cabin. “There aren't any Gunners. There's just you, Pete. You can't be the only fucking person who's ever walked away from them. You think they're all hidden away from people? You left them, everyone we meet knows you left them. Nobody thinks that you're too dangerous to be allowed near them. Vince and Nikki knew, they let you into Monson, into Spencer’s Fair, into every single one of the settlements we've visited between Peggy's fucking farm and here. They won't care in Diamond City either.”

“If I thought… If there was a way… if I could get rid of this tattoo, if I thought it would change anything, I'd cut it off my fucking face right now.” Pete grits out. This starts Patrick off sighing again.

Joe glances at Andy and then out through one of the cabin’s smashed windows. The radstorm is still going strong, which is a pity because Andy looks like he feels - wondering if braving the radioactive rain would be easier than sitting here listening to Pete and Patrick tear themselves apart again.

“Let's get some sleep.” Joe says, over the sound of the current episode of ‘The Patrick And Pete Show’. “It's been a fucking day.”

Pete curls up in the far corner of the cabin, facing the wall. He doesn’t want anyone to see him right now, especially not Patrick, Joe or Andy who have all managed not to fuck up their own lives so badly that they walk around with a reminder of all their mistakes tattooed on their face. It’s not true that nobody they has said anything to him, Pete has definitely been on the receiving end of some hateful looks, whispered - and not-so whispered, whenever Pete is alone - comments and at least one barman ‘accidentally’ dropping his Mirelurk Egg omelet on the floor before serving it to him.

People look at Patrick, Joe and Andy and maybe they don’t see who they really are - maybe all they see are traveling traders, or mercenaries, or fucking mailmen - but they look at Pete and know exactly, immediately what he is. Pete is very tired. He would like to walk until they find somewhere the Gunners have never been, just set his feet west and pull Patrick, Joe and Andy along with him until they get far enough that Pete finally outruns his problems.

It’s like Patrick has forgotten, Pete thinks. Somehow, magically, Patrick has forgotten that the first time they met he held a knife to Pete’s throat simply because all he could see was a nameless Gunner and that had been enough of a reason for him. He’s forgotten the days of suspicion and hate that followed just because of what Pete had been every single time he tells Pete that nobody will care. He doesn’t want to mention this to Patrick though. He absolutely doesn’t want to remind the love of his life about the time that he hated him enough to attempt murder, mainly because Pete’s brain hates himself enough to give him terrifyingly detailed images of Patrick coming to his senses and walking away from him.

Pete’s mind runs in circles for a long time, long enough for the radstorm to pass. Behind him, he hears the door of the cabin open and close. Patrick’s footsteps walk across the floor towards him. Pete closes his eyes and pretends to be asleep.

“Pete?” Patrick whispers.

Pete doesn’t move. He’s curled up on his side, knees up to his chest and tightly hugging himself, pressing the side of his head with the fucking tattoo into the splintery floor of the cabin.

“Oh, Pete…” Patrick says.

He feels Patrick kneel down beside him, pulling Pete’s blanket further up over him. Pete squeezes his eyes closed even more.

Patrick lies down behind him, pressing his face into the back of Pete’s neck and shaping himself around his back, one arm thrown over his side.

“I know you’re still awake.” Patrick says quietly. “I can tell.”

He stays still and doesn’t reply. He doesn’t want to. It’s all too much right now.

Patrick hugs him harder. “I love you.” he whispers into Pete’s ear. “Sleep well.”

They get up with the sunrise and pack up. Pete watches Patrick sneak the little Nuka Cola truck into Joe’s bag. Then he watches Patrick discover the tomato sauce stain on the knee of his pants. He pulls a great annoyed face, and Pete has to turn away before his obvious attempts to muffle his sniggering give the game away.

Patrick uses his rifle scope to watch the Gunner outpost for a while before they make a break for it. They sneak through the trees, skirt around a small pond and then south into another pre-war holiday camp. They search through the cabins and caravan on principle and find a small cache of valuables and a pipe pistol that they just about find room for in their bags.

As they go to leave the cabin, Patrick stops dead and holds up a hand. They all listen intently, and sure enough Pete hears a soft scratching sound. It’s the sound of claws on hard packed earth.

“Fuck.” whispers Joe. “Not now.”

Patrick backs them all into the cabin again and pulls the door closed behind them. The wood is cracked and it’s only holding on by one hinge, so there’s no way it’ll stop anything truly determined to reach them, but at the very least it’ll keep them hidden for a little while longer and anything really big won’t be able to fit through without spending time making the hole larger which will give them time to wear it down with close-range shots. Nevertheless, Pete is uncomfortable with being stuck in a small, contained space while something with claws stalks around outside.

Andy tiptoes over to the closest window and peers out, checking his shotgun as he does. Joe takes a position at the window on the other side of the cabin and, in a move that makes Pete’s heart seize up in his chest, Patrick walks forward again to press his eye up against one of the cracks in the door. Pete is left alone and panicking in the middle of the room. He pulls his pistol out of the waistband of his pants and flicks the safety off.

After what seems like an absolute fucking eternity, Andy ducks down below the level of the window he’s been looking out of. “Yao-Guai!” he says.

Patrick backs away from the door, which lowers Pete’s racing heartbeat somewhat, but unfortunately a Yao-Guai isn’t so big that it couldn’t push its way inside and Pete feels like being trapped in a small single roomed, wooden holiday cabin with a large mutated bear and only one exit is the sort of thing that’s likely to put a serious crimp in his day.

“Just wait it out.” Joe hisses. “We’ll make a break for it once it leaves.”

From outside, the Yao-Guai roars.

From outside, another Yao-Guai answers.

“Fuck.” Joe says again.

Pete reaches out with his free hand and grabs Patrick’s. He hasn’t unslung his rifle yet, which is unsurprising. The modifications Patrick has made to it make it over three feet long and largely impractical for indoor use. Pete squeezes his hand tightly. Patrick squeezes back.

“Any ideas?” Andy asks. “We can’t just stay here. They’ll find us eventually.”

Pete looks between them all. Patrick is worrying his lower lip with his teeth, staring at the door as though he expects the Yao-Guai to burst through at any second. Andy is staring at Joe. Joe is thinking.

“How far away are these robots?” Joe asks. Nobody answers. Pete elbows Patrick to get his attention. He snaps back from wherever he had just been with a startled blink.

“Not far.” He says, “Just over the road, that way.” he nods in the right direction.

“You think they’ll fight if we kite two Yao-Guai into the middle of their farm?” Joe says.

Patrick blinks again. “Yes?” he replies, uncertain.

“Mr Handy robots are they?” Joe demands, “Do they still have the buzzsaws and flamethrowers or have they been completely fitted out for agricultural use? How many are there?”

Pete watches Patrick visibly try to drag himself out of his panic to answer all of Joe’s questions. “Yes,” he says again, sounding slightly more confident this time. “Yes, weapons. They still have their weapons. I don’t know how many - five or six maybe? It’s been a while since I was last there.”

“Okay then.” Joe says. “That’s the plan then. Make a break straight for the farm. If the Yao-Guai come along for the ride then we can use the robots to help fight. Is there any high ground we can use?”

“The overpass has collapsed.” Andy breaks in. “We could use that, but probably so can the Yao-Guai. We can maybe boost Patrick up to the roof of the greenhouse and hope it holds for him to use as a sniper's nest.”

Patrick looks down at himself. “I’m not at all confident in my ability to not immediately fall through a pre-war glass roof,” he says.

“Make straight for the overpass then.” Joe instructs. “Fingers crossed that there’s a bus or something up there.”

Patrick isn't built for speed. Patrick is built for lying very still on rooftops for long periods of time. He is very good at it, and it had been his job for years. Patrick will challenge anyone in the Wasteland to a ‘Lying Very Still On A Rooftop’ competition and feels completely justified in his confidence that he would emerge supreme.

The imagined trophy he would receive doesn’t help him with running away from two angry Yao-Guai.

Another thing that isn't helpful is running hand in hand over rough ground, downhill, with a human who would definitely crash out of the Lying Still championship in the first round, but is an absolute shoo-in for some kind of All-Commonwealth, All Terrain, Wastelander versus Yao-Guai steeplechase.

Patrick can tell that he's panicking, mainly because he's being chased by a couple of very, very large bears and his brain has done the mental equivalent of crawling under a desk with its hands over its ears and is making him think really hard about what color ribbons would decorate the handles of his imaginary trophy.

They reach a crest in the hill and suddenly the greenhouse of the Graygarden farm is below them, neat rows of mutfruit trees laid out in front of it being tended to by a few hovering Mr Handy robots. Behind him, something roars absolutely too close for Patrick’s comfort.

“Overpass!” Joe yells, and takes off for it, Andy following close behind and Patrick being dragged along by Pete. Something in his side twinges. He hopes it isn't anything vital.

They race past the robots in the farm, Joe yelling at them as they go, and scramble up the steep concrete slab of the collapsed road. Pete has to pull him up the final few feet, and Patrick prays that it means that it'll be too steep for the Yao-Guai to follow them up. As long as they can stay above them, they'll have a chance.

He unslings his rifle and climbs up onto the roof of a nearby car. He prefers shooting prone, but he's just as good while kneeling even if it makes his elbows ache if he has to hold the position for long periods.

He sights down the ramp, dragging his brain out from under its desk and into his sniper headspace.

He hears Joe shooting over the barriers at the side of the road, and thankfully the sound of robots entering the battle, the roar of their inbuilt flamethrowers competing with the roar of at least one bear.

A large, pinkish brown head appears at the foot of the ramp. Patrick fires on instinct. The Yao-Guai rears back, and Andy takes a shot at it, the echoing bang of his shotgun joining the quieter pops of Pete's pistol and the fizzle of Joe's laser.

Patrick ignores them all, and just shoots.

He returns when Pete presses a jubilant kiss to the corner of his mouth. “Hell yes!” Pete yells directly into his ear.

“We did it!” Joe says, jumping up to join Patrick on top of the car and slinging his arm around his shoulders. Patrick clutches at his rifle, and carefully clears the chamber before lowering the gun and returning Joe's hug.

They all carefully lower themselves back down to the ground where they find an overpowering smell of burnt hair, two dead Yao-Guai and five Mr Handy robots hovering sadly around a sixth that's lying in the middle of the mutfruit trees in a pile of broken pieces.

“Oh,” says Andy.

“Whoops,” says Pete.

“Are they…mourning?” asks Joe.

Patrick says, “We should probably just leave.”

They barter for a space by the campfire in the Tato farm on the strength of Joe's trustworthy face, Patrick’s Minuteman hat, a promise from Pete that someone would remain on watch the whole night and a large handful of .38 ammo and the better of the two pipe pistols dug out of Andy's bag. Patrick doesn’t miss the way Pete spends the entire conversation staring over at the river in a way that means he keeps his tattoo on the wrong side for the two settlers to spot.

The next morning, Patrick wakes before sunrise and sits upright, looking around. Pete is sitting a little way off on a tree stump, resting his chin on his knees with his eyes fixed on the distant Boston skyline.

Patrick gets to his feet quietly and ambles over, making sure not to wake Joe or Andy. He sits on the ground next to Pete, who immediately tips over to rest their heads together.

“You okay?” Patrick asks.

Pete just hums in reply. It's neither a yes or a no.

“It really will all be alright,” he says, “You really shouldn't worry.”

Pete shakes his head slowly. “I can’t help it.” he whispers. “I’m sorry.”

Patrick can tell that this is something Pete doesn’t want to talk about, so he reaches out and finds Pete’s hand. He grips it tightly and together they watch the sunrise over the ruins of Boston.

From the Tato farm, Diamond City is a relatively easy hike down the old train tracks to the outskirts of Boston.

They walk in companionable silence, dispatching a handful of Ferals who are still hanging around a crashed freight train almost before they can lurch to their feet. Andy's shotgun makes especially short work of them as they stagger around, buckshot ripping through their desiccated limbs and dropping them to the dusty ground.

Carrying on down the tracks, Andy leads them on a detour around the old road tunnel that has been a haunt of Raider gangs since before Patrick even thought of joining the Minutemen - he remembers his Dad complaining about them, even - and then there they are. The buildings are taller and densely packed this close to the center of Boston, most with boarded over windows, and Patrick feels itchy with the loss of decent sightlines. Being such a long-distance fighter meant his squad was rarely asked to patrol in the city, it’s not an environment he feels at all comfortable in unless he knows he’s safe in civilization.

They turn a corner and see the first painted sign. Pete makes a quiet, pained noise at the sight of it.

The gates of Diamond City are closed and guarded as they approach, and Andy can practically feel Pete getting stiffer and stiffer with nerves. “I can wait out here?” He whispers to Patrick.

“Don’t be an idiot.” Patrick hisses back. “We stick together, remember?”

Andy walks up to the gates, Pete mumbling “Fuck, fuck, fuck…” under his breath behind him. He doesn’t recognise the guard on duty, but it’s been years since he’s done anything more than visit the city. As the largest settlement in the area it’s constantly pulling in new residents. Maybe the people that Andy grew up with are still around - Ellie will be, it’ll take another nuclear war to move Ellie Perkins out of Diamond City - but he no longer knows everyone like he had as a child running the bases of the old baseball pitch.

“We’re here to trade.” he tells the Guard, gesturing at his full bag.

The Guard looks them over. Andy sees his gaze stop on Patrick’s ever-present Minuteman hat and Pete’s Gunner tattoo. His eyes narrow slightly, but he says nothing, just double checks everyone else. Andy gets the impression that one Gunner with other friends is fine, but four would be too many.

He punches the button for the intercom. “Open her up.” he says to someone on the other side. “Welcome to the Great Green Jewel, gentlemen. Traders are in the Marketplace, straight ahead.”

Slowly, creakily, the gate opens.

They’ve made it to Diamond City.

The first thing they see is a familiar child selling newspapers. She’s yelling about Synths, which makes Andy wince. He hurries everyone past her for the moment and heads to the Dugout Inn. Hopefully being indoors will mean that Pete loses the freaked-out hunted look for a while. He makes a mental note to try and find him another hat while they’re here - He’s sure someone will have one for sale somewhere.

The two brothers running the Dugout are still comfortably weird, and Andy barters for a round of drinks and two rooms for the night. They’re still flush with caps and trade goods from taking down the Gunners so splurging on a real bed now they’re back in civilization won’t break the bank.

“Stay here?” he tells Pete and Joe. “There’s a couple of people Patrick and I need to talk to.”

Pete, carefully sat in a corner and angled so his tattoo is hidden, nods. Patrick gives him a fond look and stands up to brush a kiss against his temple. “We won't be long,” he says. “Have some drinks. Maybe you could answer some of Joe's questions? I'm sure he's got a few.”

To Andy’s practiced eye, Joe has more than a few questions. He says instead, “When we get back with some answers we'll make our plan.”

“When were you last here?” Patrick asks him as they leave the Dugout.

“Six months or so, maybe.” Andy replies, “I'd been out of the Commonwealth on that trip for about a month when we met, and that was the second run I'd done back to back. Before that I'd spent a bit of time helping out around the office. What about you?”

Patrick hesitates for a moment and then pulls off his hat to scratch at his scalp. It's a nervous habit he has, Andy has noticed - if someone makes him think about his past, he'll fiddle with the hat. “Just before fucking Quincy.” He says finally. “We came on our last bit of leave before we got the alert.”

Andy nods and Patrick jams his hat back onto his head. “Who are we going to see first?” he asks, changing the subject as they turn the corner back into the main marketplace.

“There's a couple of old friends in town who always have the latest news and I want to check in with them first before we hear Piper's version.” Andy explains.

“Jesus, is she still writing that newspaper?” Patrick laughs, “I thought the mayor would have kicked her out ages ago. I remember all that fuss about her story about how the city guard had been infiltrated by ‘subversive elements’”

Andy pinches at the bridge of his nose. “Well…” he starts.

Patrick raises his eyebrows. “Oh.”

“Yeah. So. She's sometimes right on accident?”

They turn another corner into a narrow street.

“Hang on,” Patrick says, obviously recognising where they are, “Is one of your old friends Nick fucking Valentine?”

Andy grins.

Patrick has never met Nick Valentine - he's never needed a detective. He spent his entire adult life in the Commonwealth as a Minuteman and they were generally able to solve any problems that he had by shooting at them. Most of the times he's been in Diamond City before had been entirely spent in bed with a bottle of Bobrov's Best moonshine and whoever he could convince to share them with him.

Everyone in the fucking Commonwealth knows about Nick though. The only Synth allowed to live in the Great Green Jewel of Diamond City, the last Detective.

He's actually surprised to find that he's nervous. For all that Andy has said about Synths, and for all that Patrick is very definitely against slavery and therefore vaguely behind the Railroad’s general goal of freeing Synths from the Institute so that they can live as happy and normal life as anyone gets in the Wasteland, he's never knowingly met a Synth.

Most of them are completely indistinguishable from natural born humans as far as he knows - that's why so many people are scared of them - but Nick is different. Obviously mechanical in appearance, but with a human personality with wants and dislikes. A robot with a soul.

The person who looks up from the desk as they enter the office definitely isn't Nick though. She's a pretty woman around their age who looks up from a pile of paperwork with narrowed eyes for a moment before beaming a truly lovely smile at them.

“Andy!” She says happily, standing up and leaning over her desk to tug Andy into a slightly-more-than-strictly friendly hug. “Gosh, it's been a while!”

“Hi Ellie. Great to see you too.” Andy says, patting her awkwardly on the back, “This is my friend Patrick.”

Ellie pulls away from Andy and studies him with a look that makes Patrick think that Ellie now knows every single one of his most private thoughts. Since an awful lot of those currently involve Pete taking his pants off, he can feel himself blush immediately.

“Hello, Patrick.” Ellie says, holding out her hand for Patrick to shake. “A new friend, Andy?”

Andy shakes his head “We met while I was off on my last trip.” he replies. “We got talking.”

Ellie regards him again, and not for the first time Patrick thinks that he would make a terrible secret agent. He'd never be able to cope with all the doublespeak involved.

“Not that it's not great to see you, but I was hoping to have a word with Nick as well.” Andy continues, “Is he around?”

Ellie pulls a disgruntled face, “He's off on a case.” She replies, “He's been gone a while. I was going to start sending out a search party. I don't suppose you'd be interested?”

Andy sighs. “We've already got enough problems, I'm afraid.”

“Darn. Know anyone who wants a job?”

Patrick raises a slightly embarrassed finger. “Maybe?” He says, “He'll do pretty much anything for the right amount of caps. He's trustworthy as long as he gets his fee.”

Andy shoots him a glance. “Who?”

Patrick shrugs, “A guy I know in Goodneighbor. Mercenary type. If he's still there, and you can pay him, I'll let him know you've got a job.” He looks over at Andy, “We've got to go that way anyway, right?”

Ellie purses her lips, considering. “Sure.” She says eventually, “Send him over for the info. If he can do the job, I can pay. Tell him a hundred fifty caps flat if he brings Nick back, no bargaining.”

“I'll see what I can do.” Patrick says. “He owes me a favor anyway.”

Andy taps his knuckles on Ellie's desk. “Maybe you can give us some information instead,” he says, “I know you've always got your ear to the ground just as much as Nick does.”

Ellie sits back down in her chair, “I should have known you weren't here just to catch up.” she sighs.

Andy smiles sadly at her. “Tell us about the Minutemen.”

“A Baseball stadium?” Joe asks.

“A defensible structure with high walls around an open space.” Pete shrugs, “Why wouldn't people build here?”

Joe shrugs. “I’ve seen weirder,” he says, taking a drink. Andy bought them a bottle of home-made moonshine that tastes like Tato flavored battery acid. Joe coughs.

Pete watches him process the entire experience of drinking the Bobrov brother’s homemade alcohol. First, the immediate disgust as it hits his tastebuds. Then, confusion as he swallows and the drink that should by all rights feel like swallowing barbed wire actually feels smooth. Eventually, he watches Joe come to the terrifying realization that he actually liked it. Joe takes another sip.

Finally Joe says, “In the Capitol Wasteland there was a settlement on an old boat. An aircraft carrier on the river.”

“Nice.” Pete says, “Good defenses.”

“Who do you think Andy’s meeting up with?” Joe asks, pouring another shot. “I didn’t think he’d have many… friends… here.”

Even Pete can pick up on the clumsy euphemism. He shrugs. “I didn’t exactly spend much time around here.” he says, “but everyone in the Commonwealth knows about Nick Valentine - even the sort of people I used to hang out with.”

“Tell me,” Joe says, sitting forward in his chair and resting on his crossed arms, “about Nick Valentine.”

Pete laughs, “Well, I’ve never met him either.” he says, “When the fuck would I have met the Great Synth Detective?”

“A Synth Detective?” Joe repeats, “like, what does that even mean?”

“Exactly what it sounds like, I guess.” Pete shrugs. “He’s a Synth - one of the really old fashioned ones that don’t look like people - and a detective. He finds people, and things, solves mysteries. You know, like before the war.”

Joe sends him an incredibly sarcastic look. “Thanks for clearing that up.” he says.

Pete shrugs again.

“So,” Joe says, leaning back in his seat and cradling his glass of moonshine. “We’re here, drinking in the remains of a Baseball stadium changing room, waiting for our respective boyfriends to return from questioning a robot detective about the potential return of a Militia force everyone thought was wiped out a year ago and the sudden appearance of an airship flown by overly armed morons from the ruins of Washington DC. Did I get that right?”

Pete squirms a little in his seat, torn between the dull leaden feeling that he gets every time someone brings up Quincy and a sparkly effervescent one that comes from Joe referring to Patrick as his boyfriend. “Yes?” he replies.

“Excellent.” Joe says, taking another drink and pulling the exact same series of faces as last time. “I was worried our lives would get boring once we got here.”

Chapter Text

Ellie directs a pointed look at Patrick’s hat. “The Minutemen?” She says. “Don't you already know?”

Patrick rubs a hand over his face, nudging his glasses up to his eyebrows. “I've been away for a while.” He admits.

Ellie's suspicious expression collapses into one of sympathy. “Oh, I'm so sorry.” She says, reaching out a hand to pat at his sleeve. “Well,” she continues, “From what I've heard there's a group who are helping settlers up to the north. They made it out of Quincy and settled up near Concord.”

“Actual Minutemen?” Patrick demands.

Ellie shrugs. “That's what they're saying.”

“Are they saying who?”

She shakes her head. “I haven't heard any names.” She admits, “But they seem like the real deal - at the very least I'm getting reports that whoever they are took out one of the big Raider gangs from out of Lexington, so they're definitely acting like they are.”

Patrick swallows past the sudden lump in his throat. “Right.” He says weakly.

Andy puts his hand on his shoulder and squeezes. “Anything else happening we should know about?” He asks Ellie.

“You mean like the big airship that came over a few days ago?”

Andy blows out a long breath. “Yeah, we saw that too.”

Ellie leans forward, resting her elbows on the desk. “Then you probably know as much as I do. They said they're the Brotherhood of Steel, and I'm inclined to believe them. They docked over the old airport and a couple of the outer guards said they've caught sight of Vertibirds flying around. No reports of any troops on the ground yet, but you know the rumors as well as I do, so it's probably only a matter of time until we have morons in power armor wandering around.”

“Fuck.” Andy says succinctly. Patrick can tell that he's thinking about Joe.

“Yeah.” Ellie says. “Of course, some people are saying that it's a good thing - someone with enough firepower to take out the gangs, mutants and Ferals…”

“Humm…” Andy sighs noncommittally.

“Well, other than that, Piper has a bee in her bonnet about Synths again, Mayor Hancock in Goodneighbor still hasn't been overthrown by that bodyguard of his, Doc Weathers has taken over the medic trade route from Bunker Hill and Scarlett and Travis still haven't got their act together. Honestly, apart from the Minutemen and the airship, it's been quiet.”

After they say their goodbyes to Ellie, Andy leads them back out to the Marketplace and over to the newspaper office. Piper’s kid sister is still yelling about Synths too loudly for Andy’s comfort - he’s spent far too long speaking in codes and euphemisms to not react when someone just says these things out in the open.

Nat trails to a stop as they approach her. She narrows her eyes at them suspiciously. “You gonna complain?” she demands.

Andy ignores her. “Where’s Piper?” he asks.

She wrinkles her nose. “Why?”

“Nat.” Andy sighs. “I need to talk to Piper. Is she inside?”

Nat rolls her eyes. “Yes, Andy,” she says, dragging his name out, “She’s inside.” she jerks her head back to the office and immediately turns back to the important business of selling newspapers.

Andy pushes open the door behind Nat and walks into the office. Piper is sitting at her terminal, typing. She looks up as they enter and squints at them suspiciously. “Complaints go in that box over there.” she says, pointing at a wastepaper basket.

“No complaints, Piper. What have you heard about the Minutemen?”

“All dead at Quincy, last I heard.” she says brightly, and then obviously notices Patrick’s ever-present hat. “Oh. Shit. Sorry.”

Beside him, Patrick shrugs. “Not like I didn’t know.” he says in a strained tone.

“I’m hearing that they might be reforming.” Andy says, “What do you know about that?”

Piper swivels around on her chair to face them fully. “You gonna give me something in return, Andy?”

“I don’t know anything yet, Piper, that’s why I’m asking you.”

Piper laughs, “Yeah, but I bet you know an awful lot about other subjects that might be of interest to my readers…”

Andy waits for a slow beat and then says, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Talking to Piper is like playing some kind of very complicated game. It’s never been Andy’s favorite thing to do. The thought suddenly occurs to him that this kind of conversation would be perfect for Joe. He’d love to see if Joe’s talent for planning out all sides in a discussion would survive a close encounter with Piper Wright.

Piper laughs again, and then says, “Alright, but only because of your adorable friend. You gonna let me buy you a drink later so I can apologize properly?”

Andy doesn’t need to look at him to know that Patrick has just turned bright red. Again.

“Piper.” he says, warningly. “Stop it.”

“Hmmm… He doesn’t look like your usual type, Andy.” Piper says, “You were always all about the brunettes as far as I remember.”

“The Minutemen, Piper. Please.”

“Ooh, Andy Hurley says ‘Please’, this must be serious… Okay, okay. Here’s what I really know… About six months ago I started hearing from the traders out of Bunker Hill that some Minutemen had survived Quincy. They’d set up near Concord and had started recruiting again. Mainly farmers and settlers, but then a few of the gate guards quit and went up to see if they could join up.

“Then we started hearing that they had started patrolling again - just close to Concord, but there’s enough little farms up there that always need help that the news started to spread. I haven’t heard any specifics, but like I said, there’s been enough reports of Minutemen that I’m inclined to believe them. Whether they’re part of the original force, I couldn’t tell you, but even if they’re not, it certainly seems like it.”

Andy nods, that seems to track with the information from Ellie so it’s probably as accurate as anything can be in the Commonwealth. “Thanks, Piper.” he says.

“So, you gonna be in town long boys?” Piper asks, grinning at Patrick.

“Leaving tomorrow.” Andy replies quickly, and ushers Patrick out of the office and back into the Diamond City marketplace away from Piper’s flirtations.

“The Minutemen are back.” Patrick says as they walk back to the bar. He doesn’t sound like he entirely believes it, but that could just be the residual shock from meeting Piper for the first time.

“Sounds like it.” Andy says. “I’ve got one more source to ask. He might know more, but he’s not in Diamond City. We’ll head for Goodneighbor tomorrow morning and after that we can go and check in with my other friends. They’ll hopefully know where he is at the very least.”

Between them, Joe and Pete have managed to drink at least half the bottle of moonshine by the time Andy and Patrick return. Joe is disturbed to discover that the taste is growing on him.

“We should talk in private.” Andy says under his breath as he walks up to their table.

Joe scoops up the bottle and they all troop off to one of their rented rooms.

“I think they might be back.” Patrick says, apparently to the wood of the door he’s just shut. Pete puts his hand on his shoulder and steers him over to the bed.

Joe collapses onto the small couch. It’s not long enough to properly lie down on it, so he ends up sprawled across it with both feet still on the floor. Andy rolls his eyes at him and takes a seat at the desk.

“What about the Brotherhood?” Joe asks.

“No reports of troops on the ground yet.” Andy says.

“There will be.” Joe says, “That’s what they always do.”

“Ellie said that some people are hoping they’ll help with the Raiders and Ferals.” sighs Andy. “Maybe we should just let them.”

Joe blinks at the thought. It percolates drippily through his mind. Yes, he thinks, the Brotherhood probably will help with that. And then… And then they won't help with anything else. Fuck.

“They won't stop there.” Joe says, jumping to his feet. He can’t have this conversation lying on a couch. He has to move, so he starts pacing up and down the cramped room. “Do they seem like they will? Sure, I mean it's Raiders and Ferals today, but tomorrow they'll come for regular Ghouls, because they're different.”

He waves a hand at Andy, still sitting at the desk in the corner. “Tomorrow they'll come for Synths, because they won't think they're even people. They'll tell everyone they're doing all this because they're keeping them safe, so they should help them - just give us your Razorgrain crop, just give us your laser rifle, just give us your whole fucking farm, and we'll keep you safe from those Ghouls who were your fucking neighbours last month.” he heaves a deep, gaspy breath and turns again to find Andy behind him, ready to scoop him up into his arms and pull Joe's head against his shoulder.

“What do I do?” Joe whispers into his ear. “They're coming, and I can't stop them.”

“Nobody said you have to.” Andy murmurs back.

Joe pushes away from him, slipping out of Andy's arms. “Then who will?” He demands.

From behind him, Patrick says “The Minutemen,” in a quiet voice.

Joe whirls around to face him, sat on the bed with Pete so close they're touching from ankles to shoulders. “You're that sure they're the real deal?”

Patrick shrugs. “Maybe.” He says, still quietly. “I want to know who's in charge, but if Andy's friends are right they're certainly acting like the real thing. They wiped out a Raider gang up north.”

“A Raider gang is one thing, Patrick. This is the Brotherhood of Steel. They have power armor and more firepower than you can possibly imagine.”

The look Patrick gives him at that is something to behold. There is absolutely no arguing with a look like that. “Artillery cannons.” He says in a voice like iron. Beside him, Pete shivers. Joe would probably shiver too if he was that close to Patrick right now. “The Minutemen once had Artillery cannons.”

“Once?” Joe echoes, “They're barely a force. It's still all just a fucking rumor. You said it yourself, you're not even sure it's true. We can't just pin all our hopes on a rumor. The Brotherhood are already here.”

Patrick jumps to his feet so quickly that Pete half-collapses sideways. “Then what's your fucking plan Joe!?” He demands, “The Brotherhood are as big a threat as you say, sure. We can't let them take over the Commonwealth, but come on then, you said it yourself, who will stop them?” He flings out a hand towards Andy, “The fucking Railroad? The Institute? Or are you just hoping that the Gunners will have a change of heart?”

Joe stares at him. The last time he saw Patrick this angry, Pete had been bleeding out from two gunshot wounds to his knees between them. He opens his mouth to say something, but for once nothing comes out.

From the bed behind Patrick, Pete says, “Why does it have to be us at all?” He sounds lost and sad. “Why can't we just get the farm and the Brahmin and the little house?”

Joe turns to him, and says just as sadly, “Because the Brotherhood will come and take it.”

Pete closes the door behind Joe and Andy and turns to Patrick. He's sitting on the edge of the bed, hunched forward over his knees with his hands tangled in his hair. Pete takes a couple of steps across the room to stand close in front of him and smooths a hand across his head. Patrick slumps forward even more and rests his forehead on Pete's stomach. He breathes deeply. Pete feels the puff of air through the gap between his pants and his shirt. He shivers uncontrollably with it. Patrick generally doesn't have to do much except just exist for Pete to be turned on by him, and quite frankly, having his mouth that close to his groin in a private, locked room is more than Pete's libido can resist.

He strokes through Patrick’s hair, just feeling his dick get harder with every one of his exhaled breaths. He's not exactly intending on doing anything with it - he's just relishing the feeling. It's just nice to feel that thick, syrupy, horny sensation somewhere he can just appreciate it.

Patrick says “Pete,” muffled against his belly, and one of his hands curves around to cup Pete's ass. Pete shivers again as his cock presses more firmly against the fly of his pants.

“Pete.” Patrick says again, his fingers dipping slightly under his waistband. His other hand shoves at the hem of Pete's shirt, pushing it up just enough that Patrick's lips met the sensitive skin of his lower stomach.

Pete's eyes shut without conscious thought, and he cups the back of Patrick's head more firmly, holding him in place.

“Pete.” Patrick whispers.

In reply, Pete only makes a shaky, pleading sound. They haven't done this since the inn at Spencer’s Fair after the Gunners, sleeping too close to Andy and Joe out in the Wasteland for anyone to start anything. Pete wouldn't call himself insatiable by any means - he's spent years between sexual encounters before now, easily subsisting on his own right hand and his imagination - but fucking hell, Patrick is the most beautiful person he's ever seen and he loves him so much and Pete can feel the clutch of Patrick’s fingers digging into the muscle of his ass, pulling him closer to the mouth he had wet dreams about before they even spoke a single word to each other and his dick already feels like it's about to explode just from this…

Patrick opens his mouth and touches his tongue to the skin between his shirt and pants and that's all he can take. His eyes fly open and he shoves Patrick back onto the mattress and climbs on top, spreading his legs to fit his knees either side of Patrick’s perfect thighs. Pete drags off his shirt, not even bothering to unbutton it, just pulling it up over his head and throwing it behind him, forgotten. He reels Patrick back in for a kiss, hot and possessive, tongues and teeth. Patrick grabs back at him, wrapping his arms around him, across his shoulders and into his hair.

Pete grinds down, and Patrick gasps into the kiss. Once again, Pete just can't believe he's here, they're here, like this. It’s impossible, surely. Pete absolutely, positively doesn’t deserve this. Frankly, he hasn't deserved a single wonderful thing that has happened to him since he blinked into consciousness to find Joe staring down at him but it's somehow still happening. A new life, new friends, he's escaped the Gunners, Commander Kingston will never make him listen to radio signals until his eyes roll back and his hands shake again, he has a future he's finally looking forward to. He has Patrick, Patrick, Patrick.

It slips out of him, “Patrick,” he groans between kisses. “Oh fuck, oh God. Please. Please.”

Patrick’s breath hitches with a broken sob. “Pete…” he says, “...love, fuck, fuck, I love you.” he starts smearing kisses down Pete's cheek to his neck and Pete tips his head back to allow Patrick access to the spot under his chin, to the secret scar there. “How is this possible?” Patrick asks, muffled, echoing Pete's own thoughts.

Those wet-dream lips find the exact place Patrick once held a knife to and Pete’s hands spasm, immediately finding the button fly of Patrick’s jeans and flicking them open one by one. Pete digs his hand through the gap and finds the hot, slick length of Patrick’s erection, smoothing a hand down it in one long delicious stroke that introduces the barest edge of teeth to the skin of his throat. Pete's head spins with the sensation. He's been hard since he shut the door but he's so close now that it's ridiculous.

Suddenly, Patrick wrenches his face away from his neck and flips them, pushing Pete down to the bed on his back and sliding down to attack Pete's pants with determination. He swallows him down as soon as his cock hits the air of the room and Pete’s back arches up as he cries out and scrabbles at Patrick’s hair.

“I love you.” He gasps out, staring blankly up at the cracked ceiling. It's the truest thing he knows. “I love you. Patrick. How are you real? Oh. Oh…” a curl of Patrick’s tongue has him right on edge and as his throat constricts around him Pete sees stars. He floats in this perfect place for a while, the only thing he can feel is Patrick, Patricks’s mouth, his hands, the weight of him pushing him down into the mattress and keeping him grounded.

“Love you.” Pete manages again, just before he comes, one hand dug into the fine strands of Patrick’s hair, the other lying useless by his head. Every orgasm Patrick gives him is better than the last and this one feels like scratching an itch he hasn't been able to reach on his own for his entire life. It's brain melting pleasure and sheer relief at the same time. He drags in a shaking breath, unable to process the sensation for a moment.

Patrick sucks at his softening cock for a little while as he returns back down from the stars.

Eventually, Patrick pulls off and sits up, shuffling around so that he can straddle Pete’s lap. Pete stares up at him, and slides his hand up the outside of Patrick’s thigh, scratching his nails against the rough fabric of his tight jeans. Patrick groans loudly and shoves his hand into his pants, pulling out his cock and stroking it, never taking his eyes from Pete.

Pete moves to help, to take over from him, to get his hands on Patrick’s beautiful dick for himself, but Patrick shakes his head. “Like this.” he says, “Just like this.” and starts jerking himself in earnest, “Oh fuck… You just lie there and look pretty.”

Something in Pete just melts at that, the idea that he has this effect on Patrick is just so arousing that he’d be hard again just at the idea if he still hadn’t been recovering from the most satisfying orgasm of his life. He can’t help but touch him more, one hand on his ass and one coming up to cup Patrick’s cheek. They stare at each other for a long moment, the only movement between them from Patrick’s hand. Patrick’s blue-green eyes finally flutter closed on a breathy moan as he turns his head into Pete’s palm and opens his mouth to suck in Pete’s thumb.

“Oh Jesus.” Pete says. The visual alone has his cock twitching valiantly. Patrick keeps his rhythm going, stroking himself while fellating Pete’s fingers. He makes little “Uh, uh.” noises that mean that he’s close. His hips start snapping forward and Pete moves his hand to dig into the muscle of his ass, pulling him back and forth as Patrick works his hand. Just from this, Pete thinks. Patrick is going to come just from this. He keeps his eyes glued to that beautiful face, desperate not to miss a single thing.

Finally, Patrick opens his mouth to release Pete’s thumb and throws his head back. He makes a sound that will live in Pete’s memory for a very long time, a groan, a grunt, a moan, a gasp all wrapped up together in a release of tension that has Patrick spill across Pete’s chest and up to his mouth.

Pete waits until Patrick is looking at him and then licks his lips. It’s a calculated, dirty move, but Pete doesn’t give a shit. Not when it makes Patrick say “Oh fuck…” in an absolutely broken voice and kiss him like Pete’s lips are the only thing keeping him alive.

They curl up together on the single mattress, covered by both their blankets. Pete tugs Patrick’s one up over their heads and pretends that they are the only people left in the entire Wasteland.

“Have you changed your mind?” Pete whispers. Neither of them have bothered to turn off the light, so Patrick’s face is still visible in the gloom of their shared space. Patrick has his eyes closed, but the corners of his mouth pinch as though he’s in pain. The hand he has wrapped around Pete’s ribs flexes open and then closes tightly. Pete knows without asking that they’re thinking of exactly the same moment.

“No.” Patrick says eventually. “No, I meant what I said. I’m not going back. Not now.” He opens his eyes to look at Pete sadly. “Not after you. I’m yours now, not theirs.”

Something in Pete’s chest unknots slightly with that, and he pushes himself closer to kiss him.

“But.” Patrick continues, once Pete has pulled back. “But, with this Brotherhood arriving, and the whole mess with the Gunners… Pete. We have to do something. Joe’s right. I want our farm more than almost anything I have wanted before, but there’s no point in it if someone could just come and take it all away at any moment.”

Pete blinks at him. “There's Raiders.” He says, “Raiders and Deathclaws and Ferals and, and just stupid fucking accidents that could take it away. Unless you think the four of us can cleanse the entire Commonwealth there will always be something. We don't need to go inviting trouble.”

“All I want is this. Us. Joe and Andy. The farm. But I don't want to spend my life waiting for someone to ruin it.”

Pete sighs and shuffles forward, tipping his head down so that Patrick can press a kiss to his hairline. “We could leave.” He mumbles. “Leave the Commonwealth. Find somewhere else where none of this will find us.”

“Pete…” Patrick says softly. He already knows what Patrick is going to say, so he lifts his head up and tries to kiss the words from his mouth. He tries to make it deep enough to take all of Patrick’s heroic ideas, but Patrick gentles it to something that makes Pete feel as though he could cry with the emotions it brings.

“Andy won't leave the Railroad.” Patrick says when they finally part. “Joe won't leave Andy, and we won't leave either of them. There's so much here that's wrong. We can help. We have to help.”

Pete laughs at that. It comes out hollow. “Help.” He says. “I haven't fucking helped anyone in my entire life. I'm usually the person who people need help because of.”

“You helped me.” Patrick replies, calmly certain. It does nothing to help the prickle of tears forming at the corners of Pete's eyes.

“I got you blown up.” Pete says, because he feels masochistic enough to force himself to think of the worst moment of his entire life right now. “You almost died. I thought you had. That's the exact opposite of helping anyone.”

Patrick strokes a hand through his hair. “I'm still here.” He says. “I love you. I'm yours, you're mine and I want to spend the rest of my life with you, but Pete, we can't do that if we're always going to be looking over our shoulders for the next worst thing to happen. I can't do that if I knew I walked away from people who needed me for a second time. I don't want to rejoin the Minutemen but I can't ignore the reason I signed up in the first place. Let's go and see the Railroad with Andy. Let's check out the Minutemen. If there's something we can do, we should do it.”

Neither of them say anything for a long time.

“Sometimes,” Pete admits finally, quietly, “I just want everything to stop. I just want to sleep… for a very long time. I just want to stop feeling so guilty all the time.”

Patrick doesn't reply, but he continues stroking a gentle hand over Pete's head. Pete swallows deeply. “When we fought Durrant in that office. After. After you… after we, well. After that. I thought I must be dying. I thought I was still at that farm, dying from those gunshots, because I didn't believe that anything that wonderful could ever happen to me. I thought you were all a dream, because how in the hell would a Gunner deserve that? I thought I'd made you up because I was dying. Sometimes… sometimes I still do.”

“Oh, Pete…” says Patrick, pressing a kiss to his forehead, right over his fucking tattoo.

Pete doesn't reply. He's too busy making sure that Patrick doesn't see him cry.

They leave Diamond City early the next morning. They have a brief discussion over breakfast about the best way of crossing the city before coming to the depressing conclusion that braving the riverside path will probably be the quickest route. Patrick absolutely vetoes the more direct path through the Boston ruins and the route south of the city is both an unknown risk and so circuitous that it will take them days out of their way.

So much for all their hard work avoiding the Raiders and mutants by using the train tracks, Andy thinks.

The day is a series of contrasts. They take on a thankfully small handful of Supermutants who have somehow dug themselves into a destroyed building just around the corner from the gates of Diamond City with help from a couple of very surprised guards and a small laggy turret that doesn't do much except almost catch one of the guards in the leg when he dives in front of it and helps to keep the mutants pinned down in one place so that Joe and Patrick can pick them off one by one.

After that, they hit the river and find a Mirelurk nest with a freshly dead Mirelurk slumped over a small clutch of eggs. Patrick immediately splashes his way into the shallow water at the edge of the river and carves up the choicest cuts of meat with Pete's combat knife.

Andy leans over the wall alongside Joe and watches Patrick and Pete argue good-naturedly about the best way to crack into the shell.

“We gonna see the Railroad soon?” Joe asks. They haven't spoken about the Railroad for a long time, not really, not beyond the hope that they'll have a location for them to set up their farm.

Andy turns his back on the river and looks over at Joe, “After we visit Goodneighbor.” he says. “The church is just around the corner from there - that's where the survivors will have gone.”

“Patrick is going to want to check out these Minutemen, isn't he?”

“Yeah.” Andy sighs.

Joe nods slowly. Andy knows him well enough now that he can practically see him slotting this new information into place. He reaches out and pulls him into a kiss just because he can. It's a lovely sunny day, below them on the shore, Pete and Patrick are laughing, splashing each other in the shallow river and he has Joe right where he wants him. No matter what happens next - with the Railroad, with the Brotherhood of Steel or the Minutemen - right now, Andy feels almost excruciatingly happy.

Obviously, half an hour later they get shot at by a gang of Raiders.

Joe makes a noise like a startled bird as a bullet whizzes over his head, so close that Andy thinks he sees Joe's hair ruffle. He reaches out and grabs a handful of his jacket, dragging him back behind the miniscule cover of a low brick wall.

“What the fuck!?” Joe wheezes. Beside him, practically underneath him, Patrick already has his rifle out.

Pete chances a look around the side of the wall and immediately gets dragged back by three sets of panicked hands who all vividly remember what happened the last time Pete did something similar.

“Do not fucking do that!” hisses Patrick, “I swear, if you get shot again I'll have a heart attack.”

Pete rolls his eyes and says, “There's one under the porch of the bank, and at least one on the back of the truck.”

Patrick leans forward, dislodging Joe and peering around the corner away from the Raiders. “I'm gonna go up that fire escape,” He says, “and get above them. If you can draw them out I can pick them off.”

Pete squawks Patrick's name at that, but Patrick just checks his gun and says, “I'm useless down here. No good sightlines. Cover me.”

With that, Joe sticks his gun over the top of the wall and fires blindly towards the Raiders. Patrick darts down the alleyway off to their left, ducking low against the returning shots and disappearing from view. Pete makes a high pitched noise at the back of his throat.

They hear the clanging of Patrick’s footsteps as he climbs up the fire escape, and Joe says “Andy, Pete, you try getting the one in front who's under cover. I'll concentrate on the ones at the back.”

Eventually, through a combination of lucky shots, good shots and some of the most hilariously creative insults Andy has ever heard yelled over the brick wall by Pete, they manage to dispatch the Raiders. They go through their pockets as they wait for Patrick to make his way back down from the rooftops. One of the Raiders was carrying more than enough doses of Jet to pay for their hotel rooms in Goodneighbor, which puts everyone in a good mood right up until Patrick staggers down a completely different fire escape with the beginnings of a really impressive black eye and blood dripping from an obviously broken nose.

Pete, predictably, freaks the fuck out.

“Patrick! Patrick, what the fuck? Oh Christ, are you alright? How many fingers am I holding up? Do you need to lie down? Joe! Get me a Stimpack!”

Patrick bats away Pete’s flapping hands. Despite his question, he's not actually holding up any fingers.

“I'mb find.” Patrick mumbles snottily. “Pede. Schtop id.”

Joe drops a Stimpack into Pete's hand as it passes by him on its way to fuss over Patrick some more.

There's a brief, half-hearted slap fight before Patrick reluctantly allows Pete to inject the Stimpack into his neck.

Thirty seconds later, Patrick clears his nose with a repulsive honking, snerking noise that makes even Pete look a little disgusted with him and then spits a mouthful of blood onto the concrete path.

“What happened?” Pete demands, rallying well from the effect of the gross sound.

Patrick rubs at the still damp blood on his chin with the relatively clean cuff of his shirt. “Raider on the roof.” He explains, “Came from behind and hit me with a fucking rolling pin, what the shit?” He looks down at himself - there's more blood on his jacket that can be expected from a nosebleed. “Fuck, I'm gonna need a new coat.”

“What happened after he hit you!?” Pete says, still determined to panic. “Is that all your blood!?”

Patrick gives Pete a look and gestures for Pete's hand. Pete gingerly holds it out and Patrick slaps Pete's combat knife into it hilt first. The blade is still…drippy. “Thanks for the loan.” He says dryly.

To Andy's internal horror, Pete looks down at the knife, and then back up at Patrick with an expression on his face that Andy can only describe as creepy, bewildered lust.

“Right,” says Joe, hurriedly, “let's go.”

“Is that a Feral out there on that raft?” Joe asks.

Patrick pulls his rifle out again. “Not for long…” he says.

“Unf.” Pete manages, as Patrick takes the shot. The Feral gently topples over and splashes into the river.

They can’t get to Goodneighbor fast enough for Andy.

“Oh God,” Patrick says, as they pass the group of weirdos in the strange building in the little park. “Don't tell me that cult is still going.”

“Don’t make eye contact.” Andy suggests. “They’ll try and recruit you.”

Pete looks thoughtful. Patrick grabs his wrist firmly and drags him away. Pete, if anything, looks more thoughtful.

Joe leans closer to him and whispers, “We should demand a room on a completely separate floor from those two tonight.” Andy agrees completely.

They turn off the road by the river and make for Goodneighbor, climbing over piles of rubble and ducking down alleyways until they arrive at the underwhelming gate stuck down an unassuming alleyway that is the entrance to the settlement. Andy looks around at everyone.

Joe blinks.

Pete shrugs.

Patrick nods.

Andy pushes open the gate.

Chapter Text

A few people eye them suspiciously as they enter Goodneighbor, but nobody comments. Patrick vaguely recognises a woman in the small crowd with half shaved ginger hair, but couldn't name her - he hasn’t exactly been a regular visitor in town. Minutemen don’t tend to be - but KL-E-0, the terrifying Assaultron robot that somehow runs the weapon’s store usually has some of the best gear available in the Commonwealth, so Patrick had usually tried to stop by every time he had been in the area.

Patrick’s father had been a frequent visitor to Goodneighbor and KL-E-0 had given him a great discount on an excellent night-vision scope the first time he had been brave enough to shop there, after the single red laser crystal set into her head had focused on him and she had said in a mechanically synthesized, but somehow completely human voice “You must be David Stump’s son.”

Today she calls out, “Mr Stump and Mr Hurley. It must be my lucky day.”

Patrick has had a few years now to get over the weirdness of being flirted with by a robot, so he just raises a hand and waves. “Hey KL-E-0, good to see you!”

Pete stiffens beside him. “That’s an Assaultron!” he hisses anxiously, as though it was possible to miss a six-foot tall armored killing machine shouting at them.

“Don’t stare!” Patrick hisses back. He gets the sudden feeling that he doesn’t want to introduce Pete to KL-E-0. Once Pete gets over the shock, he imagines that their combined tendency towards innuendo wouldn’t be survivable.

Andy steers them all through the collection of drifters, gangsters, junkies and traders hanging around, past the two little shops at the entrance and down the alleyway that leads them into the main square of town.

“I should try and find the guy I told Ellie about.” Patrick says as they arrive at the door that leads to the underground bar.

Joe looks around at the residents of Goodneighbor. “I think we’ll come with you.” he says nervously.

The bar is underground - literally. Joe has never had a particularly good relationship with metro stations, but unlike the ones in the Capitol Wasteland, this one at least isn’t full of Ghouls.

Well, he considers, it is full of Ghouls, but the type of Ghouls who can carry out normal conversations, drink terrible beer and play pool - the ones that are around 90% less likely to run towards him and try to rip his throat out with their teeth. There’s a Ghoul in a red coat leaning up against a wall by the small stage grinning at him widely that he’s not all that sure about.

Andy negotiates with a Mr Handy floating behind the bar for four dusty bottles of beer and hands them out. Patrick takes a large drink and leans over to talk to the robot.

“Is Macready around?”

The Mr Handy, who has a truly hilarious small bowler hat balanced on its large, round head, swivels its eye around to face Patrick. “Minuteman, ain’t ya?” it replies in an entirely out-of-place English accent.

Patrick huffs. “Is he here? Got some business for him maybe.”

The lower half of the robot spins around thoughtfully. “Back room.” it replies finally.

With that, they all follow Patrick down a short corridor leading to a small room that has been decorated with the very best salvage that the Wasteland has to offer.

A short, bearded man looks up as they enter. “Patrick?” he says, startled. “Jesus, I thought you were dead.”

“Had to get away for a while.” Patrick replies, which is definitely sweeping an awful lot under an increasingly threadbare rug.

Macready finally tears his eyes away from Patrick and studies the rest of them. When he gets to Pete, he jerks back. “You switched sides?” he asks Patrick, not taking his eyes off Pete. “You running with Gunners now?”

“He’s running with me, Mac.” Patrick says, stepping in between them and making Macready look away from Pete.

Macready spits on the floor. “Screw those guys.” he mutters.

“Yeah.” Pete says quietly. “Screw those guys.” Patrick glances back at him.

“Got out, did you?” Macready asks, studying Pete thoughtfully, “Good for you.”

Patrick takes a deep breath. “Might have a job for you, if you’re interested?”

Macready laughs, “I’m interested in caps, Patrick. What’s the score?”

“One fifty and anything you can find during.”

Macready raises his eyebrows, “Then I’m interested in the job. What is it?”

“Retrieval for a lady in Diamond City.” Patrick says, “You’ll have to go see her for the details.”

“Ellie Perkins.” Andy adds, “She’s looking for her boss.”

“Would her boss be the great Nick Valentine, by any chance?” Macready asks, “Yeah, I’ve heard a few rumors about his current location. Lot of flapping jaws around here.” He spreads his hands as if to say ‘what can you do?’, “I’ll head out that way tomorrow.”

“Thanks, Mac.”

Macready waves a hand dismissively. “Yeah, yeah…” he says, “Now, you’re gonna buy me a real drink and tell me exactly why you’re back in this hole with such interesting company.”

The next hour is a fucking masterclass in avoidance.

Eventually they all stagger out of the bar, Joe and Pete heading off to trade for their hotel rooms, and Patrick and Andy to stock up on ammo and supplies. They agree to meet back down in the bar for a well-earned dinner they don't have to cook themselves.

“Are you okay?” he asks Pete as they cross the square.

Pete shrugs. “I just have to get used to it, I guess.” he says, “It’s not like I can hide it very well.”

“We'll get you a new hat.” Joe says, slinging a companionable arm over Pete's shoulder. “We'll get you the best hat that caps can buy.”

Patrick spots them while browsing for ammo at KL-E-0's shop. He's not ashamed to admit that they make his mouth water with how beautiful they are. He actually glances around at everyone on the street outside like he's about to be caught doing something embarrassing.

He looks back down at the twin pearl handles of the .44 pistols in the little box. The barrels are unfortunately mismatched, one snubnose and one a longer standard. The snubnose has a pointless scope attached that would definitely sight on things further than the actual range of the gun, but Christ are those grips pretty.

Next door he can hear Andy bartering with Daisy, the owner of the general store, and he sticks his head around the doorframe, checking that he's alone.

“Andy?” He hisses. “Come in here a minute?”

Andy apologizes to Daisy, telling her he'll be back in a moment. “What's up, Patrick?” He asks as he walks into the gun store.

Patrick points down at the pistols in the box. “If I buy these,” he whispers, “can you modify them?”

Andy crouches down for a closer look at the guns through the glass of KL-E-0's counter, and then looks up at him. “I'm going to go ahead and guess that you'd want the bull barrel on both of them.”

Patrick grins back at him sheepishly. “That obvious?” He asks.

“If you're planning on making them deadlier,” KL-E-0 says, “I have some mods available. And I'm always happy to let you… use my workbench, Mr Hurley.”

Patrick is used to KL-E-0 by now, he has been personally flirted with by her and has sat through a frightening lecture about how she overthrew her programming and decided she didn’t want to just be a robot, but a woman who helps people to murder other people by selling some of the best quality weaponry in the ruins of Boston, but has never heard her make an otherwise normal sentence sound quite so filthy. He's sort of impressed that such a metallic, synthesized voice can make something like that so horrifically suggestive. He actually feels himself start to blush.

Andy looks up at KL-E-0. “Behave,” he says with a smile. “I'm spoken for.”

“A terrible day indeed for all us ladies.” she says. The crystal mechanism of the powerful and deadly laser built into her head seems to twinkle.

Andy laughs at that, “Never change, KL-E-0,” he says to her, and then to Patrick, “Yeah, I can do the modifications. I could probably tighten up the receivers as well if we had the right scrap around.”

“We're traveling with Joe.” Patrick points out. “We're gonna have the right scrap somewhere.”

“Buy them.” Andy says. “He’ll love them, you know he will. Leave me your scrap and go and make an excuse for me with Joe. I’ll get them done as soon as I can.”

“Thanks, Andy.” Patrick says, “You’re amazing.”

KL-E-0 says, “Just promise me you’ll kill something interesting with them.”

Despite the run-in with Macready, Pete feels safer in Goodneighbor than he had done in Diamond City. It's a lot more obvious that fewer people care here. The lady at the front desk of the hotel rudely rents them two rooms without even looking at him and they head off to drop off their bags.

Back at the bar, they order more drinks and some food and wait for Andy and Patrick to return.

A singer has just gotten up on stage when Patrick eventually returns from his shopping trip alone and wanders up to their table saying “Andy found a friend.”

Pete pours him a drink and he sits down next to him. Patrick taps his fingers on the tabletop, which makes Pete frown. “Everything okay?” he asks.

Patrick jumps a little as though Pete had startled him. “Fine!” he replies quickly, his voice is higher pitched than usual.

Joe, who had been almost asleep in his armchair, jolts awake at the sound.

They sit around listening to the singer and chatting until Andy finally returns with a full bag and a battered cardboard box under his arm that he hands to Patrick. Pete looks at it with interest for a moment, but then Andy digs around in his bag and pulls out a handful of Stimpacks and radiation drugs and finally a stained, brown cap. He holds it out to Pete with an apologetic smile. “It’s the best Daisy had, I'm afraid. We can keep looking for a better one, but I thought you might like it anyway.”

Pete reaches out to take the hat from Andy. It's a pretty grimy flat cap that might, once upon a time, have been a brown and mossy green tweed. It'll definitely help him blend in better than the purple one had. He stares down at it in his hands. The state of it is completely immaterial, the point is that Andy bought it just for him. “Thank you.” Pete says with feeling. “Really. It's great.”

He puts it on, tugging it low on his forehead. Patrick smiles at him, pleased. “It suits you.” he says.

“I’m starving.” Andy announces. “What’s for dinner?”

After they eat they head back to the hotel for an early night. As soon as they get into their room and the door shuts behind them, Patrick says “I got you a present too.” He sounds embarrassed.

Pete raises his eyebrows. “Ooh.” He says, teasingly. “Another present! It's not my birthday.” He continues, before considering this statement. “Well, I mean, I guess it could be my birthday. I'm not exactly sure when my birthday is. Sometime in the summer, I think. “

Patrick ignores this, and hands him the stained cardboard box. “It's from all of us, I guess.” he says, “I mean, Andy fixed them up and it was Joe's scrap, so we all, like, contributed. I hope you like it. I saw them, and I had to get them, so…” he trails off, sounding nervous. “Fuck, just open the box?”

Pete holds the box out, admiring it. He can’t remember the last time anyone got him a present that he’s sure he’ll appreciate. He used to get ‘presents’ from Commander Kingston all the time, but they were usually things like a new code he had less than a day to learn perfectly or the chance to go out with Doyle’s squad to be verbally abused while scavenging for supplies. The last ‘present’ he received ended with him almost bleeding to death.

It also bought him Patrick, though, so maybe it wasn’t all bad.

The box is a nice, satisfying weight. He grins at Patrick who's moved to sit on the bed. He's biting his lip and twisting his fingers together in his lap. Pete goes to sit next to him. “Whatever it is,” he says, “I'm sure it's great.”

Pete opens the box.

They're not great.

They're incredible.

Before - before he met Patrick, before he'd left the Gunners - he'd had two pistols. Badly made, shitty ones because he hadn't needed any better, but they'd been his in a way that so very little had been just his. They'd saved his life a few times, made people back off and think twice a few more, and he'd kept them as clean and as well cared for as he could. Doyle had pulled them roughly from his holsters while Jones had held him at gunpoint. God only knows where they are now.

These guns, nestled on a bed of crumpled newsprint, at the bottom of an unassuming cardboard box are a work of fucking art.

Pete stares down at them. He's a little afraid to touch them. The handles are shimmery white and Pete gets the overwhelming urge to wash his hands before picking them up. They match perfectly, the thick, powerful looking barrels have been polished to a dangerous shine. For the first time in his life, Pete thinks he fully understands the meaning of the word ‘gobsmacked’.

“Patrick…” he whispers, tearing his eyes away from the guns to look at the only thing in the world that's prettier. Patrick is chewing absently on his thumbnail.

“Do you like them?” Patrick asks. “You said, I mean, you mentioned that you used to have two, and I thought they were nicer than that shitty .44 you've been using, so I asked Andy if he could modify them properly because they didn't match in the shop, so I thought…” he tails off. “I can take them back if you don't like them.” He finishes quietly.

Pete swallows. It sounds very loud in the silence of the room. “The only thing,” he says firmly, “that I love more than these guns is you.”

A blush rises across Patrick’s cheekbones and over the bridge of his nose. In the face of it, Pete finally musters up the courage to reach a hand into the box and pick up one of the pistols. The grip is smooth and fits his hand perfectly. He pulls the hammer back experimentally before sighting down the barrel.

He spins the gun around his trigger finger showily. It's perfectly balanced. Then, Pete puts it back in the box, pushes them both under the bed and reaches for Patrick. He feels as though he has been very patient all afternoon, especially as Patrick has been extremely deadly today. At some point in the last few months, Pete has developed an inappropriate reaction to these little glimpses behind Patricks’s facade of a mild-mannered Minuteman.

Actually, who's Pete kidding? He's had an inappropriate reaction to Patrick shooting things from the first time he saw him in action.

“Thank you for my present,” he says, pushing Patrick down to the bed, “I think I know just what to give you in return…”

Andy has absolutely no desire to fuck about with secret passwords and the Feral infested catacombs that constitute the Church's visitor's entrance and leads them all to the wrecked building with the hidden back door to the HQ. He fishes the piece of string he keeps all his keys on out from under his shirt and finds the right one and then just stands there, holding it.

“Andy?” Joe asks after a moment.

Andy stares down at the key in his hand. “Half my friends are dead,” he says. He's known since that awful day at Monson, but somehow it only feels true now. He squeezes his eyes shut.

Joe immediately folds him up into a hug. It gets bigger as Pete and Patrick join in, throwing their arms around them.

“You're ours.” Patrick says. “We're ours. We're here, no matter what.”

It's several long minutes before Andy can fit the key in the lock and open the door.

“Wait here.” He says to everyone just before they reach the final door. “I think everyone is probably a little too on edge to appreciate a few strangers waltzing into their last secret base through the back door, even if I'm with you.”

Joe puts his hand behind Andy's neck and pulls him in for a kiss. After, instead of pulling away, he rests their foreheads together. “We'll be right here.” He says, calmly. “Like Patrick said, no matter what, we'll be here waiting for you. Okay?”

“I'll come and get you when it's safe.” Andy says, and then leaves the three of them in the escape tunnel to push through the last door between them and the remains of the Railroad.

He's immediately confronted with at least six guns as soon as he walks into the crypt. He puts his hands up. “It's me,” he says. “Donnie. The stars are the same as ever.”

Deacon is, annoyingly, the first to lower their gun. “Andrew!” he says gleefully, “And what time do you call this?”

Andy keeps his hands up, just in case. “Corby found me in Monson,” he explains. “She told me about the Switchboard.”

Desdemona holsters her gun, followed by everyone else.

“It's been a shitshow.” Desdemona says, “But Christ, it's good to see you.”

“Who got out?” Andy asks, lowering his hands and glancing around the room.

Desdemona looks at him steadily. “Mavens's dead.” she says, matter-of-factly.

Andy nods slowly. “Corby said she was.”

“Not many got out.” Deacon adds, “There's us, most of the runners, a couple of caretakers… We've come back from worse, but we'll need to recruit eventually before we try anything big.”

Andy takes a deep breath, it's now or never. “About that… I made some friends out on that run. Three of them. They're all good. We can trust them,” he says, “They're waiting in the passage,” he adds, explaining that Joe, Patrick and Pete already know where they are might convince Desdemona to meet them all just to check them out.

“Donnie…” Desdemona sighs, “This isn’t really the time for surprise guests. I mean, we can probably find a space for them with High Rise, but…”

“Not Synths.” He interrupts, “Real friends. I trust them.” Andy repeats firmly. “With my life.”

“Yo, we can always use more help!” says Tom, pushing his welding goggles further up his forehead. He can always be counted on to be a couple of minutes late in a conversation that doesn't involve engineering.

Andy inhales sharply. “Do you still need caretakers for the settlement you were planning?” He asks. “I'm not running anymore.”

“Donnie?” Asks Desdemona. “We need agents, and we need you running. ”

He shakes his head. “No more. I'm done.”

Deacon steps forward towards him, studying his face with the most serious expression Andy thinks he's ever seen on Deacon's face. After a few moments, Deacon grins widely and spins on his heel back towards the other agents. “Get this man a farm,” he announces.

“Deacon…” Desdemona sighs.

Deacon leans into Drummer Boy's side and says, “Donnie's in lurve!” in a fake whisper louder than his actual speaking voice.

Andy shuts his eyes again. Fucking Deacon. “Can they come in?”

“You trust them with your life?” Desdemona asks, “Who are they?”

Taking a deep breath, Andy starts with the easiest to explain, “Patrick used to be a Minuteman” he says, knowing that the Railroad have always been vaguely well disposed to the militia, even if they didn't know about the Railroad.

Desdemona nods slowly, “Okay…”

“Joe is from the Capitol Wasteland.” Andy says, “He… he was a Scribe for the Brotherhood, years ago.” There's a general intake of breath at this.

“Like that airship, man?” asks Tom, sounding excited, “Can he get the specs for that baby?!”

“Given that he cut ties with them a long time ago, no.”

“Aww.” Tom complains.

“Who's the other one?” Desdemona demands.

Andy looks her right in the eye. “Pete used to be a Gunner.” He says simply, dropping the bombshell between them and waiting for the explosion.

There's a long silence as everybody processes this. Several people fiddle with their weapons. Deacon leans up against a pillar and crosses his arms. Andy has no idea what that means - if Deacon is angry, or amused, if he already knew or if this is somehow the one piece of information in the entire Commonwealth that he didn’t know.

“A Gunner?” Asks Doc Carrington eventually, in his usual snide tone.

“An Ex-Gunner.” Andy says. “You seriously think I'd bring him here if I wasn't sure?”

Nobody answers him, so Andy says, “Where were you planning the new safehouse? We'll set it up.” The idea of the farm has been keeping Andy going since they staggered, overwhelmed and still in shock, off the Gunner's overpass with Pete. If the Railroad aren't going to help, he thinks, he'll leave. He might regret it, he might wind up hating himself, but right here, right now, he's sure. He tries to fix this feeling in its heart, the absolute surety that this is the right decision. He takes a deep breath. “I'm not running again,” he repeats, “If you want me, it's a safehouse with them, or nothing.”

Desdemona sighs again. “Go get them,” she says, “We've got some ideas.”

Deacon stares at Pete. Deacon has been staring at Pete since Andy had let them all into the crypt. Everyone has noticed. Patrick has been keeping a steady hand low on Pete’s back and Pete himself has been slightly more Pete than usual. He is trying very, very hard to come across as friendly, safe and charming but his smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes, and his laugh sounds forced and hollow.

Andy thinks that only people who know him well would notice though.

People who know him well and Deacon - who also tries very hard to come across as friendly, safe and charming and probably succeeds with people who don't know him well either.

Pete and Deacon will either become mortal enemies or best friends. Andy isn't sure which one is scarier.

Joe finds a spare chair and sits down. The current headquarters of the Railroad is cold, low ceilinged and still full of occupied tombs. They could at least have removed the skeletons, he thinks.

The Brotherhood of Steel in Washington DC had known about the Railroad. He'd heard about them, even down in his hydroponics lab. Scribe Rowland had been in charge of reverse-engineering the scraps of ballistic armor they had found and she'd thought they were all mad. The whole Brotherhood had thought that, which immediately meant that Joe had felt pretty well-disposed to them through some kind of reverse psychology.

Synths were created in a lab by the mysterious Institute - some of them looked like robots, mechanical parts on full display, others were completely indistinguishable from humans. Years ago there had been an incident and the people of the Commonwealth had discovered that some of their neighbors had been less human than they had thought, that they had been replaced by Institute Synths for some reason, leading to paranoia and racism against anyone suspected of being a Synth. Joe had heard all about this from a woman from the Commonwealth who had told him about Synths in a giggly, breathless way like a child telling him ghost stories, and Joe had put all the pieces together.

Sometimes Synths escaped from the Institute, or the Synths that had replaced people realized their true nature, and the Railroad would help them escape out of the Commonwealth.

For the Railroad, Synths were human beings, without doubt or question, and would risk their own lives to help them get away from the Institute who wanted to control them and from the people of the Commonwealth who were scared and angry and would kill them if their true nature was revealed.

Joe wasn’t sure he was prepared to fight for Andy’s cause, but he was prepared to fight for Andy, so maybe that was the same thing.

Andy and the very intense lady had pulled out a pencil drawn map of the Commonwealth and spread it out over the lid of one of the more intact tombs. Patrick and Pete had wandered over to them, and now all four of them were peering at it and pointing at various bits. Andy is bent over at a very tempting angle, so Joe decides to head over to them. He’s always enjoyed a good map, after all.

“We should be looking further north.” the lady was saying, sweeping a hand at the top of the paper. “We haven’t got many routes up towards Manchester.”

Patrick makes a thoughtful noise, “There are a lot of Raider bases up there.” he says, “Maybe we could take one of the smaller gangs out and use whatever they have there as a starting point?”

The lady taps a point right at the top of the map, “There’s a small group here.” she says. “That could work well.”

“Is that the big antenna?” Pete interrupts, “The really big one, I mean. Just north of that plane?”

The lady - fuck, Joe is going to have to find out her name soon - looks at Pete consideringly. “Yes.” she replies eventually.

Pete hums thoughtfully. “There’s a Gunner outpost close by, but it’s only a small one.”

Andy blows out a breath. “If we’re trying to find somewhere that isn’t close to a Gunner outpost, we’ll have to discount most of the Commonwealth entirely.”

“It’ll be close enough to the new Minutemen,” Patrick says, “If they check out, we might have some allies.”

“We can take a look at it, at least, can’t we?” Joe asks, trying to show that he’s paying attention. “Is there another good option?”

“There’s a ruined cottage over here by the coast that we’ve had our eye on,” the lady says, tapping another spot on the map over by the sea. “It seems like a good spot for a settlement, but it’s further out of the way than I would like for a safehouse.

Andy stands upright and puts his hands on his hips. Joe tries to subtly lean backwards to continue his admiration. “Well,” Andy announces, “We’ll head up to Concord and check out the Minutemen, then we can just head east from there to see if we can take out the Raiders at this antenna thing. If we don’t think we can, we can carry on to the cottage.”

“We have a few heavies left after the Switchboard fell.” the lady says, “If you only need an extra pair of hands to take the first one then we can spare Glory. It’s probably the best choice overall for a new Safehouse, and taking over an already existing location from a pack of Raiders will look a lot less suspicious than starting completely fresh in a new place.”

Pete coughs nervously, and then swallows, “Uh, if… well, if the antenna is in good shape, I could maybe, like, get it working maybe? If you want a long-distance radio?”

Joe, along with everyone else, stares at Pete.

He looks back at them all in turn before settling on looking at Patrick, which is no real surprise. “I spotted it years ago.” He mumbles, “It'll reach further than anything else in the Commonwealth. Probably as far as the Capitol? Maybe more?”

“You're telling me that you might be able to use that tower to communicate with the Capitol Wasteland?” the lady says in a weirdly flat voice.

Pete tears his gaze away from Patrick, who has started to grin. “Um,” he says, “Maybe? They won't be able to message back unless they have a tower big enough to…”

“Tom?” The lady interrupts, calling over her shoulder without looking away from Pete.

“Yo!” The weird guy in greasy overalls shouts back.

“I think you should probably talk to Tom,” she says to Pete. “In fact, you definitely need to talk to Tom.” She reaches out and puts both hands on Pete's shoulders and steers him over to the cluttered corner of the crypt where Tom looks like he's doing something unspeakable to a terminal and half a Mr Handy. Pete flails slightly and sends a pleading look at Patrick.

“Get us that antenna!” The lady demands as she maneuvers Pete around a pillar. “That's an order, Donnie.”

Patrick just waves goodbye. Joe hasn't seen such a simple gesture imbued with quite so much sarcasm before. It's impressive to watch.

Patrick watches Pete stumble over to the strange man in the corner and grins. It's nice to see other people be impressed by Pete. Maybe if it happens enough, he'll start to believe it for himself.

“Okay.” Andy says, “It looks like we might have a farm.”

Beside him, Joe is looking over the map. He puts his finger on the star that marks their current location and then drags it across the paper, following their route backwards through Goodneighbour, down the river to Diamond City and up the old rail tracks. Patrick taps the area on the map where Graygarden is roughly. “That’s the Robots.” he says.

Joe nods, “Where’s the Airport?” he asks, “That’s where the Brotherhood are.”

Andy leans over the map on the other side of Joe. “Right here.” he says, “Just over the river.”

Joe nods slowly. “And the Minutemen?”

Patrick points to Concord in the top left of the map. “Up here.”

Andy reaches out and traces a route from their location to Concord. “This way?” he asks Patrick.

Patrick shrugs. “As long as we steer clear of Lexington,” he says, “that place is always a shitshow.”

“Yeah, we can go along the edge of the lake…” Andy says, and then asks haltingly, “Do you… Do you want to make a stop at Bunker Hill?”

“Where’s that?” Joe asks, peering at the map again.

Patrick points out the settlement, and Joe wrinkles his nose.”It’s pretty close.” he says, “What’s there?”

Patrick takes a deep breath. “It’s a trading post.” he explains, “A good settlement.”

Joe makes a humming noise, so Patrick adds “It’s where I’m from. Where I was born.”

“Oh.” Joe says, blinking at him. “Is your… Do your… Um, your family?”

Patrick shakes his head, “No.” he says, grateful that the question doesn’t hurt to answer any more. “Not for a long time.”

The Wasteland isn’t the kind of place with much room for pity or condolences, but Joe pats him on the shoulder anyway. “Thanks.” Patrick says, meaning it.

“Okay,” says Andy, thankfully breaking the moment. “We can go up to Bunker Hill and then…” he trails off as someone with sunglasses approaches them. Patrick feels like he holds Certain Views about people who wear sunglasses not just indoors, but underground in a windowless crypt, but resolves to keep them to himself for the time being - they've just taken the first steps in their dream of the farm and it won't do any good to start rocking the boat so early.

“I'll come up to the antenna in a week or so,” the man says to Andy, “See how you're all… getting on.” He gives Andy a wide, Pete-like grin. Patrick wonders what they were saying in the significant pause, but it seems to make sense to Andy.

“Deacon,” he huffs, sounding annoyed. “What have you heard about the new Minutemen up at Concord?”

Patrick watches Deacon. He glances at Patrick for a split second, and then leans back, jamming his hands into his pockets, still grinning. Patrick is starting to understand exactly why he annoys Andy so much.

“Quincy survivors.” Deacon says eventually, “They seem legit - a few in uniforms, a handful of laser muskets, good turns for farmers. The usual.”

Patrick can't help but ask, “Do you know who?”

Deacon turns his attention to him. He is wearing sunglasses indoors and has a stupid grin on his face, his body relaxed and unconcerned, but there’s something about him that reminds Patrick of Joe - something that tells him that Deacon is very carefully calculating their body language and that Patrick is in the presence of someone who is playing a game that Patrick is too stupid to even understand.

“I didn't exactly do a roll call.” Deacon says pleasantly. “But if you're asking me what I think, then yes, some of them are definitely survivors of Quincy.” he shrugs his shoulders, hands still in his pockets. “They're Minutemen.”

Patrick looks at him, frustrated that he can't see Deacon's eyes.

“We'll go and check them out before we go to the antenna.” Andy says in a very business-like fashion.

Deacon's grin gets bigger. “I'll look forward to finding out the inside information.” he says, his gaze dragging up Patrick’s body in a way that makes him feel weirdly dirty. “Anyway, I think dinner is ready.”

“You should rescue Pete.” Andy says to him, without taking his eyes off Deacon. Patrick escapes thankfully, taking the out for what it is.

In the corner of the crypt, Pete is backed against a desk. The man in overalls is standing a hair too close to him than could be considered polite, and showing him the interior of a box full of electronics. Pete's expression is hilarious - he looks like he's perfectly balanced between panic and appalled interest. He keeps helplessly glancing down at whatever the man is showing him with a very considering look and then jerking his head up, obviously hoping for rescue.

“...if I can find a way to increase the bandwidth without sacrificing the weight limit, then I think I could get these babies all over the Commonwealth…” the man is saying as Patrick approaches. Pete looks weak with relief.

“Patrick!” He says slightly too loudly.

Patrick sidles up to Pete, squeezing past mad-overalls-guy and pressing a quick kiss to his temple. “Everything okay?” he asks.

Pete is always thrilled to see Patrick. He's just more thrilled to see him now, as it allows him a reason to get away from the crazy man who is absolutely a electronics genius and simultaneously a raving madman who smells like an entire bathtub full of Day Tripper and seems to think that people are being controlled by signals sent to implants in their brain. Pete has so far been offered an injection of a liquid the color of which exists nowhere in nature, extensive brain surgery and a crinkly folded foil hat, in between extremely high level discussions of radio waves, signal boosters and ionospheric reflection that have gone so completely over his head that all Pete has been able to do is nod and make agreeing noises every time Tom pauses for breath.

Pete categorically refused the first two, so now he's trying not to crumple the pointed foil hat, because Tom had looked so disappointed.

“Tom has got some great ideas for the antenna!” Pete says, only slightly desperately, interrupting Tom’s monologue on something to do with Coil transmitters. He lost Pete about five seconds into the conversation - Pete learnt everything he knows about radios from Private Daniels and Sergeant Coleman, neither of them had any formal training either, and who explained things to Pete as though they would have to personally pay a hundred caps for every new fact Pete understood. Mainly, he’d worked everything out for himself. He knows what works and how to do it, but not necessarily why it does.

Tom talks as though he is regurgitating a textbook on the subject, albeit filtered through a haze of illicit chemicals and possible brain damage.

Patrick looks a little nonplussed, as though Pete has asked him for his personal opinion on the antenna. He says “Great?” like it’s a question.

Tom, who hasn’t actually stopped talking during Patrick’s arrival, says “Oh man, I think I’ve got a prototype for a triode tube around here somewhere…” and turns to rummage around in another cardboard box.

“What’s up?” Pete asks, with only a hint of desperation. He feels quite proud of himself.

Patrick jerks a thumb over his shoulder. “Dinner,” he says, “and I think we’ve got a plan.”

“Great!” Pete repeats with more enthusiasm. “Let’s go! Tom, are you coming for dinner?”

Tom squints up at them from his box rummaging. “Huh? Nah, man, nah. I gotta run the data on this baby.” he pats the metal box on the table beside him. Pete relaxes fractionally and slings his arm around Patrick’s neck. He kisses him briefly on the cheek and hisses “Get me out of here!” into his ear.

Patrick laughs, a lovely sound that makes Pete feel soft and warm inside. He grins at him as they wind their way between the tombs towards Joe and Andy.

A man in a blue coat brings them plates of surprisingly tasty looking grilled Radroach and a heaped serving of corn. They cluster around the tomb where the map is still spread out, and Pete scoops a forkful of food into his mouth. He chews slowly, vaguely aware that he should probably swallow before speaking. His introduction to table manners growing up with the Gunners had concentrated mainly on at least attempting to wipe lingering gun oil off on your shirt before eating from anything communal and only aiming for non-lethal limb shots during arguments - at least while still at the table. He thinks that maybe the quiet voice in the back of his head telling him not to talk with his mouth full might be his mother, but he can’t be sure.

“So, where are we off to next?” he says eventually.

Chapter Text

There are, fortunately, two spare mattresses in the damp corridor that serves as the crypt’s bunk room. After they finish their meals and catch Pete up on their plans, Andy herds them all back there, pulling the heavy door shut behind them. Pete drops down to sit on the closest mattress and Patrick shuffles over to stand next to him. Pete slumps sideways and rests his forehead against Patrick’s knee. Joe also stays standing, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Tell me,” Joe says quietly, “Now it's just us, tell me that that outpost is a good idea.”

Patrick shrugs one shoulder and purses his lips. “The location is pretty good for a farm,” he offers, “I think there are still friendly settlers close by and a plane crash just down the road that's good for scavenging if we don’t mind clearing it out every so often.”

“I don't like the Gunners being so close.” Pete mumbles into the side of Patrick’s leg. “But there's no doubt that the antenna will be useful.”

It seems as though it's his turn, so Andy says, “Desdemona was right about it being a great location for a Railroad safehouse,” he says, “We don't have a route up to Manchester any more, and we should do. We can cover the basics with the Synths and then a runner can get them out of the Commonwealth to the north without too much trouble.”

Joe rubs his face with both hands. His stubble makes a faint scratching sound against his palms and makes Andy want to kiss him more than he usually does. His fingers itch, and then he realizes that the four of them are alone and with the way Pete is nuzzling at Patrick - now absentmindedly rubbing his cheek against the side of his thigh - neither of them would have any problems with him doing just that. He pulls Joe in with a grip on his pointy elbows and puts his lips to the corner of his eye, one of the few places he can reach while Joe is still covering his face.

Joe gets the hint and drops his hands and Andy darts in for a real kiss.

They break after a few seconds, and turn to find Patrick watching them with a soft smile, his hands stroking through Pete's short hair.

Joe makes an embarrassed little coughing noise and says, “Um, uh… well… Um. So. Pete. What are the Gunners likely to do if we show up on their doorstep?” He sounds a little out of breath and Andy mentally congratulates himself.

Pete doesn’t move away from Patrick’s knee or hand, but takes a deep breath. He licks his lips and says in the oddly serious and emotionless Gunner sitrep voice he sometimes gets, “SOP is to test a new settlement’s defense capabilities, run a raid against them at full or mostly full strength. If we break through, then the squad should take everything useful and get rid of the survivors. If we get repelled, then we'll fall back to the operating base and regroup. If there's enough local force left, or if there's the option to call in reinforcements then we'll try again. If there's still no success, and if the location isn't deemed tactically important then standing orders are to ignore the settlement unless there's a change in defense. We… They… They're not going to waste personnel and resources taking something well defended - that's why the Raiders have survived this long.” Pete swallows loudly and then turns his face fully into Patrick’s leg, hiding his expression. They all hear him as he breathes deeply for a moment. It sounds as though he’s trying to mentally talk himself off the edge of a metaphorical ledge. The only sound comes from the scratch of Patrick’s fingernails through Pete's hair.

“They… He… Kingston. He talked about the antenna once, when the first reports came in, but they… THEY don't need another long range transmitter particularly,” Pete mumbles quietly, eventually, muffled by the fabric of Patrick’s pants. “The base on the bridge up there has standing orders to take control of it if the Raiders leave, or get wiped out by someone else, but as long as we can repel the first couple of attempts, they shouldn't be too much trouble.”

Joe looks at each of them one by one. He has his planning face on, which just makes Andy want to kiss him more.

“Okay,” he says finally, “If we need to be ready for a fight, we'll restock at Bunker Hill, trade out for more ammo and supplies. After we meet up with these Minutemen we can scout out the antenna site. If we don’t think we can take it from the Raiders, or if we think we'll need help to defend it from the Gunners we can use the Railroad… Or, Patrick? If the Minutemen are the real deal, would they help us?”

Patrick nods slowly; his hands haven't stopped moving over Pete's scalp. “If they're still Minutemen, if they have enough numbers, yeah, they'd help new settlers get rid of Raiders. Maybe even stick around for a while to defend it.”

“We can't tell them everything.” Andy says reflexively. With over a decade worth of secrets, it's ingrained in his very bones now. “Nothing about the Railroad. We're just farmers setting up somewhere new.”

“Nothing about Pete and the Gunners, either.” Patrick adds lowly. “I'll probably be recognized, but that won't be much of a problem. I might have to answer a few difficult questions, but an Ex-Minuteman setting up a farm with some close friends isn't too unusual. As far as they're concerned though, you're just normal settlers up from ‘Haven wanting to move into the Commonwealth.”

“Depending on the Minutemen, I might be recognised too,” Andy adds, spreading his hands in a faint apology, “I grew up in Diamond City and anybody who knows me would know that, but my usual cover as a messenger is strong enough that nobody will question me about traveling with strangers from outside of the Commonwealth.”

Joe nods again, “Okay, two good ol’ Commonwealth boys and their ‘Haven boyfriends innocently settling down and wanting some help to do it. We can work with that.”

The next morning, they emerge into the main crypt for breakfast to find Deacon dressed as a particularly thuggish looking Caravan Guard, complete with a thick black leather jacket and horribly lifelike wig. He salutes Joe with a - hopefully unloaded - battered hunting rifle. Joe's gaze is helplessly drawn to the wig. It's an unnatural shiny jet black and has been meticulously backcombed into a ridiculous style. If Deacon's aim is to prevent people from recognising him, it will definitely be successful. Nobody will be looking at his face while he's got that on his head.

“Bunker Hill then?” Deacon announces brightly.

“Oh fuck…” Andy mutters under his breath.

“Got some business to take care of up there, so I thought I'd selflessly offer my services to you boys as far as there.” Deacon continues. He shoves the hunting rifle into a leather holster hanging from his - oh God - leather pants and grins at him widely.

Pete, Joe notices, is the only person in the crypt that grins back. “Awesome.” he says approvingly.

Besides him, Andy lets out a sad, deflating noise that sounds as though he has suddenly sprung a leak.

They climb back out of the crypt using a completely different exit and slip down a side street to the coast.

They follow the road around a headland and Joe stops immediately in his tracks as he looks across the river. Something in his chest clenches tightly as he looks at the white needle rising above the collapsed houses.

“Joe?” Andy asks. Everyone, including Deacon, is standing a little way in front of him, staring back at where Joe has stopped.

“Fucking hell.” Joe says, pointing. “What the shit is that?”

Everyone turns slowly around to look.

Everyone turns just as slowly back to stare at him again.

“The monument?” Patrick asks slowly, squinting at Joe.

Joe looks up at the tower. It's so familiar that he feels like he's been transported straight back to the ruins of Washington DC. “Another monument.” he breathes. “Fuck. I will never, ever, understand the people before the bombs.”

To Pete's absolutely unabashed delight, he finally gets to shoot at least two Raiders with his new guns as they cross the bridge over the river. One of them emerges from behind a destroyed car just before they start to cross, and Pete, temporarily at the front of their little party, blasts them in the chest before anyone else has the chance. The Raider goes flying back and hits the jagged concrete wall behind him so hard that the .44 bullet to his torso probably wasn't the thing to finish him off. After that, they all get a chance to let loose with their weapons, and Joe gets glimpses of Pete, a gun in each hand, cackling with laughter in a relatively concerning way, spinning around and shooting with what Joe can only describe as glee.

“These guns!” Pete exclaims at the end of the fight. “These guns! Guys! Thank you!” He wraps both arms around Patrick’s neck, and kisses him dirty, still holding the smoking pistols in each hand crossed behind Patricks’s head.

Patrick doesn’t seem to notice, or care.

Joe wonders how big Bunker Hill is, and if there's any chance that they won't have to share a room with Pete and Patrick tonight.

There's another intimidating woman guarding the entrance to Bunker Hill. She's tall, blonde, no-nonsense, heavily armed and dressed in a well-fitting suit. Joe swallows, thinking about Desdemona, and resolves to never tell Andy how lucky he is that Joe fell so inescapably in love with him before being introduced to so many wonderfully terrifying ladies.

Pete pulls the cap lower on his head as the woman interrogates them. She apparently knows both Deacon and Patrick already, so they answer most of her questions, and Pete only has to mumble a quick “Yes.” as a reply.

He takes a deep breath before crossing the threshold of Bunker Hill, and thinks again about how his life has taken such an unexpected turn.

Raising his head as high as he dares, Pete looks around at the settlement that produced the love of his life.

He doesn’t know what he had been expecting, but apart from the towering obelisk at the center, it looks like almost every other Wasteland settlement he's dared to set foot in. There's a ramshackle selection of buildings using the surrounding fortified wall as part of their construction, a crowded brahmin pen, and traders calling out to prospective customers from behind makeshift counters. So far, so normal.

Patrick sighs loudly, but Pete can't put a finger on the emotion behind it. Satisfaction, annoyance, boredom - it could be anything. Pete wonders if he'll ever know Patrick well enough to read these little moments. He reaches out to grab a handful of Patrick’s jacket, fingers grazing his arm through the fabric.

“Tell me everything.” he demands.

Patrick hasn't set foot in Bunker Hill in at least four years. Bridget Kessler hasn't changed at all since then.

He remembers her mainly as a loud, demanding girl, the eldest of what could be widely termed as ‘Patrick’s generation’ in the settlement. Her father and Patrick’s mother had had the sort of awkward relationship that only people who had been intimately acquainted during their teenage years before splitting up while still living in close proximity to each other could possibly have, and Bridget is older than him by enough years that Patrick has memories of her explaining basic math to him in the little shack that they had used as a schoolroom.

Then Pete says, “Tell me everything.” and Patrick completely blanks out.

He feels like an idiot, desperately trying to grasp at the conversation. He opens and closes his mouth but nothing happens. Finally, he manages to say, “Uh.” and feels embarrassingly victorious when he does.

Pete continues to beam at him. It’s probably one of the looks that Patrick loves best on him, but ever since the first time he had seen it, it has done its work to completely derail all of Patrick’s higher thought processes.

“Well, um,” Patrick starts, glancing around at the settlement. It’s still very familiar, but he can see all the changes that have taken place since his childhood. He points at the nearest building and says, “That’s Kay’s house. She’s the local Doctor. The other traders are inside the market building…” he trails off as Pete reaches for him. He folds his hand over Patrick’s still outstretched finger, pushing it down and adjusting his grip so they end up holding their hands palm to palm.

“I don’t mean the Minuteman rundown,” Pete says, laughing, “I want to know about Patrick’s Bunker Hill.”

“Uh.” Patrick manages again. “It’s really not that interesting.”

“Trick,” Pete presses a kiss to his cheek, the soft brim of his cap bumping into Patrick’s temple. “Do you really think I wouldn’t find anything you can tell me interesting? I want to know all about you. I love you. Come on, where was the best place to hide when you were a kid?”

Patrick feels the smile slowly taking over his face. He glances upwards at the top of the monument. “I hope you’re okay with heights.” he says, before tugging Pete towards the bottom of the staircase.

“This view is amazing!” Pete says, leaning a hair too far out of the open window for Patrick’s comfort.

“Please don’t do that.” he says in a pained tone. “You’re freaking me out.”

Pete, still resting both his palms on the window ledge, turns back towards him. Patrick has long been a connoisseur of the view from the top of the Bunker Hill monument, but he very much prefers looking out rather than down. To this end, he’s sitting on the dusty floor, leaning back against the sturdy wall. Patrick reaches for him and Pete comes happily, settling himself over Patrick’s outstretched legs.

“I could see the top of this tower from the first posting I had away from Headquarters.” Pete says quietly, scratching his fingernails through Patrick’s overgrown sideburns, “I could see it from where I used to sit at the radio set. I slept under the desk so that nobody could…” he breaks off suddenly, fingers tightening at Patrick’s temples, and shaking his head like he's trying to dislodge the thought before continuing, “Well, to get away from everyone, let’s just say… And I would lie awake at night looking at the light and always wondered if anybody was up here, looking back.”

Patrick stares up at Pete’s indescribably handsome face, and suddenly finds himself blinking back tears. “I was.” he whispers. “I was always here. I’ll always be here. I’m sorry.”

Pete reaches out and cups Patrick’s cheeks in his hands. “What on earth are you apologizing for now?” he asks, but kindly.

Shrugging shakily, Patrick says “I just am. I…”

Pete kisses him again, stopping whatever Patrick had just been about to add in its tracks. They exchange kisses and gentle touches for a while until Pete pulls away.

He doesn’t go far, just dropping his head to rest between Patrick’s collarbones. Patrick absentmindedly drifts his lips through the soft spikes of Pete’s dark hair.

“I would’ve come running if I’d known.” Pete mumbles.

“Mmm?” Patrick questions, rubbing a hand down Pete’s back.

“If I’d known you were here.” Pete continues, “I would have gotten up from that fucking radio and walked across the entire Commonwealth to find you. I wish I had been brave enough to leave them then.”

“Pete…” he starts, but there’s no words for what he wants to say in reply to Pete’s quiet admission. “We’re here now.” he finishes lamely.

“Yeah,” Pete agrees, “We’re here now.”

Andy is very unsettled by Cricket, Bunker Hill's weird arms dealer. To be honest, everybody is unsettled by her, with her creepy red-eyed stare and jumpy way of speaking.

Tom's adventures with mind altering substances tend towards the mellow, and usually the worst that happens is that he occasionally sits in a corner staring into space for several hours or engages in an apparent two-way conversation with a pre-war plush monkey doll that Tom insists the rest of the Railroad address as Norman.

Cricket, however, uses combat drugs more often than she eats actual food, which has given her a dangerous twitch and the aura of someone who is constantly around five seconds away from opening up on her assembled patrons with a submachine gun.

He's also relatively sure she's an informant to the Institute.

Unfortunately, since the death of Patrick’s father, she's the only place to buy more than a tiny handful of ammo in Bunker Hill.

He watches as Joe gingerly pushes a brace of shotguns across Cricket's grimy counter. Usually, Joe spends a while buttering up the traders they encounter, engaging in a surface level flirtation and praising everything from the wares on offer to - in one memorable incident - the store owner's wife's haircut.

The only thing he's said to Cricket so far is ‘Hello’ and a nervous list of ammo types.

Pete and Patrick have both vanished off somewhere, and Andy isn't exactly eager to find them. They'll probably both turn up at some point, pink and giggling, which Andy doesn’t begrudge them at all, but hopefully Joe and he will have their own chance to sneak away together before they leave for the trip north.

Deacon has also wandered off to chat to a very specific handful of merchants and Wastelanders - or at the very least, people dressed as merchants and Wastelanders - so instead of attending to his own shopping or bartering for food and rooms at Bunker Hill's tiny bar-slash-bunkhouse Andy is here, trying his best to look imposing.

Joe shoves all of the boxes of newly acquired ammo into his bag, and backs away from Cricket slowly. “Thanks!” he says in a too-cheery voice. “You’ve been very helpful!” Andy can practically hear the desperate undertone of ‘please don’t kill me!’.

He continues backing up until he bumps into another trader’s counter.

“Oi!” says the trader, grabbing at a teetering pile of stacked junk on the table in front of her, “Watch it!”

“Sorry!” Joe says, finally turning away from Cricket.

Andy grabs at Joe’s elbow. “Let’s get a drink,” he suggests, pulling him away before Joe can cause anymore trouble.

They spend a cramped, mostly sleepless night piled into the one small room the inn could offer them, and congregate around a rickety picnic table for breakfast. Joe has spent the last decade of his life almost constantly on the move and can't wait to settle down permanently. Maybe he'll finally be able to get a fucking lie-in.

Pete looks like he's technically still asleep, mechanically spooning lumps of Tato into his mouth and chewing on autopilot. Patrick, currently blinking so heavily that it looks like each one could be his last, is developing a fascinating beard that is around three shades closer to ginger than the color of his actual hair. Joe can't help but stare at it, even though he is painfully aware that whatever his own hair is up to is probably even more laughable.

Only Andy looks like he’s even vaguely awake.

Tearing his gaze away from Patrick’s chin, Joe turns to Andy and asks, “What are we likely to expect today?”

Someone reaches down between Joe and Andy and snags a Tato from the bowl on the table. “Those Raiders are still hanging out at that office.” they say. Joe looks up, annoyed and confused. There’s a farmhand standing behind him, dressed in a ragged pale coat and stiff waxed trousers.

Andy sighs, “Deacon.” and Joe blinks. It’s like an optical illusion resolving itself. The anonymous farmhand shifts into a recognizable Deacon as Joe looks at him.

Deacon grins. “Hi.” he says, waving.

“Hi?” Joe repeats, feeling unsettled.

Deacon takes a bite of Tato and chews, still grinning down at him. “There’s a Raider base on the road north,” he says eventually, picking a seed out of his teeth. “They usually have a few out on watch, but the only other route is a touch Supermutanty at the moment.”

Patrick makes a noise like he's just tuned into the conversation and says, “The office by the river? Next to the bridge?” which in turn makes Pete say “Whazzuip?” and for his elbow to slide off the table as he jerks awake, accidentally headbutting Patrick's shoulder as he does so. Patrick pats him gently on the back and levers him back to a roughly upright position.

“That's the one,” agrees Deacon, sounding like he’s trying not to laugh.

For all that the day started roughly - waking up face down on splintery floorboards with Patrick nowhere to be seen and Andy’s boot softly prodding him in the ribs - it quickly turns into another one of Pete's best.

Breakfast is fine, mainly consisting of Tato stew, which isn’t Pete’s favorite, but it’s hot and plentiful and the tavern’s owners have obviously recently replaced their water filter because the glass he receives is about as fresh and clear as he has ever had in the Commonwealth. It slowly helps to wake him up while everyone around him talks about the day ahead. Pete keeps one ear on the conversation, but figures that if they decide on anything important he’ll be told about it later.

They leave Deacon and Bunker Hill behind as the day grows warm and clear. The sky is blue and the sun is shining, glinting beautifully off of the long ends of Patrick’s hair that escape from under his hat, turning them golden in the light. They walk side by side for a while, and Pete desperately wants to reach out and take his hand, but they’re still in the outskirts of Boston and sadly it’s more important that they both have their hands free for their weapons. Nevertheless, Pete feels like a teenager - the sort of teenager he never was - everytime Patrick smiles at him and sends lovely fluttery butterfly feelings all around his chest.

Pete simply can’t believe how lucky he is sometimes.

Ahead of them, Andy holds out a hand and they stop, hidden behind a pre-war car. “There’s the office.” Andy says, pointing through the window of the vehicle.

Patrick shuffles forward and drops to one knee, resting the barrel of his rifle on the hood and sighting down his scope. The butterfly feeling intensifies and Pete bites his lip. Out of the corner of his vision he sees Joe rolling his eyes so hard that Pete is worried that he might sprain something.

Things are looking even more up already if Patrick is about to be extremely sexy in his vicinity.

“I can only see three.” Patrick says after a moment, “One of them I can get now, but the other two are behind cover and I’ll blow my location as soon as I fire.”

Pete pulls his beautiful guns from his makeshift holsters, spinning the chambers with an effortless flick of his fingers.

“We can take up position behind that bus shelter.” Joe says, “Then we can deal with the other two once you get the one you can hit.”

Patrick looks up, glancing between the office, the shelter and Joe. “Yeah.” he says slowly, “Yeah, that might work.”

Once they’re all in position, Patrick opens fire and drops the Raider leaning up against the low wall in one of his maddeningly perfect headshots. One of the other Raiders yells in surprise, jerking further behind the column he had been lounging against, further away from Patrick but within easy reach of both Joe and Pete. The other one darts away and drops behind a cracked park bench.

The three of them open fire.

They don’t bother looting the bodies, conscious of the building that is probably full of Raiders behind them and the possibility that one of them might come outside to raise an alarm at any moment. Instead, they hurry quietly up the road to the north and follow the edge of the river under a raised highway that has Pete a little on edge.

They have lunch in a destroyed pre-war store surrounded by the wrecked remains of washing machines and televisions. Joe makes them scavenge as much as they can, but Pete actually finds himself enjoying hopping between patches of collapsed floor and rifling through desks and lockers, competing with Patrick, Joe and Andy for who can find the most useful - or useless - object.

Patrick wanders down from an upper floor cradling a Mini-Nuke warhead like a baby in his arms. The look on his face sends Pete into paroxysms of hysterical laughter, as he looks simultaneously thrilled, smug and incredibly nervous to be carrying a tactical nuclear warhead that they could sell for easily over a hundred caps on its own.

Pete finds an adorable teeny-tiny model of a Sentry Bot that he shows everybody, and a pair of handcuffs that he keeps quiet about.

After they pack all their new loot away, Patrick and Andy take them back to the river to carry on their journey. Pete is happy for the diversion - even the Gunners had good reasons to steer clear of Lexington, which is usually the site of three-way pitched battles between Raiders and Mutants and Ferals.

The day continues to be sunny and warm, Patrick continues to be especially attractive, Joe slips on some damp grass and falls in the river, Andy tells a long, rambly and side-splittingly funny joke about three very stupid settlers and a radroach and Pete laughs happily as all of his problems and worries feel especially distant.

Later in the afternoon, Patrick stops by a rusty outflow pipe and looks up the hill to his left. “Oh.” he remarks.

They all follow his gaze to the just-visible roof of a low lying building. “Oh.” Andy echoes.

Joe frowns and asks, “Oh?”

“Yeah.” Andy says, sounding enthusiastic.

“Hell yeah.” agrees Patrick.

“What?” demands Joe, putting his hands on his hips. Pete is just as confused, but watching Joe getting annoyed when confronted by something he doesn’t already know is pretty entertaining, so he stays quiet.

Together they all head up the slope towards the single-storey building and push their way through a side door into a reception area with a long desk and couches. There are several wheelchairs scattered around, both empty and still occupied with skeletons.

“It’s such a shame this is so close to Lexington,” Patrick says, peering around a doorway into a sunny central courtyard.

“Where are we?” Joe says plaintively.

Andy finally takes pity on him and says, “I think it was some kind of group home?”

“It’s a great place to stay.” adds Patrick, “Mostly intact, decent space. Shame about the terrible neighbors. Anyway, I’d say we’ve earned ourselves a hot dinner and…” he trails off, and looks around at them with an impish grin and an adorable blush rising across his cheeks.

“And?” Pete can’t help but prompt. He has to know what has just put that expression on Patrick’s face.

Patrick licks his lips and says, “There are, um… Well, on each side of the courtyard there are, uh, private bedrooms?”

That’s the point where Pete realizes that this is one of the best days ever.

Pete drags the final wheelchair outside and then pulls off his hat and folds it into his back pocket before sitting down. He loves it very much, but the thick wool gets itchy after a while.

Patrick is hunched over their little cooking fire set in the middle of the open-air courtyard, gleefully grilling some Mirelurk. Joe and Andy are sitting in their own wheelchairs discussing their favorite flavors of Nuka-Cola. Pete kicks his feet out and slumps down low in the padded seat, grabbing at the battered oil lamp he’d found while rounding up the wheelchairs. He sloshes it back and forth, trying to judge how much fuel is left in the tank by the sound.

He thinks about cleaning his pistols, but ends up just watching what Patrick is doing. He’s taken off his jacket and his shirt has ridden up slightly to reveal a mouthwatering stripe of pale skin above the waistband of his pants. It makes Pete’s fingers itch with the desire to touch, to slip his fingers into the gap at the back of Patrick’s jeans and slide them around his hips, to get his mouth on it and really take his time with it. He smiles to himself, reveling in the warm, pleased feeling that comes with the knowledge that whatever he comes up with now, he’ll be able to make it happen in real life later.

Pete relaxes back into his wheelchair and closes his eyes. Tomorrow he’ll have to face the remains of the Minutemen, but for all the time he’s spent catastrophizing recently, he can’t bring himself to worry about that right now - his emotions are in an upswing right now - it’s been a good day, it’s still a good day. It’s promising to be a really good day after dinner. He can feel himself grinning.

“Here,” says Patrick, nudging at his knee. “Have something to eat. You’ll need to keep your strength up.”

Patrick sounds adorably flustered, trying to sound suggestive.

Pete grins wider and reaches out to take the plate of Mirelurk.

Without saying anything, when the sun finally sets, they split off in opposite directions and Andy and Joe turn to the other side of the building, each couple giving the other pair as much well-earned privacy as possible. Patrick picks up the still-burning oil lamp and finds the least-destroyed room and pushes through the door to drop his bag into the corner of the dusty space.

The room is tiny, but all four walls are intact and the window still has most of its panes present. Most of the floorspace is taken up by a grimy bedframe and mattress, a wobbly chest of drawers and a huge, cracked, television screen. Patrick couldn’t care less. It feels like he has spent the last month or so purely in the hunt for places he can be alone with Pete, so now he’s found one he breathes out a loud, pleased sigh, puts the lamp down beside his pile of luggage and turns to him.

The room is so small that Pete is directly behind him and his tanned fingers trail over Patrick’s hips as he twists around. The light touch makes Patrick shiver with pleasure.

“Hi.” Pete whispers, smiling.

Patrick can’t help but grin back. He imagines he probably looks like a fool, but for the next few hours he doesn’t have to worry about anything else. His little new-found family are all as safe as they can possibly be, they’re all well-fed, and warm enough and he has Pete right where he wants him.

“Hi.” Patrick whispers back. He shuffles forwards, causing Pete to take a half-step backwards until his back hits the wall beside the door. Pete’s eyes are twinkling in his utterly unique shade of bullet-casing copper in the low light of the lamp.

“There’s a bed right there.” Pete says as Patrick very deliberately presses against him.

“Uh-huh.” Patrick agrees, before kissing him. Pete’s hands tighten on his hips and pull him closer, tugging their groins together with a little groan.

They make out with wandering hands for a while, Pete makes delicious gaspy noises as Patrick sinks his fingers into his hair and rubs at his scalp, but eventually Patrick finds his way from Pete’s mouth to his neck, because honestly? The sounds Pete makes when he puts his lips to the healed scar there are some of the most beautiful that Patrick has ever heard.

Pete groans out Patrick’s name and he is hit with a wave of deja-vu so strong that he has to shut his eyes against it. He moves his leg, pressing up against Pete’s hard cock and knows what he has to do.

Patrick pulls out of Pete’s grip and drops to his knees. Pete says his name again, as a question this time, and Patrick looks up at him as he puts his hands on the fly of Pete’s jeans.

“Do you remember this?” Patrick asks, rubbing his face into the opening of his pants. Pete drops a shaking hand down and pulls Patrick’s hat off. He holds it gently and Patrick looks up at him. Pete’s eyes are wide, his pupils blown out even in the flickering light of the lamp. Pete licks his lips, a habit he has developed ever since the few days he had been kidnapped by the Gunner unit outside of Worcester.

“Patrick.” Pete manages, swallowing loudly. “Believe me, that is probably going to be the last fucking thing I forget.”

A shiver runs down Patrick’s spine, and he tries to arrange his face into a seductive smile. “I don’t think it was my best work last time,” he says again. “Why don’t you put that hat down, and I’ll try harder.”

“Fuck…” Pete says in a strangled voice. He looks down at the hat as though he’d already forgotten he was holding it. And then, in a move that is one of the most strangely erotic moments of Patrick’s life, Pete reaches up and drops the hat onto his own head. Patrick blinks up at him, his mouth dropping open without any input from his brain. The image of Pete looking debauched with his jeans open and halfway down his thighs while wearing his Minuteman hat instantly sears itself into Patrick’s mind.

He probably loses several of his more boring childhood memories as it crystallizes.

Pete whines, “Oh. Jesus fuck, Patrick. Please. Please.” and it jolts Patrick out of his momentary X-rated trance.

Patrick sucks him down, completely unable to do anything else. His hands move to Pete’s hips to hold him steady and just like he’d known he would, Pete shoves his hands into Patrick’s hair.

The first time they had done this, Patrick had been running on adrenaline. He hadn’t even known he was going to do it, just running on fumes and terror and the desperate burning desire to feel something warm and alive. To feel Pete warm and alive - it’s no use pretending that he would have pounced on Joe or Andy if they had been the ones left with him in that office - it wouldn’t have been anyone but Pete, not after he’d first seen his real smile, seen him happy and relaxed, determined and charming.

Under his hands, Pete starts thrusting - gentle strokes in and out of his mouth. Patrick rolls with it and curls his tongue around the head of his cock. He’s immediately rewarded by a tug on his hair and a low groan that sounds as though he’s pulled it from the very depths of Pete’s chest. He moves a hand down to the front of his own jeans, shoving a hand against the swollen length of his own erection. Pete had barely touched him the first time, Patrick had been so wound up that he probably would have shattered into sharp-edged Patrick fragments if Pete had touched any part of his body beyond his head. This time, he’s determined to see what Pete would have come up with if he had been given the opportunity.

He pulls off, replacing his mouth with his hand and, unable to resist, licks up the sharp cut of Pete’s groin. “What would you have done?” he asks after he finishes.

Pete makes an enquiring noise, so Patrick says - feeling bolder than he thinks he ever has been before - “After I did this the first time? What would you have done… With me? After?”

Pete’s breath is coming in quick pants, shaky and sounding almost painful. He looks down at Patrick, the silhouette of the hat on his head still making Patrick’s stomach squirm, “Oh God.” Pete manages. “Tell me I get to show you?”

“You can show me.” Patrick allows, and then gets back to work.

Chapter Text

The next morning they sit through a hilariously awkward breakfast where they all collectively seem to agree not to mention anything about the previous evening including the bruise on Patrick’s neck and the way that Joe has had to thread a piece of rope through the belt loops of his jeans to hold them up since his top fly button has mysteriously fallen off.

Andy is hopeful that they’ll find some thread and a sewing needle soon.

They head out north again, walking away from the mess of Lexington and up to the railway lines.

A few minutes later, Andy hears a low rumbling noise. He glances around, confused. Beside him, Pete and Patrick are both also looking about. “What the hell is that?” Pete asks.

Joe grabs at Andy’s elbow. “That’s a fucking Vertibird.” he says, “The Brotherhood are here.”

Patrick says, “What do you want to do, Joe?”

Joe shakes his head, “Just carry on.” he mumbles, “If they see us, we shouldn’t be too suspicious - just traders on a trip. Just don’t piss them off.”

Andy looks around. They’re at the railway bridge crossing the road towards Concord. He knows this area well - the railway tracks are a vital route north for the Railroad. Looking further up the tracks, he can see the roof of the derelict station that Dutch uses for his dropoffs.

While he’s looking, there’s a bright flash of laser fire. Everybody turns to stare.

“That’ll be them, then.” Joe says, flatly.

Andy swallows. “That station is a Railroad drop location.” he says quietly.

Pete blows out a breath. More laser fire crackles just up the slope.

Next to him, Joe checks the fusion cell in his gun. “Gotta make contact with them sooner or later, I guess.” he says, sounding resigned.

Patrick swings his rifle off of his back. “Just a couple of good ol’ Commonwealth boys, yeah?” he asks. “They can’t blame us for being interested, can they?”

There are more shots and some muffled shouting in the distance.

Pete pulls both of his pistols out of his holsters. Andy looks down at the shotgun in his hands. “Let’s go.” he says.

There are three people in huge, bulky Power Armor standing around by the station building, surrounded by the still gently smoking corpses of a pack of feral ghouls. They’re all wielding long laser rifles and are radiating an aura that is one hundred percent pure smug.

“Wastelanders!” one of the soldiers booms at them as they approach. “Do not fear! We have rid this location of the scourge of these mutated abominations!”

The four of them stop a little way from the patrol. Beside him, Pete coughs in a way that Andy knows is just a cover for laughing.

From his other side, Joe says “Oh wow, you guys must be so brave!” with more sarcasm than Andy has ever heard from anyone, ever. It sounds like the verbal equivalent of rolling your eyes so hard they are in danger of dropping out of your skull.

It goes straight over the heads of the Brotherhood soldiers.

“Just doing our jobs!” another soldier intones loudly, “We represent the Brotherhood of Steel, here on a mission to rescue this area from mutants and… other problems.”

“Right.” says Joe. “Great. Thanks.”

“It is our honor!” replies the first soldier, jovially.

The third soldier, who has remained silent until now, says in a voice that sounds slightly sharper than the other two, “Is that a laser pistol?”

Joe looks down at the gun in his hand. Andy can practically see him debating with himself, trying to decide whether to say ‘no’ or not. He’s going to do it, Andy thinks. It’s exactly the sort of thing Joe can’t resist.

“No.” says Joe, finally.

Patrick smothers a giggle.

“Where did you get it from?” the third soldier demands.

“I can’t remember.” Joe replies in what he obviously means to be an innocent tone. “I just found it.”

“Hummm…” the soldier doesn’t sound as though she believes him. “Advanced energy weapons can be dangerous in the hands of civilians.”

“They can?” says Joe. He’s really bad at sounding sincere when he isn’t.

“You should surrender it to a military representative, Wastelander.” The soldier tells him sternly. Andy tries to subtly tighten his grip on his weapon. From out of the corner of his eye, he sees Pete adjust his stance.

Joe and the soldier stare at each other. If this turns into a fight, they won’t be walking away from it, Andy thinks. The Brotherhood soldiers are wearing Power Armor, and they won’t be able to rely on Patrick’s skills. Nobody is actively aiming their guns at anyone yet, but there are an awful lot of nervous fingers close to triggers.

“Okay.” Joe says eventually. Andy can’t help but take his eyes off the Brotherhood to stare at him.

Joe spins his pistol around, gripping it by the barrel. The soldier takes a small step forward, raising her hand.

Joe holds the gun out to Patrick. “Here you go then,” he says.

“Um.” says Patrick.

“Captain Stump of the Commonwealth Minutemen, I’m surrendering this terribly dangerous energy weapon to you as the closest representative of the military.” Joe announces, raising his eyebrows at Patrick.

“Oh.” Patrick replies, swinging the strap of his rifle over his shoulder and reaching out for the laser pistol. “Er… Thanks?” He looks down at the gun and haltingly salutes Joe with his free hand. “I accept.”

“Hang on a minute!” the first Brotherhood soldier booms again. Maybe there’s something wrong with his Armor’s audio output.

“Yes?” asks Joe, as he sloppily returns Patrick’s salute. Pete has one hand slapped over his mouth. If they stay here much longer, Andy thinks he is going to start laughing out loud.

“You can’t give it to him!” the soldier says, “Who the hell is he anyway?”

Patrick shakes himself and draws himself upright. It's like Andy is watching him get dressed in a comfortable outfit he hasn't worn in a long time. He tips his head back to look calmly up and down at the soldiers and says, “Like he said, I'm Captain Patrick Stump of the Commonwealth Minutemen.” None of the four of them are exactly the tallest people in the Wasteland, but Patrick looks especially diminutive next to the sheer size of the Power Armor wearing Brotherhood members. Patrick doesn’t seem to notice, instead, he sniffs loudly and says in a stern voice that Andy doesn’t think he's ever heard from Patrick before, “I hope that's good enough for you… Sergeant.”

Andy stares at him, somehow realizing for the first time that the grumpy, lonely and lost Ex-Caravan Guard he met all the way back in ‘Haven really was the squadron commander of a military unit.

Pete still has his hand over his mouth, but has stopped laughing in a way that makes Andy think that maybe they should finish up here and head back to the private rooms in the group home before he has to watch Pete and Patrick fuck al fresco.

The Brotherhood soldiers don't seem to know what to do with this information. The one Patrick had referred to dismissively as Sergeant finally lowers her hand. “The Commonwealth Minutemen…” she says thoughtfully, “I'll have to update our intelligence.”

“Yeah, maybe you should.” Joe scoffs, not quite under his breath.

Patrick doesn’t move a goddamned inch. He stays staring at the soldiers like a man who is used to their orders being obeyed.

After what seems like hours, but is really only a few seconds, the Brotherhood Sergeant blinks first. She turns away from them to look back at the other two soldiers, “Move out.” She commands. “Nice to meet you… Captain Patrick Stump of the Commonwealth Minutemen…”

They all stand their ground watching the Brotherhood squad clank off, cresting the hill and vanishing off to the northwest.

Patrick inhales a deep, shaky breath and collapses down, crumpling to the dirt, “Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck…” he mumbles, covering his face with his hands, “Oh Christ, thank God.”

Pete lands on his knees next to him and wraps his arms around him, tugging him into a hug.

Joe lets out a deep breath of his own and leans heavily into Andy's side. That was slightly more stressful than he had been hoping.

Patrick pulls his face away from the curve of Pete's neck after a moment or two and holds Joe's laser pistol out towards him. “Here.” he says, still wobbly. “Take it the fuck back.”

Joe grabs hold of the gun and says in the most sincere tone he can manage, “Fucking hell, dude, that was the most ballsy move I have ever seen!”

“You were brilliant.” Andy adds quietly.

“I thought they were going to fucking shoot me.” Patrick gasps, “I'm not doing that again.”

“You were amazing.” Pete says to him quietly. “You both were.”

“Is that going to cause any problems?” Andy asks, “The Brotherhood knowing about us, about Patrick and the Minutemen, I mean.”

Joe shrugs, “The Brotherhood were going to find out about the Minutemen sooner or later,” he offers, “And it's not as though we were lying to them.”

Patrick makes a thoughtful, debating sound.

Joe flaps a hand in his direction, “We weren't!” He insists. “That's who you are, isn't it?”

“That's who I was.” Patrick replies, sounding more like his usual self, “I haven't been that since fucking Quincy.”

Joe can’t quite bring himself to worry about what Patrick thinks about his previous military rank. “It’ll be fine,” he says as encouragingly as he can manage.

Patrick blows out a deep breath and disentangles himself from Pete, staggering to his feet. He readjusts his rifle strap, pulling it over his head and settling it against his back.

“Okay,” Patrick says as he dusts at the knees of his pants, “You’re right, we had to meet the Brotherhood eventually, and it’s probably better that they met us while we were at least slightly in control.”

“You were so in control…” Pete says appreciatively.

“Pete.” Patrick huffs, a slight blush appearing across the bridge of his nose. “Stop that.”

Joe feels like he should nip this kind of flirting in the bud - they’re still in the middle of the Wasteland, and if he’s not allowed to do that sort of thing with Andy, then Pete and Patrick definitely aren’t. He claps his hands together loudly, “Right. Concord.” he announces.

Concord is pretty much a straight shot due west. They leave the train tracks and head cross country before dropping down onto a road. With almost every step they take, Pete tugs at his cap. He’s pulled it down so far that Joe is honestly surprised that he can still see where he’s walking. Joe can understand why - it must be pretty nerve-wracking to be walking straight into a stronghold of an armed group of people who can be counted on to hate him on principle - but he gets the feeling that if the Minutemen can’t get over their dislike of Pete then Patrick will just walk away from them.

Next to him, Patrick is also fiddling with his hat. He keeps pulling it off and twisting it in his hands before jamming it back in his head as though he’s unsure if he wants to be wearing it when they finally meet up with his old comrades.

“Keep it on.” Joe says after he takes it off for the fourth time. “It might be better if they recognize it when we meet them.”

“They might recognize me anyway,” Patrick says, “It depends on who it is.” he sounds worried, but puts the hat back on.

Ten minutes later they turn a corner into Concord and walk straight into a Minuteman checkpoint.

Patrick recognizes the woman behind the makeshift barrier after a panicked few seconds of thought. “Emma?” he says, taking a few steps forward and holding out his empty hands. “Emma Ross?”

Emma hesitatingly lowers her musket. “Captain Stump?” she asks, sounding shocked. She stares at him for a long moment and then glances behind him to Pete, Andy and Joe.

Patrick opens his mouth to reply, but shuts it again when he realizes that he doesn’t actually know what to say. Emma rescues him by saying, “You’re alive?” which is, at least, a question he knows the answer to.

“Yes,” he says, feeling foolish. He gets the impression that if the situation wasn’t so serious, Joe would absolutely be laughing at him. “Who else… Uh, who else survived?” he asks, “Is there an officer?”

Emma chews at her lip, “Just our squad, I think,” she says, “But yes, there’s Major Garvey, Josh Miller, Anthony Ferguson, Kizzie McClintock, and Connor Bryant. There are a few of the Quincy settlers that made it out with us too.”

The sudden knowledge that Patrick doesn’t have to be in charge of the entire Commonwealth Minutemen is an amazing relief. He didn’t actually know that he was worrying about that until he isn’t anymore.

Then the rest of her sentence catches up with him and he has a whole-body flinch at the news that out of all the people who could possibly have survived fucking Quincy for him to introduce to his new Ex-Gunner current lover, one of them has to be a current Minuteman Ex-lover. At least they ended things on good terms, Patrick thinks - not that that will probably make Connor less surprised to see them.

“Major Garvey should be in the old museum, Captain.” Emma continues. She sounds nervous and oblivious to Patrick’s anxiety. “We’re using it as our Headquarters. I’m sure he’ll be very pleased to see you. And your… friends. We can always use some recruits that know their way around weapons!”

Patrick doesn’t want to get into a conversation about how nobody is going to be joining up with the Minutemen right now, so he just gives Emma a weak smile and says, “Well, we’ll go and look for him then, if that’s alright?”

“Sure!” Emma replies brightly, “Just head straight down the road. It’s the big building on the left with the flags.” Then she fucking salutes.

“Thanks,” says Patrick, half-heartedly returning the salute. He walks quickly away from her towards possibly the most awkward set of conversations he’s likely to have in his life. He wonders if it would be better if he explains Connor to Pete before they meet, but eventually decides that Pete will probably work it out eventually.

There’s another Minuteman on guard outside the main door to the museum, but Patrick doesn’t recognize him - he’s presumably one of the new recruits. He looks at them as they approach, and his gaze gets stuck on Patrick’s hat. He’s thankful now that Joe had told him to keep wearing it, as long as people are staring at it then they aren’t paying attention to Pete.

“We’re here to see Major Garvey.” he says to the Minuteman. Ever since their encounter with the Brotherhood earlier he can feel himself slipping back into the identity of Captain Stump. It feels odd, like wearing an old pair of shoes with a stone in them - it feels like it fits perfectly but it’s oddly uncomfortable at the same time.

The Minuteman hesitates, but eventually steps aside. Patrick pushes open the door to the museum.

Inside, it’s that kind of half-dirty that places in the Commonwealth tend to be when people who live there occasionally tidy up but can’t be bothered or aren’t able to clean up the major damage caused by the centuries of neglect following the bombs.

Hunched over a table in the corner, his back to the door, is Major Garvey. Patrick recognizes him instantly - they've never been in the same squad together, but he was only a few months ahead of him as a new recruit, and at the time they had both been enamored with the Minutemen's lofty ideals. They'd bonded after a fashion, with their similar histories, but he'd never really been anyone Patrick would call a close friend. There was always something… too well scrubbed about Garvey that put Patrick on edge.

Garvey turns as the door closes behind them, and Patrick watches as his eyes widen in shock as he recognizes him. “Captain Stump!?” Garvey stammers out. He looks like he's just seen a ghost - which, Patrick supposes, he just has.

“Major Garvey.” Patrick replies, nodding at him. “It's good to see you.” He feels a little sick to his stomach at seeing him. He's been so worried about encountering the Minutemen again, spent so long believing that they were all dead, so long feeling guilty at running, at abandoning the Commonwealth - even a tiny part of him maybe feels guilty about what he feels for Pete. Now he’s here, staring his past in his face and it’s feeling more and more like he’s slipping back into his old habits. He tries to resist the urge to stand to attention.

Garvey boggles at him some more. “What the hell, man?” he demands after a few seconds.

The Captain Stump part of Patrick wants to say something like ‘Reporting for duty, Sir.’ but the Patrick that has spent the past few months with Pete, Joe and Andy takes over and pulls his face into a sheepish grin. “Long time no see, Garvey.” he manages.

“You’re ALIVE?” Garvey demands, “It’s been a year! Where the fuck have you been?!”

Patrick waves a hand over his shoulder, “Been out of the Commonwealth for a while.” he says. It’s not exactly an explanation, but it’s the best he’s prepared to give. “I’ve just made it back. Heard that the Minutemen were back up and running.”

“Uh, yeah…” Garvey says, sounding sort of confused. “We found this place on a patrol a few years back, thought it would make a good base to try and start again.”

Patrick glances around at the large, open atrium of the museum. There are a handful of doors leading off the main space and two floors of crumbling mezzanine footbridges above him. As he watches, a man in overalls hurries down the left hand side of the second floor, staring down at a stack of paper in his hands. He can definitely see how it would make a great Headquarters for the Minutemen.

“I’m glad to see you.” Patrick says, honestly. He really is - he likes Preston as a person even if he doesn’t know him as well as he could, but he’s especially pleased that Major Garvey is in charge. Maybe he can formally hand in his resignation and leave the Minutemen for good. Maybe that would finally make Pete relax.

Pete is probably the most scared he has ever been in his entire life as he walks up to the Minuteman checkpoint. He’s arguably more scared than he had been while he was dying. Back then, the only thing he had left to lose was his life - now he could lose Patrick. He could lose Joe and Andy, the idea of the farm, he could lose his future.

He keeps his head down as Patrick talks to the woman at the barricade. He’s planning on staring at his feet until he leaves the Minutemen far behind him. If he can get out of this without anyone noticing that Patrick has essentially walked one of their greatest enemies straight into their Headquarters then he will count this as a massive win.

Patrick talks them into Concord and walks them straight up to the commanding officer of the Minutemen. Pete tries not to think about what Commander Kingston would say to him right now if he knew where he was.

The three of them hang back while Patrick talks to the man in the smart coat who looks extremely surprised to see him. Joe taps his foot against the side of Pete’s as they listen to them talk. Pete glances at him out of the corner of his eye and gives him a faint smile, pleased for even this small measure of reassurance.

Then, someone else in Minuteman uniform pushes through the gate at the far end of the room and stumbles to a stop at the sight of them. “Patrick!?” he says, in disbelief.

Pete watches Patrick as his shoulders tighten and hunch up. He can picture the expression that he is making - the pained, embarrassed one, like he wants to be anywhere other than where he currently is.

The man who has just entered is handsome in a rugged way, tall and well-built with long blond hair scraped back into a ponytail. His nose has obviously been broken more than once and has healed crookedly, but it somehow just adds to his general attractiveness. He can’t take his eyes off Patrick, which is usually a reaction that Pete completely understands, but this just makes him feel awkward like he’s not supposed to be watching this conversation.

“Hi Connor.” Patrick sighs, raising a hand in greeting.

Connor just stares at Patrick. “I thought you were dead.” he says eventually, taking a handful of steps towards him. He looks like he wants to reach out and touch Patrick to prove to himself that he’s really there.

“You…” Connor mumbles, “I thought you’d died at Quincy.” he takes another step forward and puts his hand on Patrick’s arm. “You’re really here.” he says wonderingly.

The man - Major Garvey - who Patrick had been talking to originally watches their interaction with raised eyebrows.

“Um, no.” Patrick replies in a funny tone of voice. “No, I’m here.”

Then, Connor throws his arms around Patrick and drags him into a full-body hug. Pete twitches forward, to pull them apart, but then feels ridiculous. These are Patrick’s people, it’s not a surprise that he has friends here that are pleased to see him alive.

The hug goes on for a while. The other man is so tall that the top of Patrick's head fits neatly under his chin. It should look silly, but Pete doesn’t feel like laughing. Eventually Patrick gives in and pats Connor on the back. “I’m here.” he says again. Connor makes a damp, sad noise in reply. Pete is starting to get the feeling that there’s more to this than a colleague pleased to see someone they thought had died alive again.

Fortunately, it seems that Major Garvey is feeling just as uncomfortable as Pete is starting to. He coughs and says, “Who have you brought with you, Captain Stump?”

Connor finally pulls away from Patrick and Pete stamps down hard on the urge to brush his fingerprints off of him and reclaim Patrick for his own. He doesn’t think Patrick would appreciate it if he did something like that in front of his commanding officer. Then Major Garvey’s question catches up with him. He wonders if hiding behind Joe and Andy will be a viable strategy.

By the looks of it Patrick, if anything, gets even more tense. He breathes in sharply. “Friends from down 'Haven way,” he says. However basically true that statement is, Patrick makes it sound like a lie, stilted and odd, and Pete just knows that Major Garvey and Connor both pick up on it.

“Friends…” says Major Garvey slowly, “What kind of friends, Captain Stump?”

Connor reaches out with his horrible, graspy little fingers again and puts them all over Patrick's arm. Pete narrows his eyes at the touch. It's an interesting new emotion, part of him thinks. He's never been jealous before. He's never had anything to be jealous about. He doesn’t like it, it feels sort of sticky and slimy, but he likes Connor's too-proprietary touch even less.

Connor says, “Is everything alright, Patrick?” in a voice that sounds like he'd be fluttering his eyelashes if he wasn't in the presence of four other people, “Do you want them to leave before you tell us?” He looks over Patrick's shoulder at them and regards them all with narrowed, suspicious eyes.

Patrick gently pulls his arm out of Connor's grip, which makes Pete feel slightly better. “Um, no, that's fine.” he mumbles, which is obviously the wrong move. Christ, Patrick is making it sound like he's here under duress. “Look, honestly, after… after fucking Quincy, I left the Commonwealth. I didn't know anyone else had made it out. I got a job with a Caravan, met these guys and together we decided to come back to the Commonwealth and start a farm. I didn't know you had survived, but we started hearing rumors about the Minutemen reforming and decided to check them out.”

Connor breathes out a relieved sounding sigh. “Well, at least you're home now.” he says,

Pete absolutely can't stop himself. He can't let this happen - no matter what, no matter what Patrick decides to do now he's faced with the reality of actual Minutemen, ones he knows and appears to like - no matter what the future holds for him, if Pete is going to spend the rest of his life stumbling Patrick-less around the Commonwealth he's going to do it in the knowledge that he fought for him. “Hey, he's not home yet.” He says forcefully.

Patrick, to Pete’s eternal relief, turns and shoots him a smile.

“What's that supposed to mean?” asks Connor. “Patrick, what's he talking about?”

Major Garvey finally has enough. “Lieutenant Bryant, please relieve Corporal Weaver. Captain Stump, we should talk in my office. Your friends are welcome to wait for you in the building across the street,” Garvey transfers his attention to Pete, Joe and Andy and explains, “We have it set up as the base kitchen and you're welcome to cook any food and drink any of the filtered water from the yellow box. Please don't touch the supplies in the other crates.” With that, he turns and strides away, heading to the gate that Connor had appeared through.

Patrick grins at them apologetically and hurries to follow him.

Connor sniffs at them suspiciously, and pushes past them to open the front door, “Well, come on then,” he says, holding it for them. “You heard Major Garvey.”

The kitchen is in a building that used to be some kind of store. An attempt has been made to clean it up, and plywood has been nailed across the broken windows to stop the worst of the drafts. Several hotplates have been set up on the old counter and a selection of mismatched chairs and tables are arranged around the open space. As far as the Wasteland goes, it's pretty nice, Andy thinks.

Behind the counter is a set of metal shelves, holding a variety of battered kitchen equipment and boxes of supplies. An open yellow wooden crate is pushed into a corner, boxes of pre-war food and a handful of grubby plastic water bottles are visible, and very tempting.

Joe wanders behind the counter and starts to rummage through it, pulling out a box of Mac and Cheese and a can of lunch meat with the label half-torn off.

Andy turns and leans against the counter, resting his elbows back on top of it and watches as Pete throws himself down into a nearby armchair, draping a leg over one of the chair's armrests and looking very disgruntled. He pulls at his cap again, jamming it angrily further down his forehead. The angle he's wearing it at is starting to make him look deranged.

Joe clatters a saucepan off the shelves and says, “Who's hungry?”

Pete crosses his arms grumpily and says, “He's a fucking prick, isn't he?”

Andy turns his head so he can catch Joe's eye. Joe raises a knowing eyebrow in return. He places the food on the counter next to him and leans forward over it. “I'm guessing you don't mean Major Garvey.” He says, mildly.

Pete narrows his eyes at them. “No.” He replies in a very snotty tone. Andy tries very hard not to laugh. As amusing as Pete’s jealous teenager act is, it really wouldn't help.

“I'm sure they're just friends.” Joe says, but he doesn't sound as though he believes it.

Pete moves from his sprawl, putting both feet flat on the floor and hunching forward. He chews at his thumbnail and says in a quiet, lost voice, “What if Patrick stays?”

Suddenly, Pete's tantrum isn't funny anymore.

Andy says, “Pete…”

“They're his friends,” Pete continues, as though he hasn't heard him, “He's obviously got a history with that Connor, you can't tell me he doesn't. What if he changes his mind about leaving the Minutemen?”

“He won't.” Andy says, trying to sound firm. “He wouldn't.”

Pete is apparently determined to catastrophize. “I mean, did you see him? How would I compete with Mr Tall, Muscular and Blond? I'm just going to drag Patrick down. He'd be better off with a nice Minuteman, not a fucked-up Gunner…”

“Pete!” Joe says, sounding alarmed.

“...I mean, he'd be able to take Connor into settlements without having to hide him. He could be proud to stand next to him, not ashamed. I don't deserve him, I've never deserved him. Fuck, I'm ruining his fucking life…” Pete covers his face with his hands, and Andy takes a few halting steps towards him.

“Pete, Jesus, stop it.” Joe says, vaulting the counter to stand with Andy.

“... just look at me,” Pete moans like he's in pain, the nails of his left hand scratch at the tattoo on his temple so deeply that Andy is worried he'll draw blood, “I'm such a fuck-up, I'm just ruining everything. I should just leave,” Pete continues, oblivious to both Andy and Joe, “Fuck, I should just go away. He wouldn't miss me.” he mumbles into his cupped hands, a statement so awful that it makes Andy reach out to Joe and grab at his arm in panic.

Pete looks up finally, staring at them from between his fingers. His eyes are red and suspiciously damp, “I won’t go back to them,” he insists, “I wouldn't do that. I promise. I'll… I'll go north, I'll go somewhere where they can't find me.”

“No.” Joe says firmly, “You're not doing this, Pete.” He strides forward and drops down in front of him, gripping at Pete's knees and holding him in place with one hand and pulling Pete's hands away from his face with the other, “Listen to me, Peter Wentz. Listen. You have not ruined Patrick’s life. Patrick loves you. If you leave, you will break his fucking heart.”

Pete blinks at him, “But…” he starts, but Joe just shakes his head.

“No.” Joe says again, “No buts. He'd be devastated, you know he would.”

Andy takes a deep breath and says, “If you run, we'll find you. All of us. We will track you down and drag you back. We're ours, Pete. Patrick doesn’t want the Minutemen anymore. He doesn’t want Connor. He wants you and he wants the farm.”

Joe leans forward and rests his forehead against Pete’s, tugging them together with a hand in his hair, “I guarantee you, Pete, I absolutely fucking guarantee you that Patrick will walk out of that building free of the Minutemen and the first thing he's going to do, the very first thing, is kiss you. Stop listening to that shitty voice in your head, okay? It's wrong. Patrick loves you. You can't leave him. You can't leave us.”

Pete sobs out a breath. “Okay,” he manages, swallowing back tears, “Okay.”

Joe makes the saddest pan of Mac and Cheese he has ever made in his life. Pete stays curled in his armchair with Andy sitting beside him. Joe isn't sure if Andy is doing it to provide moral support or to be better positioned to tackle Pete to the floor in case he tries to escape, but he's grateful for it either way.

He chops the lunch meat into small chunks and mixes it in with the macaroni, spooning it into four bowls. “Here.” he says, shoving two of them across the counter, “Eat. You’ll feel better.”

Andy collects their bowls, and hands one to Pete, who starts to spoon it into his mouth without looking up. When Andy turns back to him, Joe tries his hand at non-verbal communication. He raises his eyebrows and inclines his head at Pete.

Andy shrugs one shoulder, one side of his mouth tugging downwards. Well then.

Joe stirs his own bowl of pasta noodles. The salty, cheesy taste and the unnatural bright orange color reminds him of the first time he met Patrick. He remembers heating up the batch in the tiny shed he’d been staying in as they listened to the crackle and boom of the storm outside. He remembers the bitter smell of the bags of Radaway that Patrick had injected and the horrible gray color of his face.

There had been something about Patrick he had recognized even back then - he’d needed a friend, Joe thinks - despite what Patrick may have thought at the time. Patrick is the sort of person who doesn’t do too well on his own. None of them are.

Pete drops his half-empty bowl on the low table beside him and pulls his knees up to his chest, hugging them closely. He rests his forehead on his legs silently.

Beside him, watching him, Andy bites at his lip looking worried.

Joe sighs and finishes his own meal. There’s nothing else he can say to reassure Pete. They just have to wait for Patrick to return.

Ten minutes later, the door to the kitchen opens. Pete’s head snaps up. He looks desperate. Despite being so sure, Joe finds himself praying.

Chapter Text

Patrick follows Major Garvey up a flight of stairs and down one of the sides of the mezzanine, turning into a small room with a desk.

Garvey motions to the chair in front of the desk, “Sit down, Captain.” he says, taking his own chair opposite.

Patrick lowers himself into the seat and says, “That’s sort of what I need to talk to you about…”

Major Garvey sighs. “You’re not here to rejoin, are you?” he asks.

“No.” Patrick says simply. “No, I’m not. Sorry.”

Major Garvey - Preston - nods slowly. “Quincy was bad for all of us,” he replies. Patrick shivers at the mention. “We barely made it out. Lieutenant Bryant and I are the only original officers left. We could really do with your help, Captain.”

Patrick swallows, “I’m sorry.” he repeats, “I can’t. Preston, I can’t.”

Preston leans forward over his desk, “Preston is it now?” he asks, unhappily, “So, you’re here to what? Resign your commission?”

Patrick shrugs and then nods. “I wanted to see if the rumors were true. I thought I was the only one left. You have to understand, I spent the last year mourning the Minutemen. It was hard, and it was awful, and sometimes I didn’t think I would survive it. But then I met those guys down there and everything started to make sense again. We have a lead on a good location for a farm, we’ll happily let the Minutemen use it as a base once we have it set up. We’d be proud to help out with anything you need, we’ll ally ourselves with any settlement coalition you start, raise the fucking Minuteman flag above our building - anything you want… But I’m not coming back, Preston. I can’t, and I won’t.”

“What about your oath?” Preston asks, drumming his fingers on the desktop.

Patrick shrugs again, “I swore to help people in the Commonwealth. I didn’t sell my soul to the Minutemen.”

Preston is silent for a moment, and then says, “They must be some good friends.”

“The best.” Patrick replies loyally, “The very best.”

“Okay then,” Preston says, standing up. He holds his hand out for Patrick to shake. “Very well, I guess I formally accept your resignation, Mr Stump.”

Patrick stands too, accepting Preston’s hand. “Thanks.” he says. It feels like such a momentous occasion should be marked by something, but it slips past. Just like that, Patrick has done what he had promised Pete so many times - He’s not a Minuteman any more.

“Between you and me,” Preston says as he drops Patrick’s hand, “I think Bryant will be very disappointed with your decision.”

Patrick shifts awkwardly from foot to foot. He doesn’t have words for how much he doesn’t want to discuss his Ex-Lover with his Ex-Commanding Officer.

Preston seems to notice his reluctance and takes his seat again. “Is there anything else you want to tell me, now it won’t be official?” he asks in a much more friendly tone of voice than before. He sounds a lot more like the young Corporal that Patrick remembers drinking with all those years ago. He pulls off his hat and fiddles with it in his lap.

“That airship…” he starts - the Brotherhood seem like the easiest place to start. “From a week back. The Brotherhood of Steel.”

Preston nods, “Yeah, I saw that. We’ve been waiting for some more intel, to be honest.”

“I think we’ve got some.” Patrick says, leaning back on his chair. He remembers the conversation he had had with Joe, Andy and Pete back at the Railroad Headquarters. He is fine with not mentioning Andy’s friends, and is absolutely never going to mention Pete’s history with the Gunners to anyone in the Minutemen. Joe’s Brotherhood knowledge, though, that’s something that needs to be shared if they’re going to be as big a problem to the Commonwealth as Joe thinks they will be. “One of my friends,” Patrick continues, “He used to be a member of the Brotherhood back in the Capitol Wasteland.”

“What?” is all Preston gets out before Patrick interrupts him.

“He left years ago.” he hurries to add, “Like, ten years ago. Also, we had a run in with some of their soldiers just before we got here… They, um, well… Let’s just say that they know about the Minutemen now, so you might meet them sooner than later.”

Preston sends him a look that’s slightly more long-suffering than Patrick thinks he personally warrants.

“They’re not Raiders,” Patrick says diplomatically, “They’ll behave themselves, so you don’t have to worry about an attack, but let’s just say that you might want to factor them into your plans - Joe says they’re not good news for the Commonwealth.”

“Who is these days?” sighs Preston, before asking, “Is there anything else?”

“What’s the status of the gang up at the Radio tower north of the plane crash?” Patrick asks, happy to change the subject.

Preston blinks at him. “Is that where you’re thinking of setting up?” he asks.

Patrick nods, “We’ve heard it’s a good spot for a farm,” he explains, “And well, the Wasteland could always use one less Raider gang, couldn’t it?”

Preston rubs a thoughtful hand over his mouth. “Yeah,” he admits, “The settlers up at Tenpines have been mentioning it as a potential location, but honestly, we’ve been too busy dealing with problems closer at hand. If you want to take it over, you’ll have the full support of the Minutemen. In fact, if you can wait a day or two, I might even be able to spare you a couple of people.”

“Maybe.” Patrick hedges. He doesn’t know if the others would want to hang around here any longer than they have to, especially Pete. “Maybe we could go and scout it out. Send whoever you can spare to Tenpines, and if it looks like we need the help we’ll go and meet up with them there. If we don’t, send them up to the antenna and we’ll pour them a drink.”

“Sure, if that’s how you want to play it, I trust your judgment.” Preston says. “The last I heard, it was a smaller gang, maybe three or four members, but word is that the leader has gotten his hands on a Fat Man launcher and a Power Armor frame from somewhere, so it’s definitely a mission for someone who can take him out at a distance.”

“Well…” Patrick says, “I think I might just know the man for the job.”

Patrick pushes open the front door to the museum, he’s looking forward to seeing Pete, Joe and Andy again. His meeting with Preston hadn’t lasted very long, but it’s still been the longest he’s been away from them since he had first woken up on the floor of Joe’s shed.

He’s so intent on reuniting with them that the hand on his arm startles him so badly that he actually jerks his shoulder back, halfway to throwing a punch.

Connor ducks back at it, and says, “Patrick!” in a shocked voice.

“Sorry!” Patrick says, embarrassed, dropping his hand. “Sorry, you startled me.”

Connor smiles at him, “That’s okay,” he says kindly, “You look like you have a lot on your mind.”

“Yeah,” Patrick admits, leaning up against the other side of the door. He honestly still likes Connor, he had been brave and kind and even though their relationship hadn’t been serious he had always been a good friend. “I’ve resigned,” he says.

Connor frowns at him, “Resigned?” he says, sounding confused. “But the Minutemen need you!”

Patrick shakes his head, “You don’t need me.” he says, “You’ve been getting on just fine without me so far.”

“Is this because of your friends?” Connor asks.

Somewhere there exists a parallel universe where Patrick had known that Garvey’s squad had survived fucking Quincy, and had followed them up here, up to Concord to help rebuild the Minutemen. A universe where he had never met Joe, or Andy, or Pete. A universe where maybe he and Connor had reignited their relationship, and where Captain Stump was currently serving proudly, wiping out gangs of Raiders and helping settlers just like he always had.

This Patrick doesn’t live in that universe though.

This Patrick lives in the universe where he fell in love with a Gunner.

He’s thrown back in time to an abandoned barn, to lying back on the dusty ground and promising Pete that he would never come back to the Minutemen.

“Yes,” he says simply. “Yes, because of my friends. They need me, you don’t.”

Connor hums thoughtfully and looks over at him, “Don’t tell me,” he says, “The mouthy guy with the hat.”

Patrick finds himself smiling softly just at the mere mention of Pete. “Yeah.” he agrees quietly, “Yeah, the mouthy guy in the hat.”

Connor laughs a pleased sounding laugh. “You always had interesting taste, Patrick.”

Laughing in reply, Patrick says, “I know. But…” he shrugs helplessly, “I love him.” he finishes.

After a moment, Connor claps him on the back and says, “I'd like to meet him properly. Anyone who can get you to look like that is worth meeting.”

Patrick is seized with an immediate flush of panic at the thought of introducing Pete to Connor. Nothing about that meeting would go well, he thinks. “Ha, yeah,” he manages. “Where is he, do you know?”

Connor points out a building on the opposite corner to the museum. “They should all be in there.” he says, and as Patrick steps into the cracked road, keen to see all of them again, Connor says, “I’ll see you again soon.”

Patrick waves back at him and pushes open the door to the corner building.

Inside, Joe, Andy and Pete are all huddled around a small table. They are all staring at him as he walks in. The looks on their faces make Patrick stop in his tracks. He swallows, his eyes darting between them all before landing on Pete. He looks terrible, and his red rimmed eyes and faint tear tracks just serve to ratchet up Patrick’s feeling of dread.

Patrick swings into action. He darts over to the three of them, reaching out to Pete. He drops down onto the arm of the chair he’s curled into and presses a hurried kiss to the crown of his hat. “What that fuck is happening?” he demands - under his breath in case of eavesdroppers - and looks around at Joe and Andy. “What’s going on? Do we need to leave? We can go right now if we need to.”

Pete makes an odd noise beside him, and throws both his arms around Patrick’s stomach, squeezing him tightly. Andy looks very relieved and Joe leans back in his chair, drawing in a deep breath. “No,” Joe says, “Everything’s just fine.”

There’s a bunkhouse in a building a little further down the road. Like the kitchen, it’s been set up as nicely as anything in the Wasteland, with several mattresses and even real beds set up in various rooms across the two available floors of the building. Pete pulls Patrick into one blindly, tugging the ragged curtain across the empty doorway. Without saying anything, he pushes him down onto the bed and arranges him on his side before tucking himself in behind him, boxing Patrick in between him and the wall.

Pete throws his arm over Patrick, palm flat against his chest, and buries his face into the short hair at the back of his neck. The unwashed, dusty smell of Patrick is wonderful - familiar and comforting and helps to calm him down.

Eventually Patrick says, “Pete?” very quietly. He slowly reaches up with his hand and covers the one Pete has over his heart.

The tiny gesture makes Pete gasp into Patrick’s hair and he turns his face slightly so that he can rub his cheek on the back of his shoulder.

“Are you going to tell me what happened?” Patrick asks, just as softly as before.

“It’s stupid.” Pete mumbles.

“Pete…” Patrick whispers, “Tell me.”

Pete shakes his head, knowing that Patrick will be able to feel the movement against his back, but a few seconds later he manages to say, “I freaked out.”

Patrick pats his hand, “What happened?” he asks again.

Pete closes his eyes. He feels fragile and oddly breakable. He doesn’t like it. He feels stupid and childish, and he doesn’t like that either. He still feels like Patrick would be well within his rights to get up from this bed and go and find wherever Connor is sleeping, which is probably the worst feeling.

He breathes out and pulls Patrick as close as humanly possible, tangling their legs together and fitting himself against him from toes to head, a long, warm line of Patrick.

“I thought you were leaving me.” Pete confesses into Patrick’s ear. “I thought you were staying.”

“Pete!” Patrick says again. He sounds horrified, like this is the worst thing he could think of. It’s definitely one of the worst things Pete can think of, so it’s a little gratifying to hear it reflected back in Patrick’s voice.

“I was going to run.” Pete’s mouth continues without any input from his brain. It’s like draining a wound, he thinks - you have to let the infection drip out so it can heal cleanly. “You’d be better off without me, so I was going to leave you before you could leave me.”

Patrick flails into motion, turning in Pete’s grip to face him. “Pete!” he says for a third time, “Fuck, please don’t say things like that. You know it’s not true, don’t you?” He leans up and presses tiny, fluttering kisses to Pete’s cheeks and the corners of his eyes. “That’s not true.” he says in between them. “I love you, I’ve left the Minutemen, I’m not leaving you.”

“I just freaked out.” Pete says, “Joe told me I was being stupid. Told me to stay.”

“Thank fuck for Joe.” Patrick sighs loudly.

Pete hums thoughtfully. “He said that I would break your heart if I left.”

“It would have.” Patrick says with feeling. “Christ, I don’t know what I would have done.”

“He said the first thing you would do when you came back would be to kiss me.” Pete continues, “And then you came back and kissed me.”

Patrick cups Pete’s face in his hands and pulls him up to look him in the eyes. “Pete,” he says meaningfully, “Listen to me. I will always - I mean, ALWAYS come back to you.”

Pete makes an involuntary noise, and closes his eyes, unable to cope with the sheer passion in Patrick’s expression. He listens to Patrick breathe for a little while.

“Get some sleep, Pete,” Patrick says after a while, “We’ll leave in the morning.”

They’re sitting cross-legged and facing each other. Behind Patrick, a little way off, is a crackling bonfire. Pete feels sick just looking at it.

“You hated me once.” Pete says. It feels like it's being dragged out of him.

Patrick pulls up a handful of scrubby grass and looks down at it as though Pete hasn’t said anything.

“You did,” Pete continues, unable to stop, “When we first met, you hated me. You just saw a Gunner - Don't pretend you didn't.”

Patrick hums vaguely, and blows the handful of grass off of his outstretched palm.

“You were going to kill me.” Pete says.

“I should have.” Patrick agrees pleasantly. His hair ruffles in the wind, the longer strands blowing across his forehead. He finally looks up at Pete. He smiles and says, “Do you have any idea how much easier my life would be if I had?”

Pete stares at him. The firelight makes Patrick’s eyes glow yellow.

In the distance someone calls Pete’s name. Pete ignores them.

“If you were dead, I could rejoin the Minutemen.” Patrick continues in the same nonchalant tone of voice. “If you were dead, I could help people.”

“Patrick…” Pete starts.

Patrick just keeps talking over him, “If you were dead, I could save real people from fuck-ups like you. If you were dead, I could get on with my life.”

“Pete!” the distant voice calls again. Pete tries to look around for the person, but it’s very hard to pull his focus away from Patrick. His glowing eyes twinkle back at Pete. ‘Where are his glasses?’ Pete thinks slowly, like wading through mud.

“If you were dead,” Patrick continues, “I could get back with Connor. If you were dead, I could love Connor.”

“Pete!” the voice sounds desperate, and maybe slightly closer.

“Who is that?” Pete asks.

Patrick grins at him, his too-sharp teeth peeking out from between cracked, peeling lips. “You already know who that is,” he says. His hair whips in the wind that Pete can’t feel, shaggy and dark, “You shouldn’t pay them any attention.”

“Patrick,” Pete says quietly, “Where is your hat?”

Throwing his head back, Patrick laughs loudly. It’s not his normal warm chuckle. It’s a greasy, shadowy thing, full of hidden secrets. It’s like something has emptied out Patrick and replaced him with something else.

“Pete! Please!”

“Patrick, where’s your hat?” Pete demands again. He wants to find the voice, wants to push himself up and away from this strange Not-Patrick, but he can’t make himself move. Pete has a horrible little squirming sensation in his belly.

“You should leave him, you know.” Not-Patrick says, leaning forward. “You should just leave them all. He might be upset for a while, but it’ll be for the best. He could get back to his real life. They all could.”

Pete is frozen - he can barely blink. Not-Patrick’s strange yellow eyes pin him in place. This close up, he has the disgusting idea that they're his eyes. Pete's eyes in Patrick’s perfect face. The squirming sensation intensifies. He feels sick.

“PETE!” yells the voice, screaming now, distraught and awful.

Not-Patrick leans closer. “Throw yourself on a landmine,” he suggests. “Let the next Raider you encounter get that lucky shot… or maybe you could use one of your guns,” he whispers. Pete feels the hot, sour wash of his breath against his lips. “One of those guns he wasted all those caps on. I bet he could even get his money back.” Bloody hands reach out for him, preparing to tug him even closer.

Pete is suddenly, absolutely, certain that if this Not-Patrick kisses him, Pete will die. Not-Patrick will suck out his life, his soul, and his body will be stuck as Not-Pete.

He wonders what a Not-Pete would look like - a bloodstained army uniform and an uncaring sneer maybe. It's a horrific idea. The thought somehow breaks him out of his paralysis and he jerks away, throwing himself away from the nightmare version of Patrick, pushing up against the dry, dead grass and staggering to his feet. He half-walks, half-falls down the slope towards the bonfire, crashing down to his knees and crawling the last few dozen feet towards the figure slumped against the bent road sign next to the fire.

“Pete!” gasps Patrick, looking down at him as he collapses beside his outstretched legs. And it’s really Patrick this time - Pete stares at him, at his beautiful face, at his wide, scared blue-green eyes behind the black frames of his glasses and the oh-so familiar bent brim of his leather hat. His hands are twisted behind his back in a heartbreakingly familiar way.

“Patrick.” Pete says, reaching for him. “It’s you. I’m yours. I promise.”

He wakes up just as his lips meet Patrick’s.

Andy wakes up with Joe plastered against his side, one of his hands stuck down into Andy’s underpants. It’s not exactly sexy, not with the way Joe is snoring into his ear, but it’s one of the better ways Andy has ever started his day, so he relaxes and just enjoys the way he currently has nothing much to worry about.

Everything is going to plan, he thinks. The Minutemen are the real deal, which will please the Railroad, Patrick seems to think that the Raiders at the Radio antenna won’t pose too much of a problem - especially if they can get some help from a Minuteman squad. They can have a nice lie in, safe in a settlement they don’t have to worry about guarding themselves and will set out well rested and well fed.

Joe makes a lip-smacking noise and his hand twitches, groping for Andy’s dick.

“Morning…” Joe mumbles, and then says, “Oh, hey…” as his hand closes over Andy’s increasingly interested erection.

“Good morning.” Andy replies, shifting slightly. Joe’s own cock presses into the side of his thigh.

Joe laughs lowly in his ear. It’s a warm sound, edging slightly into dirty. Andy smiles.

“A very good morning.” Joe agrees. “Let’s make it even better.”

Pete and Patrick are already in the kitchen when they finally manage to drag themselves out of bed. They are sitting together in a corner, Pete hiding as much as he possibly can from the two Minutemen who are currently chatting together over a steaming pan of something cooking on a hotplate.

The Minutemen look up as they enter the building. One of them is the woman that they had first met at the checkpoint, but Andy doesn’t recognize the other one. She smiles at them and says, gesturing at the saucepan, “Feel free to help yourselves. It’s Molerat stew.”

“Thanks,” Andy says, reaching for a couple of bowls.

“Major Garvey says you’re going to try and take out Boomer at the Radio tower.” she continues, holding out a ladle.

“Uh, yeah.” he replies, spooning the stew out.

“It’ll be great if you can,” the other Minuteman says, “He’s been a problem for Tenpines for ages.”

“Tenpines?” Joe asks, accepting his bowl of stew from Andy.

“The closest settlement to the outpost.” the Minuteman explains, “It’s just a little ways south west of it. It’s only a small place, but the Raiders occasionally cause them problems. If you can get rid of them, then we’ll probably be able to help them expand their farm into a proper place. A trading post maybe.”

Joe nods thoughtfully. “We’ll do our best.” he says.

Major Garvey comes to see them off when they finally leave later that morning. He’s flanked by the tall, blond Minuteman who had been so pleased to see Patrick the other day.

“I’ll send a squad up to Tenpines in a couple of days.” Major Garvey says, “Lieutenant Bryant says he’ll lead them and he’ll help you out with anything you need.”

Patrick’s shoulders stiffen at that. “Great.” he says, sounding less than enthused.

Andy adjusts his backpack and says, “Thanks.”

Joe claps his hands together. “Well, let’s go, I guess.” he says, sounding much cheerier than anyone else.

They all walk off away from Concord, back up the road they had arrived by the day before.

“Are you okay?” Andy asks Pete as they leave the town behind. Pete is stumbling down the road and he hasn’t looked up all morning.

“Yeah, yeah.” Pete replies, waving a hand. Ahead of them, Patrick and Joe are discussing something that involves a lot of pointing.

Something is definitely still upsetting Pete, but it's obvious that whatever it is, he doesn't want to discuss it.

“Okay,” Andy says kindly. “But, you know, we'll be here for you if you want to talk. About anything.”

Pete rubs at his face, “Thanks,” he mutters. “That means a lot.”

Andy shrugs as much as his bag will let him, “What are friends for?” he asks as they catch up with Joe and Patrick.

“We're going to drop in on Tenpines.” Patrick announces, “We should introduce ourselves if we're moving into the neighborhood.”

Joe doesn’t know what he had been expecting from the settlement at Tenpines, but the crappy one-room shack that is more hole than wall and depressing plot of Tato plants is rather underwhelming. A man and a woman stand in the middle of the crop of Tato and watch them wander into their farm.

“Uh, Hey?” the woman finally calls out to them. Joe is completely unimpressed - they weren’t being even slightly stealthy. They are four well armed strangers who have just arrived in their farm with only one battered Minuteman hat between them as any kind of proof that they aren’t here for nefarious reasons. Pete in particular has spent the entire morning walk with his hat pulled low and his head so far down that it looks like he's expecting anybody who sees him to be asked to identify him in some kind of parade. These two farmers just stood there like particularly stupid Brahmin and watched them walk into their property. They don’t even have their guns out, for fuck’s sake. They deserve to have Raiders take them for everything they can get.

“Hi!” Patrick calls back cheerily, sounding like he’s channeling Major Garvey. “We’re here from the Minutemen.”

The male settler says, “Aye?” It sounds like neither an agreement or a question.

“I mean, we’re not Minutemen.” Patrick continues, “But we’ve just come from Concord.”

“Aye?” the settler says again. Next to him, the female settler shifts, leaning on a hoe.

“We were thinking of setting up at the old Radio antenna.” Patrick says, sounding increasingly desperate for a proper reply.

Hilariously, the male settler just says, “Aye?” for a third time.

Fortunately though the female settler says, “There’s Raiders up there.” which isn’t particularly helpful, but is, at least, polysyllabic.

Patrick huffs out a deep breath in response. “Yeah, we know,” he says. “We’re going to take them out.”

“Hmmm…” the female settler says, sounding unconvinced.

“Major Garvey says that he’ll probably send a squad out here in the next few days.” adds Joe, feeling like he should rescue Patrick.

“Aye?” says the male settler. Joe considers the idea that that is the only thing he can say.

“I’m Patrick.” says Patrick, “That’s Joe, Andy and Pete.”

“Mary.” the female settler replies, “That’s Marvin.”

“Great to meet you!” says Joe. If the Minutemen want to expand this settlement into a trade post, they will probably have to first recruit some settlers with an above room-temperature IQ, Joe thinks.

“Can we just use your cooking fire?” Andy asks, “We have some .38 we can give you in return,” he adds doubtfully. Joe understands - It doesn’t look like either of these two should be trusted with ballistic weapons.

Unsurprisingly, Marvin says, “Aye?” in reply.

“The approach might be tricky.” Patrick says, in between bites of Molerat. He grabs a stick and uses it to mark out a rough map in the dust. “That’s the antenna. Due south is the plane crash - we’ll want to avoid that, as there’s usually something there we don’t want to mess with. Also, the road up from there runs uphill to the antenna, which isn’t good from a practical standpoint.” he sweeps the stick around, marking a thick line to the west of the antenna. “That’s an overpass.” he says, glancing over at Pete.

Pete coughs nervously and jabs a finger at the bottom end of the line. “Gunners are set up on the southern end.” he says, “As far as I remember, there’s a collapsed section between the Gunner squad and the part closest to the antenna, so if we’re careful we can use that part of the road for a sniper's position without having to worry too much about an ambush.”

Patrick smiles at him widely, and Pete grins back.

“So,” Andy says, pointing at the mark Patrick had made for their current position, “We go due north from here, get past the Gunners and then turn east to the upper part of the highway?”

Tearing his gaze away from Pete, Patrick says, “Uh, yeah…” he pulls off his hat and scratches his scalp, a sure-fire way of telling that he’s thinking about his past. “Major… Preston says that the Raider leader has scrounged up a Mini-Nuke launcher and a Power frame from somewhere, so it’s best if you guys hang back while I take him out. If I can get a good shot on him, then you can all drop down and mop up the rest of the Raiders.”

“A Mini-Nuke?” Pete asks, flatly. “Absolutely not.”

“Pete…” Patrick sighs, “I’m not letting you take on a Raider boss armed with a Fat Man at the range of a .44 pistol.”

“That… That would probably be safer though.” Andy says, sounding guilty for pointing this out, “I mean, not even a Raider would fire a Mini-Nuke at a target that close.”

“The problem is gonna be getting you all that close.” Patrick snaps. “No, we’re taking him out first.”

“If he spots your sniper’s nest…” Pete says, grimly. “I cannot. I absolutely cannot watch someone fire a fucking Nuke at you again, Trick. I will literally go insane.”

Patrick rubs at the back of his neck and puts his hat back on, “Yeah, because I’m wild about the idea of watching you take on a pack of Raiders while I’m watching through a scope again…”

“Patrick.” Pete says, his eyes narrowing.

“Pete.” Patrick replies in the exact same tone.

Joe decides to try and lighten the mood and says, “Andy.”

Dutifully, Andy does his part and intones, “Joe.”

The tense moment breaks, and Patrick shakes his head slowly. “We’ll get to the overpass,” he says, “If there’s nowhere good for me to set up, we’ll have another think.”

Pete looks slightly mollified, but crosses his arms defensively over his chest. “We’re not risking anybody on this,” he mumbles grumpily. “We can always wait for the Minutemen.”

“If we’re discounting a full-frontal attack,” Joe can’t help but point out, “Then a squad of Minutemen aren’t exactly going to help.”

“I’d rather do this without them, yes.” Patrick sighs.

“How about attacking at night?” Andy interrupts. “It might be easier.”

Patrick considers this, “I mean, maybe?” he scratches thoughtfully at his short, scruffy beard, “Pete, do you know how the camp is set up?”

Pete shakes his head. “I visited the Gunner outpost once, years ago.” he says, “The most of the Raider camp I saw was the antenna, and the top of a guard post. I think it’s in a small sort of valley, surrounded by higher ground, but I’ve no idea how the camp is set up, even if we could trust that they haven’t moved anything around since I saw it.”

Patrick makes a tutting clicky noise, “Well, at the very least we'll have to scout it in the daylight,” he says eventually, “If it looks like it's a better idea to strike at night then we can do that. Fingers crossed I can take out the boss while they're asleep.”

“That would probably be the ideal situation,” Andy says.

Joe rolls his eyes, “Oh, well done,” he complains, “Like that hasn't just jinxed us.”

Patrick gets to his feet and uses his boot to scuff out the rough map he'd drawn. He puts his hands on his hips and looks down at them all. “Those fucking Raiders are living in our fucking farm,” he says, “Let's go get rid of them.”

They walk mostly north, giving the Gunner outpost a wide berth when they spot it. Pete has been behaving strangely all day, oddly standoffish and prickly when usually he's attached to Patrick at the hip. He'd woken up that morning and rolled over to see Pete already awake, staring blankly up at the ceiling of their room, uncharacteristically stiff and with his hands crossed over his chest. At Patrick’s movement Pete had twitched so hard that Patrick had been startled, and then all-but thrown himself out of the bed.

It hasn't gotten any better since then.

He looks over to where Pete is walking beside Andy, head down and holding tightly to the straps of his backpack. As soon as this is over, Patrick is going to make Joe and Andy go away and he is going to make Pete talk to him. If that involves tying him to a bed, and finagling it out of him with his tongue, then so be it. Patrick is willing to make sacrifices. He's basically a saint, really.

From their right, a huge metal tower appears over the horizon. Pete had been absolutely correct - the raised overpass crumbles down into a mess of concrete, steel and ruined cars before starting up again like something huge has just taken a bite out of the road, separating the Gunner base from the northern section.

There isn't a way up to the deck of the overpass from the broken end, but there's a rise in the surrounding land and a long, sleek car that has crashed off the side of the road that provides a handy ramp up.

Together, they pull themselves up to the tarmac and duck behind a truck.

Patrick ducks out of the strap of his satchel and pulls his rifle off his shoulder. “Wait here,” he commands, “I'll go look.”

“Patrick…” Pete says, “Please be careful.”

Patrick looks at him. He looks worried. Scared, even. Slowly, gently, Patrick reaches out to cup his cheek in his hand. Part of him - the part still hung up on Pete's behavior over the course of the morning - is petrified that Pete will pull away.

Pete doesn’t, instead he reaches up to cover Patrick’s hand with his own. Patrick’s mouth feels suddenly very dry. “I promise,” he manages. “The carefullest. I promise.”

Pete draws in a deep breath, “I love you.” he says, simply. “Just… just that. I love you. Please don't get yourself blown up.”

Patrick tries smiling, “I love you too,” he replies for Pete alone, and then, aware that Joe and Andy are both right there, “I love all of you. I'll be right back.”

Pete hasn't felt so spine-stiffeningly terrified in a very long time. He's been scared before - Cooper holding a machete to his throat, Doyle telling Maxwell to handcuff him to the road sign, listening to his parents screaming at him to hide as the Raiders approached their farm - but watching Patrick duck and weave his way through the wrecked cars to get a view of a camp containing someone with a Mini-Nuke launcher who will absolutely use it if they spot him makes him rigid with dread.

Next to him, Andy lays a hand on his arm, curling his fingers and squeezing. “It'll be okay,” he says softly. “Patrick knows what he's doing.”

Pete nods. The dream he'd had last night still looms large in his imagination. The vision of Not-Patrick, sly and empty, staring at him with radiation-yellow eyes, makes him feel ill. He tries desperately not to think of it as an omen, and tips sideways, burying his face in Joe's curls. Andy's fingers tighten on his arm and someone tugs him close with a hand draped around his shoulders.

Together, the three of them wait for Patrick to return.

Chapter Text

Patrick ducks around the wrecked cars and then crawls towards the edge of the road. His heart is beating so hard that he’s surprised that the Raiders below can’t already hear him. Using the metal and concrete struts as bare cover, he braces himself with a knee as he lies prone on the ground and slowly pokes his rifle over the edge of the overpass, his eye glued to his scope.

He’s had better spots for overwatch, if he’s honest.

Down below, a large rock outcropping partially hides the Raider camp from view. He can just about make out a couple of patched roofs beyond the rocks, but it’s easy to see that there’s no spot on the overpass that will give him a good look into whatever buildings are down there. What he can see is where they have built up around the base of the antenna, erecting a very bare-bones shelter raised up above ground level. Whoever built it doesn't seem to have been particularly bothered by the concept of walls.

Patrick sweeps his scope over the area. He can see two Raiders - one warming his hands over a barrel fire by the antenna and the top of another’s head beyond the rocks, the laughable spikes of his haircut just visible, standing on some kind of raised guard lookout to the south. He can’t see the boss.

What he can see though, is a revolting looking bed in the raised shelter. It’s in a perfect spot for Patrick to pull off a headshot on anyone who sleeps in it. He breathes out slowly. Surely it can’t be that easy?

Carefully, very carefully, he edges his way back away from the edge, retracing his steps back down the road to where the others are still huddled behind the rusting truck.

Pete reaches for him as soon as he appears, Andy’s hand slipping from his back as he leans forward towards Patrick. Pete buries his face in Patrick’s shoulder and Patrick smooths his free hand over the back of his hair.

“Well?” Joe asks, “Good news?”

“Maybe?” Patrick says, “I’ve got a fantastic shot on someone’s bed.”

“The boss’?” Andy questions, “Because that would be perfect.”

Patrick shrugs as much as he is able with an armful of Pete. “It could be anybody’s.” he says, “But…”

“But?” Pete mumbles into Patrick’s neck.

“Well, it’s an actual bed.” Patrick says, “I mean, if anyone at a Raider camp is going to sleep in an actual bed, then it’s gonna be the boss, isn’t it?”

Joe grins, “And a Raider boss isn’t likely to take on a shift on nightwatch.” he says, sounding excited.

“Let’s not count our Raiders before they’ve hatched.” Andy breaks in, dryly.

“I think it’s definitely worth waiting until tonight,” Patrick says. “If it turns out I can’t make the shot, or the boss sleeps somewhere else then we can try something different, but it’s looking good, isn’t it?” He tries not to sound too hopeful.

“What about our infiltration?” Andy asks, practically.

Patrick bites his lip, “Come down from the north,” he says, “There’s an outcrop that should hide your approach and you can surprise them from the other side of the antenna. It has a wide, brick base that you can use as cover, but I won’t be able to keep overwatch on you if you do. The rocks will block a lot of my shots unless you can kite them into the middle of the camp.”

Joe nods, seriously, “Sounds good.”

Together they use the cars as cover and crawl up the overpass to the furthest northern end they can reach. It's completely collapsed at this end too, finishing at a long, sheer drop above a dark lake. In another stroke of good fortune that, frankly, is starting to make Patrick feel very suspicious, a large truck is parked right at the end of the available road. The cab has crashed through the median at the center of the highway, leaving the enclosed bed of the vehicle twisted across the two lanes of traffic. The roll door is hanging open and the interior is easily accessible, giving them probably the most secure location to wait for nightfall that they could have possibly hoped for. If they were any luckier, Patrick thinks, the truck would be full of un-scavenged first aid kits.

The truck is actually full of broken pallets and several rusted barrels, their contents long gone.

They climb into the back and sit together at the far end.

Andy upturns his bag and tips its contents into the middle of their little circle. “Okay,” he says, “What meds do we have?”

One by one they all empty their bags and pockets, adding to the heap. Andy organizes everything into separate piles - guns, ammo, useful medication and randomly collected trade goods and junk.

“Well,” Patrick says, looking at what they have, “Nobody get hurt more than once, please.”

Joe pushes their four Stimpacks around with a finger and pulls a face. “At least we have enough ammo…” he adds.

“You guys should all take one of the extra guns each,” Patrick points out, “We have more than enough for it.”

Andy picks up one of the assault rifles and checks it, “Okay,” he agrees. “The more armed, the better, I guess.”

Andy takes the first watch, sitting on the edge of the truck, and watching the sun slowly set. After a while, Patrick wanders over to join him. Andy gets the impression that Patrick is going to say something he might not like.

“I…” Patrick starts, “Well. Um, I… Andy.”

Andy turns to look at him. Patrick is tugging distractedly at his own fingers, and as Andy watches he cracks his knuckles loudly. “Just say what you want to,” he suggests.

Patrick clears his throat. “Okay, so, I told the Minutemen that we'd ally our settlement with them.”

Andy breathes out. That could have been worse, he supposes. He nods.

“I know we said we'd set it up for the Railroad,” Patrick continues, “I didn't tell Major Garvey about you, or them, I promise.”

Andy reaches over and puts his hand over Patrick’s, stilling his twisting fingers. “We have a base under Bunker Hill,” he says.

“What?” Patrick says, startled.

“We've had it for years.” Andy says simply. “Mr Stockton is one of our operatives.”

Patrick blinks at him, “Old Man Stockton the Caravan manager?” he asks slowly. “He used to work with my dad!”

Andy nods again, “Yeah,” he says, “So, I'm telling you this so you know that we are perfectly happy working beneath the surface of settlements. The Railroad are absolutely fine with our safehouse being allied with the Minutemen. In fact, it'll be better if we are… I mean, a new farm starting up that close to Concord? Who aren't allied with them? That would look pretty suspicious, especially if people know you're living there.”

Patrick breathes out loudly, and hunches over their joined hands. “Great,” he says, sounding relieved.

“It's fine, Patrick. You did the right thing. Desdemona will be pleased, it'll help the Railroad’s cover, and having the occasional Minuteman come by will help any Synths we help get used to talking to people who don't know who they are.” Andy says soothingly.

Patrick lets out a laugh, “Great,” he says again. “Awesome.”

“Now,” Andy adds, feeling mischievous, “Tell me about Lieutenant Bryant.”

Patrick laughs again and shoves his shoulder into Andy's, pushing him to the side. “Asshole,” he says, smiling, “There's nothing to tell… Not anymore.”

“Well, obviously. But that implies that there used to be.”

Patrick shrugs, and glances back at Pete and Joe, still sitting at the back of the truck, engrossed in their own conversation. “Yeah,” he admits quietly, “Yeah, we… dated, I guess. He was… He's nice. I just didn't love him. We got promoted, sent to different units and neither of us cared enough to carry on. He's a great guy, honestly.”

Andy hums in agreement, waiting for Patrick to reach his point.

“Just, if he keeps coming around, he'll want to get to know Pete. And if he does… Well, he'll find out, he'll notice, he'll know about Pete. And Pete will hate that.”

“I think,” Andy replies, calmly, “I think Pete needs to get used to the idea that he can't hide away forever.” He feels Patrick take a breath to reply and carries on before he can, “You said it yourself, back in that holiday camp, he can't be the only person who has ever walked away from them. The fact that everyone who looks at his face will know is shitty, of course it is, but surely the fact that he's helping run a farm with us, with you, will work in his favor?”

“I keep telling him that,” Patrick says hoarsely, “But… Andy, the first time I saw him, I tried to kill him. He knows that. I know that. I can’t blame him for not wanting to put himself in that position again.” he rubs under his eyes, pushing his glasses up onto his forehead. He glances behind himself again and then lowers his voice even more, “Honestly? I don’t want to be in that position, either. Does that make me a bad person? That I don’t want to have that conversation with Connor?”

“No.” Andy says decisively. “Absolutely not. Walking away from Pete because you don’t want to have a difficult conversation would make you a bad person, but if I know anything about you, that’s the very last thing you’re going to do, isn’t it?”

“God, yes.” Patrick breathes.

“Look, I’m not going to pretend I understand what you’re both going through with this, but people are going to find out about Pete, about the Gunners. Unless he spends the rest of his life hiding from everyone in the Wasteland, they’ll notice. And Pete isn’t the kind of person who can do that. It would break him, I think. But, in the end, he can control how it happens. You both can. Connor obviously still likes you, Patrick - not like that, maybe - but he was so happy to see you again that I can’t think that he’ll, what, tell the Minutemen to stop supporting a new settlement? Call down an airstrike? Just because one person living there used to be associated with the Gunners? He left them for several fucking good reasons, and I bet that if he explains them the Minutemen will understand.” Andy squeezes Patrick’s hand again.

Patrick is silent for a long moment. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard you say so much in one go,” he says eventually.

Andy shrugs one shoulder, “Well, the way I see it, you’ve got the hard part.”

“What’s the hard part?” asks Patrick.

“You’ve got to get Pete to stop listening to that voice in his head that says that he’s going to ruin everything,” Andy says, simply. “It’s gonna be your job to get him to believe that he won’t ruin our future just because of his past.”

“Fuck.” Patrick says with feeling.

Joe watches as Patrick makes his excuses and walks over to sit next to Andy at the door of the truck. He drums his fingers on the cracked pallet beside him and then, deciding that now is as good a time as any, turns to Pete and says, “What do you think the Gunners will do about the Brotherhood?”

Pete, who had been staring down at his boots, carefully adjusting his laces so that both sides were exactly the same length, looks up at him, “Huh?”

“The Brotherhood have started patrolling, that much is obvious,” Joe points out. “What are the Gunners going to do about it? Run? Fight? Hide? Pretend to be normal, boring mercenaries?”

Pete visibly shakes himself out of whatever thoughts he’d just been having. “Uh, all of the above?” he says slowly, “I mean, they’d probably try not to get into a pitched battle with them unless they had a good reason to think that they’d win. They’d definitely want to get their hands on their equipment - the Power Armor and guns would be a fantastic score for whatever squad could bring it in - but they won’t risk soldiers in a fight they won’t win. They’re not stupid. So, I guess, they’d avoid any big groups, take out any small groups and if they get into a standoff they can’t shoot their way out of then yeah, they might try and lie their way out of it. I know I would.”

Joe nods. He’d suspected as much. He takes a deep breath. “Back in Spencer’s Fair, Patrick said we should bring down the Gunners,” he says, “He said you could bring down the Gunners.”

Joe hears Pete swallow nervously, “Yes…” he says, sounding unsure, “Yes, he did say that…”

“Is that still the plan?”

Pete sort-of gapes at him for a moment, “That was just… He just said, I mean, he wasn’t being serious!”

Joe raises his trusty eyebrow, “Are you sure about that?”

Pete’s mouth snaps shut with an audible click of his teeth. He looks away, staring at the wall of the truck. “I want them gone,” he says viciously, “I want to rid the entire Commonwealth of them all. I want to kill them all for what they did - to Patrick, to you and Andy, to all of the innocent farmers whose lives they’ve ruined or taken. For what they did to… to me, but I can’t.”

“What if there was a way you could?” Joe asks, leaning forward towards him, “What if you could? What would you do?”

Pete turns back to face him. “What’s the catch?” he asks, suddenly serious. There’s something behind his eyes, a spark of something that Joe hasn’t seen before.

Joe smiles. He’s always known that deep down, under all the trauma and desperate desire to be liked, that Pete is incredibly clever. They all are, of course - Patrick can practically plan a fight down to the smallest detail and what Andy doesn’t know about gun repair isn’t worth knowing - but Joe has long suspected that Pete has the same kind of brain that he does. Maybe now he can prove it.

The sun is just disappearing over the horizon when Pete sits next to Patrick. They sit together for a while in silence, looking out over the Wasteland.

Finally, Patrick says, “Connor says he’ll come up here. He wants to meet you.”

“I had a nightmare last night.” Pete says. He knows it’s not a reply, but it just falls out of him, unable to stay bottled up any longer. He’s been reliving it over and over the whole day - every time he looks at Patrick, he sees the awful vision of Not-Patrick grinning at him with those glowing yellow eyes.

“Pete…” Patrick says, kindly. He does that a lot, Pete thinks. He tries to think of a way to explain his dream without upsetting him.

“Something was there…” he starts, “Something wearing your face. It was saying all these horrible things.”

Patrick hums, understandingly. He doesn’t understand though, thinks Pete. How could he?

“It was like, like, you, but wrong.” Pete continues, “I think it was you, if you were me. Which doesn’t make any sense, I know, but it was a dream, so maybe it’s not supposed to make any sense.”

“Like, Gunner me?” asks Patrick.

Pete shakes his head, “No, not like that. Like if you were all the worst parts of me, I think. I don’t know… You - it - just hated me.”

“Well, then it was for sure just a dream,” Patrick says, like this is an absolute fact of the universe. Maybe it is, Pete considers.

“I found the real you eventually.” Pete adds. That seems like the most important part.

Patrick smiles, “I’ll always be there.” he says, “I promise, any bad dream you have, you’ll find me eventually. Just come and find me and I’ll help make it better.” He leans over and presses a kiss to Pete’s temple, to the soft skin between the corner of his eye and his hairline.

“How much is Connor going to want to kill me?” Pete asks, trying to change the subject.

Patrick sighs loudly.

“Fuck,” Pete says, “That much?”

“I can’t tell you that he won’t be…” Patrick says haltingly.

“Angry?” finishes Pete. “Outraged? Disgusted?”

“Surprised,” Patrick says calmly, “I was going to say surprised.”

Pete can’t stop the “Ha!” that bursts out of him.

“Of course he’s going to be surprised,” Patrick continues, “But he’s not… the Minutemen aren’t… I mean, they’ll hear you out, Pete. They’re not just going to shoot you as soon as they find out about the Gunners.”

Like it’s being dragged out of him, like he’s having a fucking out-of-body experience, Pete hears himself say, “You hated me once. When we first met, you hated me. You just saw a Gunner. You were going to kill me.”

Patrick flinches away from him. “Yes,” he says miserably, “I was. I had hated the Gunners for so long. I’d spent a year thinking that everyone had died. Then my entire Caravan died. I was sad, and angry. As soon as I saw you, in that farm, with that bonfire with those bodies, I… I…” he stutters to a stop and then pulls off his hat and throws it to the floor behind him. He drops his head into his hands and scratches at his scalp, staring down at the ground. “I was so angry.”

Pete, to his eternal embarrassment, makes the saddest, most pathetic noise that anyone ever has in the entire history of the Commonwealth. Part of him is relieved that only Patrick is here to witness it.

“But, fuck. I felt so guilty about it almost immediately. And then you were… you were you. You were brave, and kind, and generous, and funny and… fuck, you were just so wonderful. So perfect. I didn’t know how I could possibly apologize to you. To be honest, I didn’t know why you would bother hanging around with someone who had tried to kill you. I guess I still don’t.”

“Patrick!” Pete says, alarmed, this is starting to sound like a mirror image of the awful Not-Patrick of his nightmare.

“I'm saying this all wrong,” Patrick lifts his head, looks Pete right in the eye and continues as though Pete hadn't spoken, “What I'm saying is, yes, I was going to kill you. And I apologized. In fact, you asked me to stop apologizing. Several times. And I still feel terrible about it, but when I met you, I was half out of my mind with grief, and that bonfire sent me back to fucking Quincy and I lost it. It happens sometimes, like with Brennan, like when I thought you'd died. I just go somewhere else…

“And I'm still so fucking sorry that I ever made you feel like I hated you. I never hated you. I hated the Gunners and you were just, like, caught up in that. So. Pete. You shouldn’t worry so much about the Minutemen, because they won't freak out like I did. Connor would meet you as someone who has left the Gunners with extreme prejudice, someone who cares about people. He'll meet someone I fell in love with, regardless of his past, and yeah, maybe he'll be surprised, but he won't hate you either.”

Like so many times before, there is absolutely nothing Pete can do with that except lean forwards and kiss Patrick exactly like he's the most precious thing in Pete's entire, miserable life.

When the night is as dark as it's going to get, they all silently check their guns. Joe pulls out a tiny set of screwdrivers and makes a tiny adjustment to something small in the barrel of his laser pistol, Andy picks out the best of the spare assault rifles and Pete makes sure everything is loaded.

Patrick double checks his own gun, and then passes out their pile of Stimpacks.

They leave the rest of their belongings in the back of the truck. Patrick supposes they'll either come back for them later, or some Wastelander will hit a jackpot sometime in the future.

He kisses Pete, gives Joe and Andy a hug and then crawls back up to the overwatch spot he had found earlier.

Patrick holds his rifle tightly and shuts his eyes for a moment. Christ, he hopes that the Raider boss is sleeping in the bed.

He gently pushes his rifle barrel over the edge of the road.

Someone is sleeping in the bed, at least - A dusty looking man with a mohawk haircut. Beside him, standing next to the bed like a guard, is an empty and incredibly creepy looking Power armor frame with only a handful of what look like home-made armor pieces attached. Abandoned carelessly at its feet, still fully loaded with a small, deadly nuclear warhead in a manner that makes every single Minuteman-trained molecule of Patrick bristle in indignation, is a Fat Man Launcher.

Adding all of the pieces together, Patrick comes up with Raider boss.

A different Raider is standing close by, next to the still-burning barrel. They’re lounging against one of the vertical posts of the practically non-existent walls of the raised shack, away from the sleeping boss.

Patrick carefully scans the rest of the camp. There’s a Raider with a different terrible haircut standing on the raised guardpost behind the rocks, but he can’t see any more people. If there are any more Raiders in the gang, then they must be in the hidden building.

He crawls backwards, bumping into one of the crashed cars, and turns to Pete, Andy and Joe who are waiting, white-faced for him to report back.

Patrick releases the breath that he’s been holding, “I think we’re in luck.” he says, “The boss is asleep, and I can definitely get him. Maybe two. At the very least, I think I can take the Power Armor and the Fat man out of the equation entirely. He’s left them in a location that I can easily prevent the others from reaching.”

“Thank fuck.” Andy says, relieved.

“So, there’s two on the raised platform surrounding the antenna, and one on guard on a raised lookout to the southern entrance. I can’t see any more, but there are at least two more unless they have an excellent hairdresser down there. There’s some kind of building I can’t see into set between the antenna and the guardpost, so they’ll probably be in there. The base of the antenna will provide you some cover until they fan out into the middle of the settlement.”

“What’s the plan?” asks Joe. “We’ll follow your lead.”

Patrick nods. “Okay,” he says, “Alright, so… You guys get into position behind the base of the antenna. As soon as you do, I’ll take out the boss. If I can get the other one on the platform, I will, but it will entirely depend on which way they break when they hear the first shot. If they go for the boss, I’ll be able to get them, but if they go down to the others, he’ll be yours to deal with. After that, it’ll depend on what the others do, but hopefully they’ll be too surprised to mount an organized defense… The only major problem I can see is that once the fight starts, you guys won’t have much cover besides the brick base, but that won’t be practical for all three of you to use.”

Joe nods seriously and Patrick bites his lip. He digs into his pocket for the Stimpack. He holds it out, “You guys should take this.” he says, “I won’t need it.”

Andy reaches out to take it, but Pete hisses, “Don’t be stupid. Keep it.”

Patrick shakes his head, “If the Fat Man isn’t in play, I’ll be fine up here.” he points out. “You guys are the ones that are in more danger.”

Pete doesn’t look pleased by this, “If you get shot…” he starts, but then trails off.

Andy takes the Stimpack and tucks it into the side pocket of his combat pants.

“Okay,” Joe says, “Are we ready, gentlemen?”

They all nod. Pete reaches out his arms and pulls Joe and Patrick into a hug with his arms around their shoulders. Without speaking, Joe and Patrick grab Andy and add him to their four-way embrace. “We’re ours.” Andy says, fiercely.

“Please be careful.” Patrick says. Pete leans into him and kisses him quickly.

“You too.” Pete replies.

“Right. Let’s go.” Patrick says, trying to sound more confident than he is, pushing away from everyone and making his way back to his overwatch.

Behind him, he faintly hears them climbing back down to ground level, and a gut-twisting handful of minutes later, he sees them sneaking down the slope, Pete in the lead. They vanish from view behind the sturdy brick structure at the foot of the antenna. Patrick takes a deep, steadying breath, wipes the sweat off the palms of his hands off on his shirt and tries to vanish into his sniper headspace.

He sights through his scope. The Raider boss is still in bed. The other Raider on the platform is still leaning close to the burning barrel. The guard at the southern gate is still guarding.

It’s now or never, Patrick supposes.

He blinks. Once, twice, three times and then he’s there. Calm, in control, ready. He lines up his shot on the sleeping Raider. He looks like he’s snoring, his mouth is open and with the magnification of Patrick’s scope he can see the gappy mess of his yellowing teeth.

Patrick has a perfect shot. He can end this Raider with one tiny squeeze of his finger.

He takes it.

The bullet slices through the Raider’s brain.

All hell breaks loose.

They climb silently down from the overpass and sneak towards the Raider outpost. A little further down, using the underside of the road as shelter, there’s a cabin. It looks abandoned, well on its way to collapsing, but they slip inside to use it as cover.

Andy glances around. It looks like it used to be a pretty nice place, with shelves and broken furniture scattered around. Joe looks at him, eyebrow raised. Andy can hear the unasked question. Joe’s right. It does look like a good place to live. Andy loses several seconds as he pictures what he would need to fix up, where he could expand, where he could put their furniture - where he could put a bed for him and Joe to share, tucked into a cozy corner.

From the front door of the shack, Pete waves at them. Right, Andy thinks, first things first.

They follow Pete down the hill. They can see the top of the raised attempt at a shack, built haphazardly around the brick structure on unsteady looking posts.

Pete presses his back to the brick wall, his pearl handled pistols are practically glowing in the moonlight. Close by, a Raider coughs, and they can hear the low murmur of a conversation between two people. Joe holds up five fingers, lips pressed together in an unsure line. Five Raiders, maybe more, Andy thinks. It could be much worse.

Together they edge their way to the corner of the wall and wait for Patrick to shoot.

It feels like they are there for hours, just waiting for the crack of Patrick’s rifle.

Finally, eventually, it comes, a loud snap that Andy doesn’t think he'll ever be able to forget.

Pete, a gun in each hand, dives out from behind the cover of the wall, firing through the gap in the posts at a pair of Raiders as they are halfway through standing up from a small table. Behind them, another Raider is lying across a sagging black couch. That makes six in total, Andy has a bare moment to think.

Then, there's chaos.

The Raider on the couch rolls off and dives through a gap in the wall of the shelter, but the other two pull their weapons and start to fire back. Andy pushes Pete out of the way of the Raider’s shots and fires his shotgun in the same motion. A bullet whizzes past him, and the expanding cloud of pellets catches both the Raider center mass but they're wearing enough leather and spiked metal armor that it doesn't drop them, just makes them dart for cover behind a small breeze block wall. From behind him, Joe fires a laser shot into the distance, presumably at the Raider on guard.

Patrick’s rifle cracks again, and a split second later, a corpse falls from the raised walkway around the base of the antenna. Andy can't look away from what is happening right in front of him, but he knows without having to that they are all now hidden by the rock outcropping, and beyond the hope of Patrick Ex-Machina.

Another laser shot sparks through the night, met with the sound of a pained grunt and something heavy hitting the ground.

Pete fires both pistols again, but his targets are still both behind cover.

They're at an impasse. The Raiders are outgunned, but dug in behind decent cover and they can't make an approach without getting directly in the Raider’s line of fire. Andy reaches out an elbow to nudge Joe's side, ready to point out that one of them can go back around the brick base to flank the two Raiders but just before he makes contact, something on the overpass above them explodes with an ear splitting bang. They all duck on automatic.

Andy has just enough time to think of all the abandoned fusion generator driven cars on the road and the last Raider rolling off the couch before pieces of metal and concrete start raining down on them.

One car takes out another, and then another. A cascade of miniature nuclear explosions echo across the small valley and sends shivers down Andy’s spine. It feels as though it lasts forever.

Pete screams.

Pete screams like… like nothing Andy has ever heard before. Comparisons are utterly useless. Pete screams like he's just seen hell. Pete screams like he's in hell.

Pete dives forward, throwing himself over the top of the low concrete wall.

Through the high-pitched ringing in his ears, Andy hears the sound of a shot and then the sound of something soft and damp hitting something hard again and again.

Andy follows Pete, staggering over and around the wall. His legs feel like they’re made of jelly. One Raider is collapsed in a heap, the back of her skull is completely gone. She got lucky. Pete is on top of the other Raider, his hands gripping around his ears as he drives his head down into the concrete floor again and again with a single minded intensity that Andy hasn't seen since… fuck, since Patrick took out that Gunner with only his fists. Pete’s guns lie abandoned next to him. One of them is still dripping wetly onto the floor below.

There's a spreading blood pool under the Raider.

Pete is still screaming.

The explosion ends Pete’s universe.

Unfortunately, the rest of the world doesn't seem to get the message.

Chapter Text

Joe stares at Pete. It doesn't look like he's going to stop for a long time. He's screaming, it's one of the worst things Joe has ever heard in his life, absolute, wordless pain interspersed with sobs.

“You bastards,” Pete manages, driving the Raiders head into the floor again, “You fucking bastards. Do you know what you've done!?” he screams again, pure agony in every syllable.

Andy shoves at him, jerking his head up towards the still smoking overpass. Joe gets the message. He backs away from Pete and Andy, gun up and drawn, still aware that there's maybe another Raider somewhere. Fuck, but he doesn't want to go up to the road. He can’t process the thought that Patrick had been caught in that explosion. Not now, not when they were so close to getting everything they wanted.

But he's the only one, isn't he? Pete is lost to them right now, maybe forever. And between himself and Andy, he's absolutely not the right person to try and talk Pete down from whatever comes next.

Joe has possibly one of the best tuned laser pistols on the East Coast, and he has a motherfucking target. He's going to hunt a Raider.

He dashes back around the base of the antenna and back up the hill, by the looks of it the explosion took out a series of cars - several are still burning, lighting up the night sky.

“Patrick!” he yells, panicked, “Fuck! Patrick! Please!” Joe doesn't even care that he's giving away his location.

He runs over to the ramp up to the road, flinging himself up into a burning nightmare. The cars are all alight, thick smoke obscuring his vision. Joe holds his hand out, his pistol gripped in the other, ears straining for any sound he could convince himself is Patrick, but everything is on fire and there's nothing. There's nothing moving, nothing making a sound, nothing that could possibly be an Ex-Minuteman, Ex-Caravan Guard, Ex-Fucking Friend…

“Patrick!” he screams again, his arm coming up involuntarily to shield his eyes from the fire.

His path is blocked by an inferno. He won't be able to make it to Patrick’s makeshift sniper's nest until the fire burns itself out.

“Patrick.” Joe says again, breathless. “Fuck. Fuck, Patrick.”

The black smoke from the burning plastic is bitter in the air and coats his throat, making him cough. Joe takes a few steps backwards. His knees give out and he falls to the tarmac, gasping for breath. Directly in front of him is a severed leg. It's still partially in ripped, grimy long johns held together with what looks like duct tape, and has a piece of rusted, spiked metal armor around the shin. It looks as though they won’t have to worry about the final Raider anymore.

Joe turns away from the grisly find, “Patrick.” he whispers, quietly, feeling sick. “Patrick…”

This will end them, he thinks wildly, this will ruin them. Pete won't come back from this - they'll lose him utterly. They'll lose everything. The dream of the farm, all Joe's cleverly crafted plans, bringing down the Gunners and the Brotherhood, all gone, blown away like smoke. Patrick was like their glue, holding them all together. His breath hitches, ‘No.’ he thinks, ‘No, not like this…’

For the first time since he left the Citadel, Joe buries his face in his hands and cries.

If Pete stops slamming this Raider’s head into the ground, he’ll have to start thinking.

If Pete starts thinking, he’ll have to confront reality.

If Pete has to confront reality, he’ll have to live in a world without Patrick.

If Pete has to live in a world without Patrick, he’ll have no future.

If Pete has no future, then he might as well listen to Not-Patrick and put the barrel of one of his beautiful guns to his head and check out right the fuck now. The Raider he’d just shot through the roof of the mouth looks pretty fucking peaceful. Pete wants that for himself. He licks his lips - a habit he's never going to be able to break.

Pete makes himself let go of the Raider’s head and grasps around for one of his pistols.

He comes up empty, and he lifts his gaze to finally look around at a world without Patrick.

It’s safe to say that Pete isn’t a fucking fan.

Beside him, Andy is hunched over, one hand outstretched but not touching him. Pete’s unsure about what he feels about that - his skin feels like it’s made of glass, like one wrong move would shatter him into a million pieces, but the tiny, sharp-edged thing in his chest that used to be his heart welcomes the very idea.

Andy is holding both his pistols in one white-knuckled grip. He looks very pale, even in the glowing light of the terrible, world-ending fire above them.

“No.” Andy says, simply. He sounds hoarse.

“Yes.” Pete gasps, “Yes. Andy, please.”

“No.” Andy repeats, “You can’t. I know you want to, but you just can’t.”

Pete reaches out with both hands, desperately grasping for his guns. “Give me them.” he demands. “Give me them now.”

Andy shakes his head and shuffles unsteadily backwards away from him.

“Andy!” Pete wails.

“Pete,” Andy says quietly. Tears are starting to drip down his cheeks, “Pete, please. Please don’t make me lose another friend today. Please.”

Pete stares at him. Andy has always been so strong, so steady. Seeing him crying is shocking.

“I…” Pete manages, and then he bursts into uncontrollable tears.

Pete is sobbing, absolutely wrecked, both hands covering his face. He’s still kneeling over the corpse of the Raider. Andy feels faint. If it hadn’t been for the time he’d gone through a nuclear explosion while getting a concussion and almost dying, he’d think he’s never felt worse in his whole life.

He looks down at Pete’s guns in his hand, they’re blurry through Andy’s own tears, so Andy shoves them into his own pocket out of sight. It’s only then that he notices the blood.

As soon as he spots it, he feels a stab of white-hot agony just above his knee. The whole lower half of his left pant leg is dark and wet. “Fuck.” he mutters to himself, and falls back, first down onto his ass, and then dropping completely to lie back on the ground. He kicks out with his right leg, but the other won’t obey him. He stares up at the stars. His tears start to drip into his ears. It feels itchy and ticklish. He doesn’t like it.

“Pete.” Andy mumbles, “You have to get up.”

Pete doesn’t reply. He just cries.

“Pete. Get up.” Andy tries again. “Pete. Help.”

Pete doesn’t move.

“I’ve… I’ve been shot.” Andy says. “Pete.” He tries to kick again, and this time his foot connects with something. Pete hiccups wetly. “Pete.” he tries again. “Help. Fuck.”

“A…Andy?” Pete stutters.

“Shot.” Andy gasps, he’s starting to feel cold. “Help.”

He hears something scrape across the concrete floor, and then Pete’s pale, tearstained face appears at the edge of his vision. Andy tries to lift his hand, but it’s stopped listening to him.

“Andy!”

Something tugs at Andy’s pant leg. Andy screams in pain, and then, thankfully, passes out.

Patrick shoots the second Raider and has a split second to watch them fall off the raised platform around the antenna before he hears a clatter and running footsteps from behind him. Whoever it is, they’re obviously not there to say thank you. Patrick shoves himself upright, slinging his rifle over his back and darting between two cars away from the approaching person. He’s very aware that they are between him and the only way off the overpass.

He ducks down behind a small car just as a voice yells, “I know you’re up here, you fucker.”

‘Oh, great’, Patrick thinks. He’s never been very good at hide and seek.

He backs away from the Raider, trying to stay down, slowly weaving between the vehicles.

The Raider shoots, it's the subsonic pop of a shitty home-made pipe gun, and Patrick isn’t completely sure that he’s been spotted, but it turns out that whether he has or not is completely immaterial. The bullet thumps into something metallic.

Something close by starts hissing. There’s a crackle of a fire starting. Patrick has heard that sound before. That is the sound of a fusion reactor a handful of seconds away from going nuclear.

The Raider says, “Oh fuck…”

Patrick would agree with him, but he’s too busy running.

He runs faster than he ever has before, maybe even faster than when he was being chased by a Yao-Guai. He dashes in between the cars, trucks and vans that have been stuck on the highway for over two hundred years, he doesn’t care where he’s going, just that he puts some distance in between himself and whatever the stupidest Raider in the entire Commonwealth has just put a bullet through.

He skids to a stop by the end of the overpass just as the first car explodes, reaching out to grab at one of the rusting trusses to slow himself down. He's going so fast that he almost dislocates his arm as he jerks to a halt. Patrick feels the road shift under his feet as the heat of the blast washes over him.

Below him is the dark water of the lake. Behind him is something that basically amounts to a parking lot full of bombs that are all just ready to go critical. It’s a shitty choice to make, but as a second car erupts, it’s an easy one.

Patrick prays that the water is deep enough, and then jumps.

There’s so much blood, is Joe’s first thought.

Later, he’ll realize that he doesn’t remember a single moment of his staggering trip off the overpass and back down into the Raider camp. It’s like one moment he is staring at the biggest fire he’s ever seen in his life and the next he is staring at the little compound underneath the raised shacks that is practically awash with blood.

There’s so much blood that it’s all he can process for a second.

Then, something in his brain snaps back into place like it's on a piece of elastic and he suddenly understands what he’s looking at.

Three dead Raiders, none of them with really much of a head left to write home about, all of them in the center of a puddle of slowly spreading blood.

In the middle of them, Pete is kneeling next to Andy, who is lying on his back on the ground in his own pool of blood. Pete’s hands are on Andy’s shoulders, shaking him. There’s a handle of a Stimpack still sticking out of Andy’s left thigh.

Andy isn’t moving.

Joe is thrown back to a cellar bomb shelter and terror overtakes him. This can’t be happening. Losing Patrick can’t possibly be only the second-worst thing to happen tonight. He’s frozen for a second, looking down at the scene in front of him. Pete is still crying, screaming at Andy to, “Just wake up, fuck, Andy, please wake up!” and Joe feels empty - just a shell of panic around an empty core. There is no way he can possibly do this without Andy.

His fucking brain gives him a split second look into the future - a future without Andy or Patrick, where he and Pete have to keep each other together. It doesn’t last very long at all - the vision, or the future.

He stumbles over to them, his boots slipping horrifyingly on the slick floor.

Pete looks up at him and says, “I can’t wake him up!”

Joe doesn’t have anything left to say in reply.

“Give me your fucking Stimpack,” Pete begs, “Please!”

Wordlessly, Joe pulls his Stimpack out from his pocket and hands it over.

Pete uncaps the syringe and stabs it down into Andy’s leg, close to the first one.

He can’t take his eyes off Andy’s face. He’s just waiting for any sign that he won’t have to do this on his own, that he and Pete won’t have to navigate this new, terrible world alone.

Pete stabs Andy with the second Stimpack. He doesn’t know what he’ll do if this doesn’t work.

Somebody up there must finally take pity on him though, and Andy starts coughing.

Joe collapses beside him. “Andy.” he says, “I can’t believe that you did that to me again.”

Andy reaches out with a shaking hand, still choking on air. He grabs at Joe’s knee.

Pete sits back. The relief that Andy is still with them is all-but overwhelmed as soon as it arrives. Something sour and hateful churns in his chest. He tries to be happy for Joe, but all of the joy Pete has ever had in his life since his parents were taken from him has just been vaporized.

He pushes himself away from the couple, Joe has his lips pressed to Andy’s forehead and Pete can’t bring himself to watch a reunion he’ll never get. He stands and staggers over to the couch shoved into the far end of the little shelter. He drops onto it, pulls his legs up and folds himself into the smallest ball he can manage, burying his face in the back cushions where everything is dark. He wraps his arms around his head, dislodging his stupid, ridiculous hat.

He thinks about his guns again, but the idea of using them is growing more abstract. After what had just happened to Andy, he knows he won’t be able to put them through that again so soon. Not right now. He leaves the idea as a nebulous future plan - it’ll happen eventually, he thinks. A week or so, maybe. He feels like he’s in the mood to torture himself for a week or so. A week to make sure Andy and Joe will be okay, and then he can sneak off with his pistols and go and join Patrick.

He thinks about drugs, running through a mental list of anything that could cut him off from his emotions completely - something that would cut through this feeling of emptiness. He thinks briefly of Tom at the Railroad base. Day Tripper might do it, Pete thinks. If he had some, he could spend his last week right here on this couch, drifting through beautiful hallucinations of Patrick. He wonders if he could convince Joe or Andy to find some for him.

He’s crying again, he notices absently. It’s silent, but his shoulders are shaking.

Pete just feels so alone.

Andy chokes.

From what sounds like a very long way away, he hears Joe talking. He forces his hand to move, hoping to pull him closer so that Andy can hear him through the rushing of blood in his ears.

He gets his wish. Joe kisses him - first, a gentle brush of his lips on the forehead and then more solidly on the mouth. Andy pushes his hand into Joe’s curls and holds him in place for a moment.

Then he abruptly remembers why he’s lying on the floor, and what has just happened.

He pulls away from Joe, looking around at the bloodbath. The overpass above them is still burning. Pete is curled up on the black couch a short distance away from him. In the terrible firelight, Andy can see the tremors running up and down Pete’s slim back. His flat cap is on the floor behind him and he has his arms up over his head, hiding away from the world.

His leg still isn’t obeying him, and he still has the needles of two Stimpacks stuck into his thigh. He reaches down with a shaking hand and pulls them both out. He tosses them aside and lays a hand on Joe’s arm.

Joe looks just as awful as Andy feels.

“Patrick?” Andy mouths, not wanting Pete to hear him.

Joe shakes his head, and squeezes his eyes shut.

Andy swallows back his grief. There’ll be time enough later. Right now, Pete needs them.

He tries moving, and feels the weight of Pete’s twin pistols in his pocket. Fuck, he thinks, they’re going to have to keep all their weapons away from Pete for a while. Perhaps a long while.

When Patrick breaks back through the surface of the filthy, brackish water, it seems as though everything above him is on fire. It’s an inferno. He treads water for a moment, just trying to take it all in.

His first coherent thought is about all the fucking gear they left in the back of the truck.

The truck that is now bent out of all recognition and on fucking fire, along with everything else on the overpass. He vividly recalls the Mini-Nuke warhead that he'd left behind. That… probably hadn't helped, he thinks.

Something important tries to get his attention.

A few feet away, floating on the surface of the lake, is his hat. He paddles over towards it, grabbing the soggy mass of it and cramming it back on his head. He probably looks ridiculous, but it's the easiest way to carry it right now.

A piece of concrete falls off the highway into the water. It makes a big splash.

He has the strangest feeling that he’s forgotten something.

Patrick shouldn’t really hang around in this dangerous and probably radioactive lake any longer than he has to. Ugh, he's going to get sick, he just knows it - he can taste the foul, stale water in his throat, which usually means that he's accidentally drunk more than the medically recommended amount.

Fuck, and now he’s also going to have to go to all the bother of completely stripping and oiling his rifle a whole week earlier than he'd planned to, which is always such a fucking hassle.

Maybe, he thinks, he could ask Andy to help.

Patrick stops swimming so suddenly that he almost drowns. He swallows some more filthy water as he flails around before he can cough his way back above the surface.

Patrick stares blankly at the lakeshore. “Oh fuck.” he mouths to himself.

He starts swimming again for the closest part of the bank that looks like he’d be able to climb out of the water.

When he thought Pete had been shot, it had been… It had been devastating. So awful that his conscious mind had basically run away to hide.

Pete has probably just thought he’d seen Patrick get blown up in at least five fusion generator explosions.

Patrick has to get back to the antenna as soon as possible. Sooner.

He splashes out of the lake thinking about how he’d promised Pete that he would always come back for him, and tries very hard to hope that Pete is thinking about it too.

Obviously, with Patrick’s current luck, he’s emerged on the far side of the lake to the antenna. There’s no way he’s going to walk underneath the burning overpass - it's still raining occasional chunks of concrete and car parts, and somewhere up there there’s a Nuclear bomb that may or may not have already exploded, and God knows how many cars that are still waiting to go off. It looks as though it’ll be the long way round for him.

He drags himself up the steep slope, and sets off north around the water, his path lit by the flickering beacon of the fire. Christ, they’ll be able to see that all the way over in Concord, Patrick thinks. He imagines that Connor and his team will arrive in the camp sooner rather than later to investigate.

The ground is uneven and rocky, and Patrick stumbles more than once. The third time jars him so much that he throws up as he hits the dirt. His knee sinks into the muddy ground as he chokes out bile and filthy lake water. It tastes even worse coming out than it had going in.

He has to stay like that for much longer than he would like, emptying his stomach of what feels like everything he has ever eaten.

Eventually, his digestive system stops rebelling against him, and he wipes his face with his sodden sleeve, feeling like a limp noodle.

Another chunk of something falls off the highway into the lake, and it surprises him so much that it spurs him back into movement, stumbling upright and continuing his staggering walk.

Patrick’s head feels fuzzy, as though someone has stuffed it full of cotton. He squints at the horizon, wondering where he is meant to be going.

He was… They were… His Caravan had been attacked, hadn’t it? He can see a vision of Liam and Melanie, both dead on the road.

He’s soaking wet, and freezing cold. There had been a Radstorm at some point. Maybe he’s irradiated? Why hadn’t he taken his Rad-X? He vomits again, bent over at the waist with his hands on his knees, and nothing comes out but water.

He stops and pats at his waterlogged pockets, but they’re completely empty.

Patrick glances around again. Everything is out of focus, but when he reaches up with a trembling hand to check, he’s still wearing his glasses, which doesn’t make sense. What happened? Where the fuck is he? What the hell is on fire?

His gaze gets caught on a tall towering structure. A little voice in his head tells him that it’s important. Very important. He can’t remember why.

Patrick shrugs to himself. He guesses it’s as good a destination as any. He heads for the tower.

He has to stop to throw up sour watery bile three more times.

Joe pulls Andy to his feet, and with an arm slung around him, they stumble three-legged over to the couch. He drops Andy onto the seat by Pete’s feet and sits on the ground beside them. Andy reaches out and puts his hand around Pete’s ankle. Joe leans forward and rests his head against Pete’s back, feeling the shudders.

“Pete.” Andy says, “Thank you.”

“Patrick’s dead.” Pete says in reply.

Joe reaches up and puts his arm around Pete’s stomach. Andy slips sideways to rest his head against Pete’s knee, his left leg sticking out awkwardly.

“Patrick’s dead.” Pete whispers again.

Joe hugs him harder. There’s nothing else he can do.

It’s fucking hubris, Joe thinks, their sheer arrogance in thinking that they could have everything.

The three of them stay like that for a long time. Silent, just listening to each other breathe and the crackle of the fire.

Something eventually catches Joe’s attention. Somewhere, distantly, is the sound of a branch snapping. Joe is suddenly very alert. He pats at Pete’s chest and slowly sits up. Andy gives him a look, but then there’s a strange crunching sliding noise that Andy obviously also hears. Joe looks around behind himself, and he reaches down to pull his laser pistol out of his belt again.

He gives Andy a look and then jerks his head down at Pete. Andy nods.

Joe gets back to his feet and creeps away from them. It has to be another Raider, he thinks, one they hadn’t known about - maybe they’d been off having a piss, on a night time walk, whatever.

He sneaks past the antenna base, trying to stay in the shadows, gun out at the ready.

At the top of the slope to the north of the camp, between the stumps of dead trees, a figure appears, outlined in the finally dying firelight.

Joe already has his gun up, and he squeezes his trigger.

At the very last second, Joe’s hand jerks to the side, sending his shot over the figure’s shoulder. It takes a moment for whatever had moved his hand to filter into his conscious mind.

The man stumbling towards them is wearing a Minuteman hat.

Up the slope, the man crashes loudly to the ground, swearing as he hits the floor.

Joe would know that foul mouth anywhere. He takes off running.

“Patrick!” Joe yells, as he gets closer, “PATRICK!”

The shot comes out of nowhere and flashes past Patrick’s head.

He ducks sideways, yelling wordlessly in shock, but the too-sudden movement makes his vision spotty and his head spin out of control.

Patrick staggers, off balance and queasy, before his knees finally give up completely and he slips, landing hard on his back. It knocks the wind out of him, and he chokes out, “Shitting, fucking hell!”

For a second, he thinks that the Raiders must have come back to finish him off, but then he hears running footsteps coming towards him and his name shouted in what sounds like shock.

‘Oh,’ Patrick thinks to himself as he blinks up at the sky, ‘That sounds just like Joe. I wonder what the problem is…’

The stars start moving, swimming across the sky, which is very rude of them. Stars should stay put. Somehow, as he concentrates on the dancing stars, the darkness around them gets bigger.

Something warm starts dribbling out of his nose, coating his top lip. It tastes disgusting, so Patrick throws up more lake water for variety.

The darkness gets so big that the stars all vanish, but it slowly resolves itself into Joe’s worried face leaning over him.

“PETE!” Joe screams, which isn’t Patrick’s name, but it’s Pete’s, which is better. He tries to reach out to touch Joe’s hair, but there’s something wrong with his hands, or his arms, or his eyes, because he never quite makes contact.

Joe calls Pete’s name again and then grabs hold of Patrick, muttering, “Fuck, fuck. Oh Christ. Shitting hell, Patrick, do you have any fucking idea what you’ve just put us through? Jesus, you have to stay alive right now, so I can fucking kill you later, you glorious motherfucker.”

Patrick tries closing one eye in case that makes the stars start behaving again. It doesn’t, but it also doesn’t make anything noticeably worse, so he stays like that, squinting up at Joe’s filthy face. He’s covered in what looks like soot, but there are clean tracks down his cheeks that make it look like he's wearing reverse clown makeup. The thought makes Patrick laugh literally until he’s sick again.

Somebody slams into the scrubby grass beside him.

“Patrick.” Pete says.

Pete feels Joe pull away from him, but he can’t be bothered to move. He hears the faint whine of Joe’s laser pistol charging.

Maybe there’s another Raider, he thinks, dully.

He remembers Not-Patrick telling him to let a Raider get a lucky shot. Maybe this is their chance, he considers.

But then Andy’s hand tightens on his ankle, and he realizes that it won’t be that easy.

Joe fires. Then, he screams Patrick’s name.

Pete’s breath hitches at the reminder.

Andy sits up, “Pete!” he hisses.

Pete doesn’t move. He doesn’t want to ever move again.

“Patrick!” Joe yells again, and Christ, but Pete is prepared to offer him whatever he wants if he would just fucking stop. He clamps his hands over his ears, trying to make everything quiet again.

Next to him, Andy tries to stand up, but doesn’t quite make it. “Pete!” he says again, “Pete, you have to get up.”

Joe stops shouting Patrick’s name and starts shouting Pete’s instead. It’s not much better, but Pete appreciates it anyway.

Andy shoves him with both hands, “PETE! Get the hell up! It’s Patrick,” he says, “He’s here. He’s back. He’s ALIVE.”

The words hit Pete like a dose of Jet straight to his sinuses. He snaps upright, throwing himself off the couch. “Where!?” he demands.

Andy holds out a shaky, pointing finger out at the dark beyond the antenna. “Go!” he commands.

Pete doesn’t need telling twice. He scrambles to follow Andy’s direction, slipping on the still-tacky pools of blood and racing out under the raised shacks. He can just make out Joe’s hunched silhouette in between a stand of dead trees. He makes for it, panting and desperate.

He drops to his knees next to Joe. Patrick is lying between them. He has one eye open, his face is covered in blood that’s still steadily dripping from his nose, and he’s simultaneously crying with laughter and spitting up mouthfuls of what looks like water. It doesn’t matter. Nothing matters. He’s alive.

“Patrick.” Pete says, reaching for him.

Patrick transfers his one-eyed look to Pete, and then blinks. “Pete!” he says happily. “Hi!”

For a moment, Pete can’t think of a single thing to say. He swallows.

“You bastard,” Pete finally whispers. “You absolute bastard. I thought you were dead.”

Every single muscle in Pete gives up at that exact same moment, and he slips forward, unable to hold himself upright any longer. His forehead bumps into Patrick’s chest. He’s soaking wet, and stinks of vomit, sulfur and blood, but Patrick’s hand makes its way into Pete’s hair and he just breathes.

“He’s sick.” Joe says, “We should get him back down to the camp.”

Pete isn’t sure that he’s in any fit state to do anything helpful right now, but he knows that Joe is right. He forces himself back up again. Patrick’s hand drops from his head and Patrick makes a sad, questioning noise.

Joe digs his hand around Patrick’s shoulders and pulls at him. “Upsie-Daisy, Patrick,” Joe says.

Patrick starts giggling again.

“What’s wrong with him?” Pete can’t help but ask.

Joe starts trying to tug Patrick to his feet, “About six fusion generator explosions, a twenty foot fall into a lake and around two pints of dirty, radioactive water, by the looks of it.” he replies. “I think he’s hit his head pretty hard too… Fuck, come on Patrick, stand up… Thanks.” he rearranges Patrick’s arm over his shoulders, “Look, Pete, you’re going to have to give me a hand here.”

Pete ducks under Patrick’s other arm, grabbing hold of it and holding it to his chest.

“Right,” Joe says, “Okay. Down the hill, guys.”

They stagger forwards, less of a walk and more of a controlled three-way fall. Patrick laughs again and gropes a little at Pete’s nipple.

After a few feet, Pete gets a horrifying thought and says, “Joe?”

“Uh-huh?” Joe grunts distractedly.

“Is this…” Pete starts, terrified of the answer, “Is this real? Please, tell me if this is real. I think… I think I might be imagining this. I think that if I wake up and find out if this is just a dream, I don’t think I’ll survive it.”

Joe gasps out a very shaky sounding breath. “Yeah,” he says, “Yeah, Pete. It’s real. I promise.”

It feels like Andy is waiting for decades. Months spinning past, seasons, years until Joe reappears.

Joe and Pete stumble into the camp, Patrick slung between them.

Despite the throbbing pain in his leg, Andy pushes himself up from the couch to make room for Patrick.

As they get closer, he realizes that Patrick looks terrible - maybe even worse than he could have imagined - wet and bloody, bone pale and shaking.

“Fuck,” he breathes, “Fuck, is he okay?”

Joe and Pete walk him over to the couch and Joe untangles the strap of Patrick’s rifle, pulling it over his head and propping it against the metal wall beside them. Between the three of them, they manage to arrange Patrick on the couch, right where Pete had just been huddled.

Pete sits on the floor beside him, holding onto Patrick’s hand like he’s worried that he might try and leave without him. Andy digs around in his pocket, wincing as he jostles his still-healing wound. He pulls out one of their final two Stimpacks, and holds it out for Pete. “Pete,” he says, trying to get his attention, “Give him this for the concussion.”

Pete takes the Stimpack from him without looking away from Patrick’s face. He pulls the cap off with his teeth and applies it gently to Patrick’s neck one-handed. Something in Patrick’s face relaxes as it takes effect.

Joe tugs Andy away from them, towards the red workbench and a handful of battered lockers shoved beside the brick wall under the raised shacks. Joe pulls open the drawer of the workbench and starts rifling through the contents.

“Joe?” Andy repeats, “Is he okay?”

Joe pulls out a grimy looking bottle of water and slams the drawer closed. He turns his attention to the lockers.

“Please,” Andy begs, “Is he alright?”

Joe stops, his hands gripping at the frame of the locker. His chin drops to his chest, and Andy finds himself staring at the back of his neck.

“No.” Joe finally says. “He’s sick. He's really sick. He must have jumped off the overpass and into the lake before the explosions caught up with him, and if I had to guess, I’d say that he’s got a concussion and he’s swallowed way too much of that dirty water. He needs Radaway, but…” he waves a hand up at the highway, “Our supplies just got nuked…”

Joe stops talking, and sighs in a very deliberate manner that means he’s trying his best not to cry again. He throws open the final locker, and mutters, “Fuck, why do these Raiders never have any proper medicine?”

He straightens up, setting his shoulders in a determined way, handing the dirty water to Andy. “I’m going to check the Raiders’ pockets.” he says in the voice that Andy secretly thinks of as his ‘Brotherhood Scribe’ voice, “You get the fire going and boil that. If they don’t have any Radaway here, I’ll head back to Concord via Tenpines. Hopefully those idiot settlers or the Minutemen will be able to give us something for him.”

“Joe!” Andy hisses, alarmed.

Joe finally looks Andy in the eye, and says quietly, so quietly that Pete won’t be able to hear him, “If we don’t get Patrick some Radaway, I think he’s going to die. It will be slow, and painful and if we don’t do something about it right the fuck now, we will have to sit there and watch it happen. We will have to sit there and watch Pete watch it happen and there will be absolutely nothing we can do. I am going back to fucking Concord and I am going to make the Minutemen give me something that will stop it, or God help me, I am going to walk straight to the nearest Brotherhood squad I can find and tell them to blow that entire fucking town to kingdom come. Do you understand me, Andy?”

Andy nods. He understands completely.

Chapter Text

The Raiders have left a small stash of firewood beside the workbench. Andy limps over to grab it as Joe rifles increasingly desperately through each dead Raider’s pocket. In the lean-to shack, Pete is talking in a low voice to a now-unconscious Patrick.

Andy drops his handful of wood into the Raider’s firepit. They already have a pan suspended on a hook beside the ring of cinder blocks. It has a yellowish crusty ring around the inside, but from the looks of it, it’s just the remains of mashed Mutfruit, which never did anyone any harm.

Joe walks over to him, shaking his head. “I’m going.” he says. He drops a pile of stuff beside the campfire - a mixture of Tato, one more Stimpack, two doses of Jet, a couple more bottles of murky unfiltered water and half a bottle of Vodka - as he crouches down and rests their foreheads together. “I’m sorry about this. You know I don’t want to leave you, but I have to.”

“Joe, of course.” Andy says, “I know.” He tugs him in for a kiss, “We’ll be fine. Please, go and save Patrick.”

Andy watches Joe hurry off down the hill, and then sets about lighting the fire.

Andy watches the water boil and listens to Pete’s monologue to a sleeping Patrick - Jesus, Andy hopes Patrick is just sleeping.

He is going to give Pete the time it takes the water to boil and then cool to a drinkable temperature. After that? Pete is going to have to help.

“... he can probably give us something for that, though,” Pete is saying, as Andy approaches, “I’m sure he mentioned something about a signal booster.”

Andy lowers himself quietly to the floor beside the couch. Neither Pete or Patrick have moved. “Hey,” he says. The water in the bottle he has is warm, but as clean as he can make it without a purifier.

“Where’s Joe?” Pete asks.

“He’s gone back to Concord.” Andy says, “Patrick needs Radaway as soon as possible, so he’s gone to find some. Hopefully the Minutemen will be able to help.”

“He could still die, couldn’t he?” Pete sighs, not taking his eyes off Patrick’s face.

Andy puts his hand on Pete’s back. “Joe is going to do everything he can to make sure he doesn’t.” he replies, trying to sound comforting, “You know Joe, you know what he’s like when he’s made a plan.”

“Mmm,” Pete agrees vaguely.

“Pete…” Andy starts, “Pete, listen to me. Please. Look at me.”

Slowly, Pete tears his eyes away from Patrick’s sleeping face. “Andy?”

“It’s only us,” Andy tells him, “Joe has gone, Patrick is sick, so it’s just us, and my leg still isn’t one hundred percent. We have just made a big fucking mess, as I bet half the fucking Commonwealth - Raiders and Gunners included - have just seen that explosion. I… I am not saying this to be cruel, Pete, but, God, I need you to step the fuck up right now. Help me to keep us all safe so that Joe has us to come back to. It will take him most of the rest of the night to make it back to Concord. I’m sure that Major Garvey will be willing to spare some supplies, so all being well, Joe should be back by tomorrow afternoon and I’m so, so sorry, but yes, Patrick could still die, but he’s not going to do it tonight. Or tomorrow, unless we get attacked by someone because we weren’t ready. So please, please Pete, get the fuck up and help.”

Pete blinks at him. As Andy watches, his lower lip wobbles slightly. He glances back to Patrick, squeezing his hand tightly. Then, he gently places Patrick’s hand onto his chest, patting it. He sniffs loudly. “What do you need me to do?” Pete asks. He sounds like he’s still on the verge of tears, but determined.

“Thank you,” Andy breathes, “There’s a mattress up in the shack, we can drag it down here, and we can make Patrick as comfortable as possible. One of us should stay on watch in case we’ve attracted some unwanted attention.”

Joe sets off from the camp running. He can barely remember the route back to Concord, but he's pretty sure he can find Tenpines and from there he can hopefully get some directions from the settlers.

He crosses under the highway at the point where it's fallen, crawling his way over the mess of broken concrete and cars. Above him, to the right, are the lights of the Gunner camp and it occurs to Joe that the explosions would have been like a fucking neon sign to the squad up there that something big was happening at the antenna. If he doesn't hurry the fuck up, Andy and Pete will have some very unwelcome visitors come tomorrow.

The last time Joe slept was less than twenty four hours ago, but waking up so pleasantly with Andy in the Minuteman bunkhouse feels like a lifetime distant now.

He's spent longer than this awake anyway. He'd helped a village down near Gettysburg hold off a Supermutant attack for around forty-eight hours once, and there had been several times when he had been so close to a research breakthrough back at the Citadel that he had survived for days on five minute catnaps and sugary snacks. This is nothing in the grand scheme of things.

He staggers back into the farm at Tenpines just as the sun starts to rise, barely twelve hours since they had left. Mary is nowhere to be seen, but fucking Marvin - survivor of what can only be described as the first successful Radroach-To-Human brain transplant - is leaning over their cooking fire in a way that makes Joe faintly concerned for his eyebrows.

“Marvin!” Joe shouts, but he already knows what the reply will be.

“Aye?” Marvin exclaims in surprise, jerking upright.

“It’s me, Joe.” Joe says, as Marvin stares at him as though he’s never seen another human being in the world before.

Marvin blinks at him.

“I was here yesterday?” Joe prompts.

“Aye?” says Marvin. Joe has absolutely no idea if that means that Marvin remembers him or not.

“Look, is Mary about?” Joe asks, increasingly desperate for someone who can, at the absolute least, speak English.

Marvin glances over his shoulder at the small shack. Joe gives up on trying to communicate with him and takes it as permission. He darts forward and hammers at the door. “Mary!” he yells.

“Who is it?” Mary demands from inside.

“It’s Joe,” Joe repeats, “I was here yesterday.”

The door creaks open, and Mary peers out. “You were going up to the antenna…” she says slowly, like Joe has somehow forgotten what he was supposed to be doing.

Joe doesn’t have time for any of this. “Do you have any Radaway?” he asks.

In the universe's most unhelpful move, Mary says, “We’ve got Tato.”

Joe squeezes his eyes shut for a second. If he can manage to keep his fragile little family together, these people will be his neighbors. Andy will be very disappointed with him if he shoots them, even if it’s just a tiny little flesh wound. “I know you have Tato,” he grits out, “I don’t need any Tato. Right now, I need some Radaway. Do you have any of that? Little orange bag. Needle. White label.” he describes, as it seems as though Mary could do with the extra help.

Mary shakes her head. “Just Tato,” she repeats.

“Right,” Joe snaps, “Tato, got it. When we need Tato, we’ll come straight here. Can you at least tell me the quickest way to get back to Concord?”

“Aye?” Marvin says, pointing down a worn footpath. It’s heading west, so Joe mentally throws both hands in the air in surrender and just decides to believe him. Maybe Marvin is simply using all his available brain cells on geography facts.

He takes off running again.

Patrick thinks he's lying still, but everything is moving. He feels awful, sick and high and dizzy - like his brain is three sizes too small for his skull and it's just rattling around in there. It feels about a thousand times worse than the most vicious hangover he's ever experienced.

Through the fog, he occasionally hears snatches of people talking, and it all runs together, mixing like different colors of paint into shades of sludgy brown - for a while the voices could be anyone, anywhere, anywhen - Lieutenant Terrell, his father, Major Garvey, Trina, Pete…

Fuck, Pete, where’s Pete? Patrick wants Pete. He wants him like he’s never wanted anything before.

Someone wipes at his face with something cold and damp, but trying to open his eyes is beyond him. He feels himself spit, and one of the disembodied voices says, “Jesus, Patrick…”

Patrick slips away back into the dark.

When he becomes aware again, there’s a heavy weight at his hip and a voice is back. It sounds very familiar, but he can’t place it. He can’t even remember why he’s here. Why does he feel so shitty? He aches all over - his head, his joints, everywhere is throbbing - His mom must be here somewhere, maybe the voice is Kay’s new Doctoring trainee? Whoever it is puts something up to his lips. Patrick cracks them open on instinct, and is rewarded by a mouthful of cool water. He even manages to swallow most of it.

“You gotta stay with us, Patrick.” the voice says. “You can’t leave Pete like this.”

Patrick wants to, but he’s not sure how. There are swirling lights behind his eyelids that make pretty purple patterns. Patrick loses time watching them for a while, half listening to the sound of someone begging him to wake up.

Something in Patrick’s belly utterly revolts and a different voice stops talking. He moves for what feels like the first time in his life, pins and needles spark in his fingers and toes as he clutches at his stomach with the final remains of his upper brain function, and he chokes, wet and painful, once, twice. On the third time, someone puts their hands on him and pulls him upright. “Fuck!” they yell, too close to Patrick’s ear, “Andy!”

That’s not Patrick’s name, so maybe they’re not talking to him.

Suddenly there are more hands on him, one on his chest, one between his shoulders. They lean him forward and someone slaps him on the back, hard. The blow knocks something loose in his chest. He drags in a choking, unsteady breath and realizes that he had somehow forgotten to do that for a while. He gasps, huffing, as his heart feels like it's trying to make a break for freedom.

“You can’t die,” the voice - It’s Pete, Patrick realizes - how could he have forgotten? “Please, Patrick, just hold on until Joe gets back.”

“Promise.” Patrick tries very hard to reply. He doesn’t think Pete understands him.

He can’t stop shaking. He feels like he's frozen. He's so cold that Patrick doesn't understand why he's so sweaty.

The only place he’s warm is the inside of his throat, which feels like it’s on fire.

Patrick wants to stop vomiting more than anything. He wants to tell Pete he loves him one last time.

Together, Pete and Andy push a mattress off the raised shack and drag it over to the couch. It’s probably the most sheltered area of the camp, with a decent enough roof and fewer holes in the walls.

Patrick is still mostly unconscious when they return, and as they roll him off the couch and onto the grubby mattress he makes a low groaning noise.

Pete strips him of his filthy, wet shirt and uses the cleanest part to wipe at the blood and everything else on his face. Patrick looks better for a few seconds, but then he starts to throw up again. Pete jerks back, and says, “Jesus, Patrick… Is there any water left in that fucking lake?”

He rolls Patrick to his side - if he’s going to carry on like this, he’s going to suffocate if he stays on his back.

“Give me a hand?” Andy asks from behind him. He has his hands wrapped around the limp wrists of one of the dead Raiders. Pete pushes some wet strands of Patrick’s hair away from his face, “Yeah,” he says, “I’m coming.”

Together, they drag all the dead Raiders away from the vaguely defined living area. “We’re going to have to check that lake out soon,” Pete says, as he strips the bodies of their rough, mismatched armor, “He’s too sick too quickly for it to just be from dirty water.”

Andy wipes his hands on his jacket, nodding. “He’ll have been radiated from the fusion generators exploding, of course, but I bet that if we check it out, there’ll be some nuclear waste under the water. If we stay here, we might need to stock up on Rad-X and try and clear it out.”

Pete shivers. He doesn’t want to go anywhere near a place that got Patrick so sick, but he knows that Andy has a point.

“Can you take first watch?” Andy asks, “There’s something I want to do.”

Pete nods, agreeing, “You can give me my guns back now,” he says, “I’m not gonna…Well…” he forces himself to stop, glancing back at Patrick. The only way that sentence was going to end was with the word ‘yet’, and he doesn’t want to put that on Andy right now.

Andy looks at him for a few moments, it feels like he’s trying to read Pete’s mind. After a while, he turns away, digging in his pockets and pulling out Pete’s twin pistols.

“Please,” Andy says as he hands them over, “Don’t.”

That isn’t a promise that Pete can make right now, so he says nothing at all.

Pete climbs up the ladder to the guardpost, peering out into the dawn. The sun is just ready to peek out above the horizon and it’s getting easier to see out into the Wasteland. He can just about make out the wind turbine above the Gunner base - it’s spinning gently, providing power to the radio set. He wonders who their Radioman is now, and if Pete has ever met them. He knows that all the Gunners in the Commonwealth will know about the explosion on the overpass by now - even the shittiest Radioman in the world would pass on that kind of information.

Behind him, Andy is sitting close to the firepit with the Fat Man launcher over his lap. He’s using Pete’s combat knife to unscrew various parts, piling them up beside him. They’re not going to use the launcher, even if they do get attacked - it’s far too dangerous and none of them want nuclear weapons on the field if the Gunners can get hold of it.

After a while, Andy wanders over and holds something up for Pete to take, “Here,” he says.

Pete takes the small, lumpy metal thing from Andy and turns it over in his hands, “Thanks?”

“It’s the barrel latch for the Fat Man,” Andy explains, “Nobody will be able to fire it without that, but it’s easy enough to put back if we want to sell it… or use it. It’s internal to the launcher, so nobody will know it won’t work until they try firing it.”

“Huh,” Pete says, “What do you want me to do with it?”

“Well,” Andy replies, shrugging, “If you keep it with you, then we could leave the launcher with a fucking baby and it’ll be absolutely safe. I thought, well, I thought you'd feel a lot better if you knew that nobody could fire any nuclear weapons when you weren't looking. I know I do.”

Pete smiles at him and tucks the latch into his jacket pocket. “How’s Patrick?”

Andy shrugs again, “I tried to give him a drink of the boiled water earlier,” he says, “He drank some of it, but he’s still mostly unconscious.”

The fear clogging Pete’s throat ratchets up a notch. He’s not anything close to being a medic, but he hopes that spending this time asleep is good for Patrick and not a sign of something that Radaway won’t be able to fix. He feels like talking about it out loud would be like courting fate. Instead, nodding, Pete says, “Thanks.”

“Do you want to change places for a while?” Andy asks, “You can keep an eye on him, maybe get him to drink some more?.”

“Please,” Pete says, jumping at the offer, “Keep your eye on the Gunner camp,” he advises, “You should be able to see when they move out.”

Pete keeps up a steady stream of words for a while, barely understanding what he’s saying. He slips between talking about Tom’s plans for the antenna, reminiscing about their trip to the Commonwealth and telling Patrick some of the less mentally scarring stories from his time in the Gunners.

Halfway through a story about Maxwell being ‘accidentally’ shoved into a pile of steaming Brahmin shit, Patrick starts to wheeze and finally moves on his own. He sounds like he’s struggling to breathe, so Pete grabs him, pulling him into a sitting position and yelling for Andy.

Andy is there in a flash, helping him to position Patrick and thumping him soundly on the back. Patrick coughs and starts breathing normally again.

“You can’t die!” Pete says, panicking, “Please, Patrick, just hold on until Joe gets back.”

Patrick groans, and it sounds like he might be trying to talk.

“Patrick?” Pete asks, desperate to hear what he’s saying, but Patrick is already unconscious again.

“Pete!” Andy calls, “Pete, I think they’re on their way.”

Pete looks down at Patrick. He’d woken up a few minutes ago, but doesn’t seem to know where he is. He’s shivering, and occasionally spitting up water with a pained groan.

“Patrick.” Pete says, shaking him. Patrick manages to open one red-rimmed eye. It looks like his focus swims for a second, but then manages to fix on Pete. His mouth shapes the sound of Pete’s name, but no sound comes out.

“Patrick.” Pete says again, keeping a tight grip on his shoulders, “The Gunners are coming. Do you understand me?”

“G’ners.” Patrick whispers. “Pt’e.” It’s the first even semi-coherent words he’s spoken since Pete and Joe had dragged him back into the camp but it’s probably the best Pete’s going to get. He digs into his holster and pulls out one of his beautiful pistols. He grabs at Patrick’s unresisting hand and folds his fingers around the pearl white grip.

“Take this,” he says quietly. “Stay here. Stay down unless you have to move. Use this if you have to. I love you. Don’t die.”

Somehow, thank God, Marvin’s directions were accurate, and Joe stumbles down a slope and onto the now-familiar road leading into the Minuteman headquarters at Concord. The checkpoint is manned by someone Joe vaguely recognises - it’s the Minuteman they had been talking to at the kitchen over breakfast. Joe makes sure his pistol is holstered and hurries over to him.

The Minuteman looks startled, “Hey,” he says, “Has something happened?”

Joe thinks that it’s very fucking obvious that something has happened, given that he’s staggering up to the guard post solo and covered in soot, but the Minuteman continues, “The explosion, was that you guys?”

“We need Radaway.” Joe huffs, reaching the Minuteman. He takes a second to catch his breath, bending over and clutching at a stabbing pain in his side.

“Sergeant Ross is the medic,” the Minuteman says, “You met her yesterday. She should be in the kitchen.”

Joe sets off again. He’s going to sleep for a week after this.

Sergeant Ross is exactly where the guard had said she was, sitting lengthwise on one of the couches in the old store, flipping idly through a ripped, pre-war gun magazine. She looks up as he pushes his way through the door.

“Oh, hi,” she says, “Joe, isn’t it?”

“Radaway.” Joe says. “We need Radaway.”

Ross throws the magazine onto the coffee table in front of her, suddenly businesslike, “What happened?” she demands, “Do we need to have this conversation in front of Major Garvey?”

Joe nods, unwilling to have to explain his story any more times than he has to.

“Right,” Ross says, getting to her feet, “Let’s go find him.”

Joe could fucking hug her.

They end up in Major Garvey’s office along with the tall, blond Lieutenant, who had been swept up in their wake as they marched through the old museum.

“We saw the explosion from here,” Major Garvey says, “I take it that means something went wrong?”

“Is Patrick okay?” the Lieutenant interrupts.

Joe shakes his head, “We killed the Raiders,” he explains, “But the cars on the overpass got caught in the fight and went up. Patrick got caught in the blast and had to dive into a lake to escape. He’s been badly irradiated, and we lost all our supplies. We need to get him some Radaway as soon as possible. We also think that the Gunner gang on the overpass to the south are planning on taking advantage of the chaos, and are probably about to launch an attack.”

“I’ll form a squad,” the Lieutenant says, and then glances guiltily back at his commanding officer, “Uh, if that’s alright with you, Major.”

Garvey nods, “Please,” he says, “Take Ross, and McClintock. And that new kid - Johnson?”

“Jackson, Sir,” Ross corrects.

The Major nods, “Yeah, Jackson. He’s got experience with Gunner tactics, doesn’t he?”

“Yes Sir,” the Lieutenant agrees, before saluting and hurrying out of the room.

“Do we have enough medical supplies?” Major Garvey asks Ross.

She nods, “We’ve scavenged enough to cover anything they’ll need,” she says, “We still have all the gear we took from the Raiders down at Lexington. I’ll go and make sure my go-bag is fully stocked,” she turns to Joe, “I’ll meet you out front.”

“Thanks,” Joe says, breathing a sigh of relief, “Thanks, I mean it.”

“No need to thank us,” Ross says, “All the Minutemen who know Captain… Patrick, would do anything to help him." With that, she leaves Joe alone with Major Garvey.

Garvey leans back in his chair. “You’re the one who left the Brotherhood, right?” he asks.

Joe scratches behind his ear. “Yeah…” he agrees, unsure of where this is going.

“You know what they’ve got planned for the Commonwealth?” Garvey asks.

Joe regards him steadily, “They are going to send out armed squads. They’re already sending out armed squads. They’re going to start with information gathering, and they will come and check you guys out sooner rather than later.

“They’re going to start out well - taking out nests of Ferals, packs of Supermutants, that kind of thing… Then they’re going to start asking for payment from the settlers. Nothing big, only some food, a handful of spare ammo, an agreement to let soldiers occasionally bunk in their barn. And settlers will say yes, because what’s a bag of Razorgrain when you don’t have to worry about those mutants down the road anymore?

“After that, they’ll ask for more. A bag of grain won’t be enough, they’ll want the whole crop. They’ll want the guns themselves, not the ammo. The barn won’t be big enough, so they'd best stay in the house instead… They’ll start taking more and more and eventually your settlers will just be working for the Brotherhood.

“The settlers will be completely free to leave, of course, but what then? They won’t have their farm anymore - The Brotherhood will. They will squeeze you out of the fucking Commonwealth one settlement at a time if they can, and then they'll start really ‘civillising’ the place. You think they'll see a difference between Ferals and regular Ghouls?”

Joe pauses for breath and sends a quick apology to Andy, it's risky maybe to bring them up, but Joe has always been a firm believer in laying his groundwork early. “You think that as soon as they find out about the Synths, there won't be a fucking witch-hunt? There will be blood in the streets, Garvey, and all the Brotherhood will need to say is, ‘We thought he was a Synth.’”

Major Garvey steeples his fingers, leaning forward over his desk. “What do you suggest?” he asks.

This is a question that Joe has thought a lot about recently, but he shakes his head. “You need a strong coalition of settlements,” he offers, “You need to be the people that the Wasteland turns to when things go wrong. Don't give people a reason to let the Brotherhood get that first toehold. Make it obvious that the Minutemen will support the whole Wasteland, Settlers, Ghouls and Synths included.

“From what I've seen, there's a lot of people out there who don't care one way or another about their neighbors, as long as everybody is just trying to survive, but that just means it won't take much for them to be persuaded that their neighbors need to be dealt with because they're different - and believe me, heavily armed assholes in Power Armor can be awfully fucking persuasive. Other than that? I have an idea or two…” he taps a finger pointedly on Major Garvey’s desk, “Come up to the antenna once we’ve sorted this all out. If we manage to survive, I might have an offer for you.”

Garvey looks at him. Joe looks back. Garvey is obviously idealistic, Joe thinks - more so than Patrick, whose desire to help comes from a much more practical viewpoint - but that doesn’t mean that he’s stupid. Maybe he’s coming from a place of faith in humanity that Joe can’t possibly understand, but he gets the feeling that if need be, Garvey could have a spine of fucking steel.

As soon as they’ve rescued Patrick and successfully repelled the Gunners, they are going to have a very long meeting.

Andy catches sight of the kid in army uniform peering around the crashed truck trailer at the bottom of the hill below the southern entrance to the camp. He must be a forward scout, checking their defenses.

He had really hoped that Joe would have returned before this point, but maybe that had been a futile wish. His leg is still throbbing with the remembered pain of the bullet wound and they'd taken the camp in probably the loudest, most visible way they could possibly have done, so it's no surprise that the Gunners are interested. He tries to remember what Pete had told them back in the Railroad bunkroom, but it just boils down to the fact that they will have to mount a crippling defense of the settlement with only the two of them, two pistols, one shotgun and two assault rifles…

…and a partial suit of Power Armor.

Andy yells for Pete, and then runs as fast as his leg will let him.

Joe meets up with an assorted squad of four Minutemen outside the museum - Ross and the blond Lieutenant, a kid who can't be a day over twenty, and a very short, very smiley woman who is holding an absolutely gigantic minigun. Joe squashes the instinct to ask if she needs a hand carrying it. Anybody this happy to be setting out to mow down as many Gunners as she can will absolutely not hesitate to kick him in the balls if she feels like Joe is being patronizing.

Lieutenant Bryant nods at him, “We're ready to move out,” he says, “Do you want to take point?”

“Uh, I mean, maybe?” Joe stutters, “We can just go north from Tenpines and then cross the overpass where it's collapsed.”

Lieutenant Bryant nods seriously, “Sounds like a good plan.”

Which is how Joe - Ex-Brotherhood of Steel scribe, former hydroponics expert and furtive grower of possibly the Wasteland's last crop of entirely non-medicinal marijuana - finds himself leading four members of a Militia force through the ruins of rural Massachusetts in order to rescue his Secret Agent boyfriend and their two best friends from radiation poisoning and an attack from an evil mercenary group who are determined to derail his plans to one day own a Brahmin named Suzie.

Joe has absolutely no idea when his life got so fucking weird, but he thinks it was probably around the time that he agreed to accompany Patrick to ‘Haven.

Thank fucking God that Patrick had chosen his shed to collapse in.

“Your friend…” Lieutenant Bryant says, sounding embarrassed, “The guy with the hat.”

Yeah, okay, maybe Joe knew this was coming, so he tries to inject as much innocence into his tone as possible when he replies, “Pete?”

“I guess?” Bryant replies, “Patrick's… Uh, um…”

“Yeah, Pete's definitely Patrick’s ‘Uh, um…’” Joe replies. This conversation could turn out to be very entertaining.

“Is he, you know, a good guy?” Bryant asks, obviously also aware of how awkward this will be.

“Yes,” Joe says simply, “He's a good man and a great friend.”

Bryant blows out a relieved breath, “Good,” he says, “That's good. Patrick… Patrick deserves someone who loves him wholeheartedly. It wasn't going to be me, but, but I'm very glad he found somebody who does.”

“Pete does,” Joe replies, “He really does. You shouldn’t worry about that. They're very happy. In fact, if I'm going to be sharing a house with them, just between you and me? They could be a shade less happy, if you know what I mean?”

Bryant laughs. It's a laugh that suits him very well - big and handsome and ever so slightly awkward. It trails off, and he says, “Do you think he'll be okay?”

“He was pretty sick,” Joe replies, “But we've been quick enough returning that a couple of doses of Radaway and a good rest should sort him out. I'm more worried about the Gunners, to be honest. Andy got shot in the fight against the Raiders and after Pete thought… Well, with Patrick out of commission and Pete worrying about him so much, they're not in the best position to mount a good defense.”

They pass by Tenpines without stopping, which cheers Joe up no end. If they have to attempt another conversion with the joint winners of the Commonwealth's ‘Most Unlikely To Win A Battle Of Wits Against A Silt Bean’ competition, Joe thinks he might scream.

Jackson, the kid who looks like he still needs a couple of years to grow into his uniform, pulls out half a pair of binoculars as they get close to the Gunner outpost and sights down it.

“They've moved out,” he says after a moment, “There's just a skeleton crew up there. Radioman, maybe two others?”

“Fuck,” Joe curses, “We need to go.”

“Jackson?” Bryant asks, “Are they going to attack from the front?”

The kid shrugs, but says, “I think so. With the overpass out of action, they can't approach from the west, and the east and north are too far out of their way to use.”

“Come on!” Joe urges, “Let’s just get up there and shoot anyone dressed as a Gunner!”

Pete leaves him with a kiss to the forehead and a squeeze of his shoulder.

Patrick tries to say, “I love you too,” but he isn't sure how much he manages to actually verbalize.

The gun feels weird in his hand, the grip oddly shaped and too big compared with his sniper rifle. He wonders where it is, even though he knows that all the Minuteman training in the world wouldn't help him to fire it with the way he feels right now. Fuck, he hopes it survived the explosion and his impromptu swim. He can’t quite remember if he had it with him when he'd made the jump off the highway, but hell, at least he remembers jumping now.

Something close by starts making a clanking noise, and he tries to open his other eye to see what it is. For a horrifying few seconds he thinks he's gone partially blind, but then, embarrassingly, realizes that he's turned on his side again into the revolting mattress and he's actually getting an extreme close-up view of a worryingly brown stain on the cloth covering.

A figure in a suit of Power Armor strides past his narrow field of vision and Patrick feels himself flinch until he recognizes the shotgun they're holding like a precious child. ‘Good idea, Andy.’ he thinks fuzzily.

Patrick’s nose starts to itch, and he tries to reach up to scratch it, but the attempt makes him aware of the gun in his hand again. Pete’s gun. One of Pete's pistols from Goodneighbor.

So beautiful, so perfect, just like Pete himself. He squeezes the grip, hugging the gun to his chest.

There's a sudden cacophony of gunfire that makes Patrick shut his eyes again.

If he tries hard to concentrate, he can hear the metallic ratcheting of Power Armor and the hollow boom of Andy's shotgun.

Someone yells, and then there's the sound of the whipcrack pop of a. 44 pistol.

Listening to a gunfight that involves two of the three most important people in his life without being able to take part turns out to be one of the most stressful things that Patrick has ever done in his life. It's worse than fucking Quincy. At least there he had been able to join the fight, at least for a while, until his ammo had run out.

At least at fucking Quincy he'd been able to see what was happening, even if he wished he hadn't.

He tries to categorize the sounds, the servos in the Armor, the different calibers of guns, the shouting voices, but his head is still throbbing painfully, and he quickly loses his focus. He shuts his eyes again, unable to cope with so much overload.

With his eyes shut, he jumps at every noise. Terrified and panicking like a child, he holds Pete's pistol like a lifeline.

Someone shouts, “Over here!” Patrick doesn’t recognize the voice.

There are more running footsteps close by, and a loud, hollow thumping.

Pete yells, “No!” and Patrick’s entire being flinches at the sound of his desperation.

Suddenly, something heavy thumps into his back, digging right into the base of his spine. Patrick can’t help the grunt of pain that escapes him, and someone - a Gunner, he thinks to himself wildly - says, “Still alive, eh, Minuteman? Hiding back here, letting your friends fight for you? What are you, some kind of coward?”

Patrick spent most of the last year and a half calling himself a coward. He believed it with his whole heart - who other than an abject coward would run away from the battle of fucking Quincy? Who else would just abandon the whole Commonwealth?

And then he met Joe and Andy and Pete.

Patrick doesn’t feel like a coward anymore. Joe, Andy and Pete make him feel like a fucking hero.

The Gunner rolls him over onto his back roughly, and straddles his lap - a move that makes Patrick want to throw up again for an entirely different reason. The Gunner calls out, “Found another! A Minuteman! I’ve got dibs on this one!”

Patrick cracks open one eye. There’s a man on top of him, skinny and badly shaven. He’s turned away from Patrick, shouting over his shoulder into the battle behind him. He has one of his hands tangled in the lapel of Patrick’s coat. The other one is holding a machine gun loosely by his side.

Patrick raises Pete’s gorgeous pistol and shoots him in the fucking head.

Chapter Text

The Gunners attack all at once, running up the sides of the slope leading to Andy’s guard post. They’re armed with assault rifles and SMG’s, ideal weapons for the situation - the wide spread and rapid rate of fire will keep both Andy and Pete pinned down behind cover as they approach.

The Power Armor frame gives Andy a vague feeling of confidence, but he’s also very aware that the actual Armor attached is sparse and mostly homemade. His Railroad designed ballistic armor might actually provide him with more defense.

Pete doesn't even have the luxury of any armor beyond the handful of battered pieces he's managed to strip from the bodies of the Raiders and hastily buckled on over the top of his denim jacket.

Below the raised guard platform, Pete peers around the corner of the sheet metal hammered together to provide some kind of cover. He fires one of their own assault rifles, less aiming at the Gunners and more just squeezing the trigger and waving the barrel in their general direction.

At least one of the attacking Gunners goes down in the onslaught, but that still leaves a lot of them still standing.

Well, it leaves a lot of them still running towards Andy, screaming. Andy's life right now would be very much improved if the Gunners were standing.

As soon as any of them are close enough, Andy fires his shotgun. Naturally, the spread is terrible at this distance, but they're closing in fast enough that it won't be a problem for long, and even a small handful of buckshot to the face will slow most people down for a little while.

Then, the Gunners are on them like a wave crashing against their meager defenses. Pete swears as one of them gets in close, but this is exactly the sort of situation that his pistols were designed for, and he shoots instinctively at the Gunner's center mass. Down on the ground, Pete's much more likely to get up close and personal than Andy up on the top of the barricade, but hopefully the Power Armor is making him the bigger target.

Christ, but Andy wishes he'd been able to run his pathetic attempt at battle tactics past Patrick before putting them into practice, but there's nothing they can do about it now but fight.

Despite the awful situation, Andy is very unsettled to find that he's actually having - not fun, exactly - but he can't say that towering above the Gunners in a suit of armor that makes him over six feet tall isn't satisfying on a visceral level. Maybe once this is over, he can work on finding a complete set. He bets he could make all sorts of interesting modifications if he had the right tools. It would obviously have been completely useless during his trips to ‘Haven, but if he's not running anymore then he can definitely see the advantages.

Maybe Joe has some tips. He'll have to ask him later.

If they have a later, that is.

Pete tries to shoot as many Gunners as he can. He doesn’t even feel slightly guilty, even when he recognizes one of the Corporals and shoots her in the hip.

He has absolutely no idea how many Gunners there are - if there are any who have flanked them and are about to attack from a different direction. He tries to think about how many Gunners would have been at the outpost, standard is fourteen, for two teams of six plus the Radioman and the commanding officer, but the Raidioman wouldn’t have come on the raid, and they would have left a couple behind with them, so maybe they’re looking at eleven?

Andy is wearing the numbers down from his post, keeping some of them pinned down while they try to deal with him. His shotgun, with its slow reload speed, isn’t really the right weapon for this situation, but they just don’t have enough ammo for more than one assault rifle. Occasionally Pete hears a ‘ping’ as a bullet ricochets off Andy’s Armor. He’s very fucking grateful that Andy thought to wear it - there’s absolutely no way they would be able to fight off this attack if both of them would have to hide behind the meagre cover set up by the Raiders.

It’s not looking particularly good for them anyway - the Gunners are doing a very successful job keeping them pinned down, Andy above him on the platform and Pete hunched underneath, sheltered only by a piece of sheet metal that wasn’t very structurally sound to begin with. As soon as the Gunners realize that a couple of good shots could make a big enough hole in it to easily take Pete out, it'll pretty much all be over. It’s the most that Pete can do to keep daringly peering around the edge of the metal and shooting anyone dressed in green.

Suddenly one of the Gunners makes a break away from them, shouting.

Pete shoots around his cover at someone and then the other one’s yell filters through into his brain.

The Gunner - a thin, ratty looking man - is making his way towards Patrick.

Patrick, who is probably unconscious again, curled up on that disgusting mattress. Who will be helpless against whatever this terrible man is planning on doing. The very idea makes something clench again in his chest. How many times can he possibly be expected to live through losing Patrick?

“No!” Pete cries out, but as soon as he takes a step to follow someone else starts shooting at him.

Pete returns fire, but is forced to duck behind the metal sheet when bullets start getting way too close.

The Gunner shouts something again, but the only word that Pete can make out is ‘Minuteman’. He tries to fire at the Gunners still surrounding him, get them out of the fucking way so he can help Patrick, but then there’s one singular gunshot from behind him.

He screams. Today, by turns, he’s been disbelieving, shocked beyond all comprehension and so stricken with grief that he could honestly see no future for himself, but now?

Now Pete is absolutely full of rage. He screams with every last drop of fury he has, stepping out from behind cover and just letting go with his own assault rifle.

It’s just not fucking fair.

Joe and the Minutemen approach the antenna from the south, and there’s already a firefight in progress.

“Shit!” Joe swears, “Come on, let’s go.”

He runs up the dirt track towards the guardpost, the Minutemen squad following closely behind him.

There’s a pack of Gunners surrounding the lookout and someone in Power Armor standing on top of it shooting down at them that Joe is startled to realize is Andy. As he keeps an eye on him, Andy frantically reloads his shotgun, suddenly twisting to the side as there’s a spark from a bullet hitting the shoulder of the patched looking Armor.

Then, of fucking course, Pete screams and comes barrelling out of the cover underneath Andy. He has one of the assault rifles, and fires it, spraying the assembled Gunners. The rifle soon runs out of bullets and Pete pulls one of his pistols with the other hand.

Joe runs faster and fires off some shots of his own at the handful of Gunners left.

As he does so, Andy jumps off the raised platform

Pete starts screaming again, steps out from behind his cover and just fires his rifle with no care of the return fire.

But then, thank absolute fuck, there’s a blast of laser fire, and when Andy looks down the road he sees Joe followed by four Minutemen barrelling towards them.

Andy jumps down from his perch, the Power Armor making a very pleasing thud as he lands. He shoots the closest Gunner, feeling like now they have a chance.

As soon as Joe and the Minutemen are close enough that the Gunners turn their attention on them, Pete takes off running for Patrick.

Something pings off the back of his Power Armor as the Minutemen take out the final bearded Gunner.

There’s another shot, and one of the Minutemen, a young man with thick curly hair, cries out in pain. He grabs at his arm, blood welling up from between his fingers.

“Fuck! There’s one more!” Joe yells, as two of the Minutemen drag the wounded man back behind the metal that Pete had just been using as cover, “Pete! Stay down! I think they have a sniper set up!”

Another bullet slams into the metal, deforming the surface of it right next to the head of a female Minuteman who is all-but overwhelmed by a ferocious looking minigun that she hasn’t had the chance to use. She makes a surprised noise, “What the hell?” she demands.

“How are we gonna clear them out?” Joe demands, looking around at them all.

The blond Minuteman looks like he’s a little out of his depth, but determined not to show it. “They must be set up on the rocks to the west,” he says.

Andy just knows that Joe is gearing up to make a ‘well, duh’ noise, so he says, “I can give it a go,” just to cut him off at the pass, “I’m the best armored, so it’s the only real choice…”

“Andy…” Joe says, but Andy knows that Joe knows that he’s right. Then, Joe sighs and says, “You’re right, of course.” He holds out his laser pistol, “Here, use this?”

Andy takes the pistol - grateful for the extra range - swallows, takes a deep breath and then steps out from behind cover.

Someone shoots and Andy flinches on instinct, but when he looks up there’s a man standing on top of the rocky outcropping, a small 10mm pistol in his hand, pointed down at the ground. From behind him, Joe shouts his name in surprise.

Andy stares at the man.

The man waves cheerfully. “You looked like you guys needed the help,” he calls.

Blood starts dripping down the rocks.

Joe hisses, “Andy?” again.

Andy says, “Deacon?!” in absolute shock.

There are two bodies on the mattress when Pete rounds the corner into the half-built shack.

“Patrick?” he whispers, “Fuck.”

Joe yells at him that there’s a sniper, that he needs to stay down, but if Patrick couldn’t reach this part of the camp, then some shitty Gunner sniper sure as hell isn’t going to.

Suddenly, the Gunner’s body moves, rolling off the mattress and landing wetly on the concrete floor.

“Fucking hell,” Patrick mumbles, shoving at the Raider’s body, “He fucking stinks.”

Pete is absolutely done. He feels drained, almost literally - like someone opened some kind of faucet somewhere in him and all the emotions are just rushing out of him.

He has spent the last six hours of his life awash in adrenaline, bouncing between feeling dangerously suicidal and overwhelmingly relieved. There has been deep depression, absolute joy and towering rage. It isn't even midday yet and Pete already feels scooped out and weirdly hollow.

He exhales.

He walks over to loom above Patrick. He’s dotted with specks of the Gunner’s blood, but still incredibly pale. He’s clutching Pete’s other pistol to his chest and smiling nervously up at him.

“I am never,” Pete announces, putting his hands on his hips, “I mean, never, letting you out of my sight again.”

There are two more gunshots from behind him. Pete ignores them - Joe has brought the fucking cavalry, Pete thinks, let them deal with it.

“Pete,” Patrick says. Of all things, he actually sounds embarrassed.

“Patrick. Pete replies, fiercely. “You are a fucking liability. You are going to send me insane. If you do anything like this again, I will have a heart attack. I’m not kidding. As soon as you recover, I’m going to handcuff you to something, so I can’t possibly lose you again.”

Patrick, the absolute bastard, raises his eyebrows and starts smirking.

Then, he throws up again.

Joe flinches back from the sound of the gunshot even though he’s still behind cover. “Andy!” he shouts.

Andy doesn’t reply, but someone else calls out instead.

“Andy?” he asks again, quieter, feeling like he recognized the other voice.

“Deacon?” Andy says, sounding startled.

“Deacon’s here?” Joe says, gleefully. He sticks his head around the metal. Someone dressed in a cheery yellow shirt and jeans waves to him from the rocks. He’s wearing sunglasses and holding a pistol.

“Hey Joe!” Deacon calls out. “You all good now?”

“Where the hell did you come from?” Andy demands.

Deacon starts hopping down the rocky slope, stepping from one stone to another without appearing to look where he’s going.. “I was just in the, you know… general area…” he replies, jumping down the final drop. “Saw your firework display. Didn’t want you to have all the fun.”

Lieutenant Bryant peers around the cover, taking in the view, “Um,” he says, “Is it over?”

“Yeah, man, he’s on our side.” Joe says happily, thumping him on the back, “We’re fantastic.”

From the shack, Pete yells, “Patrick’s being sick again!”

“Okay, I spoke too soon,” Joe sighs, as Andy clanks over to Deacon.

Behind the metal, Ross is carefully cleaning out the slice through the top of the young Minuteman’s arm. She has a bottle of water in her hands and a Stimpack clamped between her teeth. Next to her, in her open bag, is a stack of Radaway. Joe scoops up a handful and makes his way over to Pete and Patrick.

Patrick is currently throwing up next to the body of a Gunner. Pete is flapping his hands around him like he wants to touch him, but isn’t sure where to start.

The Gunner’s brains are currently decorating the wall of the shack beside them, so Joe feels a little like throwing up himself.

Pete looks up at Joe and makes grabby hands at the Radaway.

Joe hands the bags over and Pete rolls up one of Patrick’s sleeves. Patrick makes a groaning noise, and Joe pats vaguely at his forehead. “Nearly over.” he says, trying to inject it with as much confidence as possible.

“Piss off.” Patrick replies, before hissing as Pete stabs a needle into his arm with slightly more force than Joe would have thought necessary.

“He’s very grouchy.” Joe points out to Pete. Now that he can take a moment to relax, he can recognize that he’s feeling a little loopy. All the excitement and lack of sleep, he supposes.

“He’s a fucking asshole.” Pete replies flatly, squeezing the bag of Radaway.

Patrick makes a disagreeing, “Ugh,” noise.

“Deacon’s here,” Joe says, “And some Minutemen.”

“Great,” groans Patrick, “Who?”

Joe coughs. “Well…” he starts.

“It’s that Lieutenant, isn’t it?” Pete asks, scoffing, “Of course it is. I was just wondering if today could possibly get any better.” He squashes the bag of Radaway between his palms, looking unhappy. “I mean,” he continues after a second, rubbing at his eyes with the back of his wrist, “Of course, after thinking you were dead - twice - and getting shot at by Raiders, and being attacked by Gunners - of course I now have to fucking deal with your Ex-Boyfriend hating me. Should I just start running now? What else is going to happen?”

Patrick reaches out with the hand that’s not currently hooked up to anti-radiation drugs and pats at him. “Surprised,” he says, “Surprised, Pete.”

That obviously means something to Pete, as he huffs out a breath but visibly relaxes. “What’s Deacon doing here anyway?” Pete asks.

Joe shrugs, “He said he was ’In the area’,” he offers.

“I’m frequently in a lot of areas…” Deacon says, wandering around the corner of the shack, “Wait, that came out wrong.”

Behind him, still in the Power Armor, Andy rolls his eyes.

“Or did it?” Deacon finishes, like he’s completing a magic trick, complete with waggling his eyebrows above the frames of his sunglasses. “Hey, Patrick. You look…” he trails off, before saying, “Nope, I got nothing. You look like hammered shit.”

Patrick laughs, but it quickly turns into a brief coughing fit, “Thanks, Deacon.” he mumbles eventually.

“Is he okay?” Lieutenant Bryant says, following Andy and Deacon into the shack. It’s getting very crowded in here, thinks Joe. “Oh, wow.” Bryant adds, as he takes in the situation in the shack. “Patrick? Are you okay?”

“He will be,” Pete mutters, keeping his head down. His hat is probably around here somewhere, but he’s not wearing it at the moment.

Joe claps his hands together. “Right,” he decides, “Andy, Deacon, can you deal with the bodies? Pete, you’re on Patrick duty. Bryant? Who’s on guard?”

“Oh, uh, Sergeant McClintock is.” he says, “Ross is just finishing up with Private Jackson and then she’ll come and check on Patrick. Is anyone else hurt?”

Pete shakes his head, so Joe says, “Maybe she could check Andy over too - he got shot in the fight with the Raiders.”

“I’ll let her know,” Bryant says, “Anyway, I just came in to say that it looks like a storm is rolling in. Not sure if it’s a regular one or not, but Ross has a full bottle of Rad-X that she wants to hand out to everyone just in case. We might all have to squeeze in here when it starts, unless there’s some other shelter close by?”

Joe thinks about the ruined little house underneath the overpass. “Maybe,” he says, “I’ll go and check it out.”

“Get some Rad-X from Ross first,” Bryant suggests, “No sense in waiting.”

Joe nods, and, as Andy and Deacon start to drag the dead Gunner out of the shack, he leaves Pete, Patrick and Bryant alone together.

Patrick’s veins feel cold, which - no matter how often he feels it - is always a very strange sensation. His head feels an awful lot clearer though, which unfortunately means he’s now horribly aware that he’s lying on a filthy blood-spattered mattress, covered in his own sick, in a bare shack with only Pete and Connor for company.

Despite the fact that both of these men have seen him completely naked, this is not a situation Patrick feels he is adequately prepared for.

Something - probably the distant memory of Mrs Rozak, the de-facto teacher of Bunker Hills’ tiny class of children - makes him say, “Connor, this is Pete. Pete, Connor.”

“Hi.” Pete grunts, concentrating on preparing a second bag of Radaway, and keeping his head down.

“It’s great to meet you.” Connor says, actually sounding like he means it - like meeting Pete is genuinely one of the highlights of his week. Patrick smiles to himself. It’s one of the many reasons that he liked - likes - Connor so much. There aren’t many people in the Wasteland that can be honestly described as a ‘nice guy’ but Connor has always been one of them. As if to prove it, Connor holds out his hand for Pete to shake.

Pete is still looking down at the Radaway in his lap, so Patrick nudges at him with his knee.

Lying down like he is, Patrick is in the perfect position to watch Pete squeeze his eyes closed and drag in a deep breath through his nose.

He’s mostly convinced that Connor won’t do anything particularly drastic, like pull his weapon or say anything too awful, but still, Patrick metaphorically crosses everything it is possible to cross.

Finally, Pete turns to Connor and grips his hand. He looks up at him and says, “Yeah, good to meet you too.”

If Patrick hadn’t thought that too much sudden movement would start another round of vomiting, he’d fucking get up and do an eternally embarrassing victory dance when Connor says, with the biggest grin, “Awesome. You’re a very lucky man - Patrick’s a catch!”

Pete just sort of blinks at him for a moment. “Uh…” he manages.

“Oh hey!” Connor says, “Man, you gotta meet Oz - hang on!” he drops Pete’s hand and takes a few steps back to lean around the corner of the shack, “Hey, Emma? Bring Oz over, we’ve got to introduce him to Patrick’s guy!”

A couple of seconds later, Emma comes into the shelter, trailed by the youngest Minuteman Patrick feels like he has ever seen, even though he vividly remembers being a seventeen year old Minuteman himself.

Emma shakes a bottle of Rad-X at Pete, saying, “Here - you should take some of these just in case.”

The young Minuteman peers around her at them, looking down at Pete and Patrick. As Patrick watches, his mouth drops open in shock. “Radioman Wentz?!” he asks.

Pete freezes, one hand still outstretched, waiting to receive a handful of pills from Emma. His mouth opens. His mouth closes. He swallows. Then, he says, “Private Jackson?”

To say Pete is shocked would be the world’s biggest understatement.

Pete grew up in the radio room at Gunner Headquarters, learning all the codes and basics of radio communications. There hadn’t been many other kids around, but over the years there had been a few - children the Gunners had found as orphans, children the Gunners had made orphans. Occasionally even some children the Gunners had, well, made between themselves. Some of them had been inducted into their ranks and some of them had… disappeared.

Oz Jackson had been one of the former. Pete remembers him as a gung-ho fifteen year old, absolutely thrilled by the tattoo that Cohen had given him. He would strut around the Headquarters proud as anything and was constantly cleaning the shitty little pipe gun he’d been trusted with.

Pete had been too cool - if that’s the right word - to really spend much time with a kid almost a decade and a half younger than him, but they’d been stationed in the same base for long enough that he recognizes him on sight.

“What?” Pete murmurs, “What the hell?”

“Oh great!” Lieutenant Bryant chirps, “Do you guys already know each other?”

Mutely, Pete nods.

“Radioman Wentz is the guy I told you about!” Private Jackson says, “He’s a genius!”

Pete ignores this for now, “What the hell are you doing here?” he demands again.

“Oh man, after all that shit went down at Quincy, I thought I should get the hell out of there,” Jackson replies, “I was living in Goodneighbor for a while, but then someone said that the Minutemen were looking for recruits, so I joined up!”

“No really,” Pete says, feeling completely thrown off balance, “What the actual fuck?”

Next to him, he gets the feeling that Patrick would be screaming with laughter if he would be able to. “I told you!” Patrick gasps, “I absolutely fucking told you not to worry!”

In the absence of anything else to do, Pete swallows the handful of Rad-X dry.

Andy unceremoniously drops the Gunner’s corpse and watches as Joe leaves the small shack and walks around the base of the antenna. He heads up towards the overpass that has finally seemed to have burnt itself out.

“I’m just gonna…” he mumbles to Deacon.

Deacon clicks his tongue and shoots him finger guns, because he is probably the worst person that Andy has ever had the misfortune of meeting. “Normally I’d totally support your right to be extra safe, but in this instance, you might want to take the Power Armor off first, eh, Sport?” then, after obviously thinking about it for a second, obnoxiously adds, “Unless he's into that? I mean, you never can tell with these Brotherhood types.”

Andy wrinkles his nose at him, but thumps his way over to the foot of the antenna to disentangle himself from the suit of armor.

He leaves the armor standing in the camp and follows Joe up the hill.

Joe is standing in front of the house under the road, looking at it critically.

Andy slides a hand around his waist, “We could really make this place a great home.” he says, shoving his face into the side of Joe’s neck, and digging his way through his hair, “A little bit of work and it could be perfect.”

Joe reaches up and threads his fingers through Andy’s own hair. “Glad to see you out of that fucking armor,” he says, which isn’t quite as romantic as Andy had been hoping, but at least quietens the tiny part of his brain that had been worrying about it since Deacon put the thought in his head.

“Maybe I’ll get some more pieces…” Andy says, feeling contrary and nosing closer to the side of Joe’s neck, “I’ve never worn any before - it was pretty cool.”

Joe makes the clicky noise with his tongue that means that he’s vaguely annoyed. “What about this place?” he asks, gesturing at the house.

“Joe.” Andy sighs, skimming his hands around the waistband of Joe’s pants that are still mainly held up by a length of knotted rope and Andy’s disappointment in gravity.

“Did you get any Rad-X?” Joe asks.

Andy digs his hand into Joe’s pants. “Not yet,” he says, “I was thinking we could move in here…”

Joe hums, sounding finally interested.

“I mean,” Andy says, “We could build out to the south - create another bedroom…”

“Huhhh…” Joe mumbles. Andy decides to take it as an agreement.

“I was thinking we could have that side,” he continues, nodding at the building, “We could push a couple of mattresses together, make a nice separate room for us…”

Joe shivers. “There might be a Radstom on the way,” he mumbles, but sounding pleasantly distracted. “We should use it as shelter - oh, yeah, like that - there's no way we'll all fit in that dump down at the antenna.”

Andy grins to himself and pulls his hand out of Joe's pants, “Well, in that case, we shouldn’t start anything we can't finish,” he says, kissing in the general direction of Joe's ear.

“Ugh,” Joe grumbles, “Alright, we can split into two groups and ride out the storm… come on, let's get you some Rad-X just in case.”

“Let's put Deacon in whichever group we're not in,” Andy suggests as they turn away from the house.

“You know we're going to need to have a meeting with Deacon and Major Garvey soon, don't you?” Joe says.

Andy sighs, “Yeah, I know…” he admits, “I'm trying not to think about it.”

Joe laughs and wraps an arm around Andy's waist, tucking his hand into his ripped back pocket and giving his ass a squeeze, “Deacon's awesome,” he chuckles, “You can't tell me you don't want to introduce him to Garvey, especially if Pete’s in the room.”

“Oh fuck,” Andy says as he realizes, “We left Pete, Patrick and that Minuteman alone together!”

Joe shakes his head, “Don’t worry your pretty little head about that, Mr Hurley,” he grins, “I spotted an interesting little fact on the march back here that means that that one particular problem has been entirely solved…”

“No, but, like he used to be a Gunner…” Pete says. Pete has been saying variations on the same thing for a while now, and even Patrick’s usually cunning strategy of kissing him until he's quiet and compliant is failing him in the face of this complete shattering of Pete’s worldview.

Joe throws an empty bag of Radaway at him. It bounces off the side of Pete’s head, but otherwise does nothing.

“He's not even trying to hide it!” Pete exclaims for the third time. Andy bangs his head on the shack wall behind the couch he claimed for himself and Joe, telling Patrick that since he had caused most of the mess on the mattress, he could fucking well sit on it.

Patrick tries another tactic, “Pete,” he starts, hopefully sounding much more reasonable than he feels, “Has it occurred to you that maybe Commander Kingston wasn't the best source of information when it came to what the Commonwealth Minutemen were thinking?”

Pete apparently hadn't, as his face arranges itself into a strange expression. Patrick wouldn't be able to name it for all the caps in Diamond City. There's panic, understanding, pain, anger, and maybe countless more emotions behind it.

“But he said…” Pete starts, before trailing off.

“Don’t you think,” Patrick adds, “That it's possible that he was lying to you because he didn't want you to leave? That he knew that if you thought you had anywhere else to go, you'd leave the Gunners behind so completely that he'd never be able to find you again? That he couldn't afford for you to ever find out if he wanted to finish his plan?”

Pete stares at him for a while, obviously trying to process this new point of view.

Patrick reaches out to cup Pete's cheek, completely uncaring of their audience of Joe and Andy, tangled together on the couch, “Pete, darling, he wanted you to think that the Gunners were your only choice. Come on - you said it yourself in Bunker Hill - if you'd have known, you would have walked across the entire Commonwealth for the chance to leave them.”

“Fuck,” Pete whispers eventually, “Fuck, I'm so glad you shot him, ‘Trick.”

They sit in silence for a while before Joe coughs apologetically and says, “I think the storm's passed. We should find the others, and deal with all the bodies before they start attracting attention.”

They end up dragging all the bodies off to what Joe gigglingly insists they call 'Lake Stump’, much to Pete’s annoyance. They weigh all the pockets down with rocks and, with the help of Andy using any possible excuse to climb back into the Power Armor, toss them all in. From what it did to Patrick, the water is obviously so radioactive that the additional dozen or so corpses will not exactly bring down the ambiance much.

The lady with the minigun who introduces herself as “Kizzie, sweetheart, aren't you two just adorable!” apparently has almost all of their guard duty needs covered, which leaves them all at sort of a loose end as they wait for Sergeant Ross to return, hopefully dragging Major Garvey behind her.

This, Joe hopes, will be a meeting for the ages.

Andy spends his time drawing up ever more elaborate plans for the house under the overpass.

Pete spends a long time talking to the Ex-Gunner Minuteman Jackson, sitting together up on the raised platform surrounding the antenna. Joe catches them hugging and crying more than once, and has to turn away.

Patrick, for his part, spends his time without Pete talking to Lieutenant Bryant and taking his turn at the guardpost whenever Kizzie needs a break.

Which leaves Joe with Deacon.

He’s sitting on the couch with the pile of guns that they had taken from all the Raiders and Gunners, methodically cleaning them all when Deacon wanders over. He stands in front of Joe, hands in his pockets and just waits.

Eventually Joe breaks first, “What’s up?” he asks.

“The Minuteman guy will be here soon,” Deacon says, “Just wondering if I can get a heads-up about your plan.”

Joe puts the SMG he was part way through oiling to the side and looks up at Deacon, “We need to do something about the Brotherhood,” he says simply, “They aren’t going to be good news for us, or the Minutemen - and once they find out about Synths, they aren’t going to be good news for you either. I think the Minutemen will be willing to work with you guys for the greater good.”

Deacon shoves his sunglasses further up his face, “We don’t, as a rule, go around telling people about our top secret organization,” he says, “It tends to spoil the whole ‘top secret’ thing, and without that we’re just an ‘organization’, which isn’t as cool.”

Joe shrugs, “I haven’t told them anything about the Railroad. They don’t know who you are yet - but I think you should tell Major Garvey when he arrives.”

Deacon hums, but Joe doesn’t know him well enough to work out what it means.

“There’s the Gunners as well,” Joe adds, “I mean, I know they aren’t as big a problem for you guys, but you can’t tell me that you wouldn’t have an easier job if you could stop worrying about them attacking your runners and safehouses. Maybe once we’ve got the Wasteland to a better place, you could ask the Minutemen to return the favor against the Institute…”

Deacon hums again, “You’re dangerously persuasive,” he says, “But sure, I’ll talk to this Minuteman.”

When Ross returns with Major Garvey, Joe herds them all up to the house under the overpass - Himself and Andy, Pete and Patrick, Garvey and Deacon. They arrange themselves around the space that will hopefully one day be Joe’s longed-for house.

He looks around at the assembled group. “The Brotherhood of Steel will completely fuck over the entire Commonwealth,” Joe starts.