Chapter Text
October 9th, 2287
Part of him refused to grasp it.
It was gone. All of it was gone.
Well, except for the robot. And everything in his house, which Codsworth had somehow, miraculously, managed to maintain, alongside (most) of the rest of the neighborhood.
But Nora…Shaun…
She’d been it for him, the only one who’d seen what he’d been capable of and never flinched away, harnessed it, made it work. When he’d run wild, she’d accepted that too. She’d been the hand on his shoulders, holding his leash - the one he could trust when he didn’t trust himself. They’d made a son together, and they’d been going to raise him, despite it all.
And some bald fuck with a revolver had ended that, stolen his future and killed the only person he’d ever loved.
Not that he had the slightest idea where to start looking. He hadn’t even seen anyone else yet - Concord had been a bust, all he’d found was a dog, some giant mole-rat things, and some dusty fucking skeletons - so, for lack of a better idea, he was heading towards Lexington.
From a soldiering perspective, it was alright. He had his guns, plenty of ammunition thanks to Codsworth’s ruthless maintenance habits, and his old set of combat armor, plus the dog had stuck around. It wasn’t freezing cold and there was a blessed lack of partisans lurking behind every bush.
If not for the hammerbeat of ‘find who did this, get your kid back’ in the back of his skull, it would be almost enjoyable.
Naturally, no sooner had he thought this than he heard gunfire from the road ahead. Gunfire, and the distinctive report of laser weapons. The dog took off like a rocket, barking madly, and Nate went after it.
Breath even, eyes sharp, head on a swivel. Round that turn of the tarmac, take in the chaos.
Two on one side, makeshift guns - improvised laser weapons? Matching hats and they moved like professionals, herding a gaggle of unarmed civilians on. On the other side - bunch of hobo types with even shittier guns. Bandits, clear as day, hooting and hollering.
Breathe in. Breathe out.
Fire.
The first laser beam slammed into the head of a bandit. Brain matter and flesh flash-vaporized into steam, and the bandit’s head exploded with an ugly splattering noise.
Fire. Fire. Fire.
Three more dead by the time they even noticed, quick as you please - scrapheap armor couldn’t hold against the finest laser tech of General Atomics, and half these fuckers didn’t even have helmets. Guns swiveled his way - Nate kept firing.
He was aware, in a way, of the civvies booking it, the two guys with the funny hats herding them like sheepdogs as they laid down half-assed suppressive fire. How they’d not died so far became obvious pretty quick when the bandits opened fire - shit guns, no discipline, they couldn’t hit the broad side of a barn.
Nate rose from his crouch, still firing as he went, each shot a hit and each hit a kill. The bandits wavered, then broke and ran - he still didn’t stop firing. Down. Down. Down.
All tangoes down.
“Holy shit,” one of the hat-guys said, as Nate sucked in a breath at last, and lowered his laser rifle.
“That was…pretty damn impressive,” the other - big coat, bigger gun, probably the one in charge - said. “Thanks for your help, Mister…”
“Grey,” Nathan said flatly. “You people are…?”
“I’m Preston Garvey. This here’s Ricky Holt - Commonwealth Minutemen.”
He couldn’t help but chuckle. “Minutemen? I go back in time and not realize it?”
Garvey blinked. “You haven’t heard of us?”
“Buddy, I crawled out of a tube a few hours ago in that shitbox Vault up north, and the robot in what’s left of my house tells me it’s been two hundred and ten years since then. Assume I don’t know shit.”
“...okay, I’ll just deal with all that later. You’ve helped us out of a jam - here.” He tossed a pouch at Nate, who caught it on reflex - it clinked, and he managed to fumble the drawstring open enough to get a look inside.
“Bottle caps?”
“Folks use ‘em for currency. Backed by Diamond City and Bunker Hill’s water.” The man shouldered that makeshift gun of his - looked like a hand-cranked dynamo mounted on a laser rifle projector, probably one shot at a time. “Figure you can use it. Rick, get the others up north - Concord’s not far, and you can rest up before you press on to that sanctuary Mama Murphy keeps talking about.”
“Boss, you’re not seriously thinking -”
“I’m thinking I’m not gonna leave anyone behind, and we need everyone we can get if another gang of raiders comes calling. I’m going.”
“Shit, alright. I’ll get them moving.”
“Concord’s deserted, but doesn’t offer much,” Nate offered. “If you’re talking my old neighborhood…hell, Codsworth will probably like neighbors.”
The dog, who’d been rooting around at the bandit corpses, barked.
“Well, Dogmeat likes you,” Garvey said. “So, you feel like doing us another favor?”
Nate tilted his head. Well, it was a lead. And it sounded like these Minutemen had some kind of organization. Might as well.
“What’s the problem?”
“The ghouls - uh…well, basically zombies from the old comic books - drove us out of Lexington. A couple of my people were planning on staying around long enough to get the bodies of our people who didn’t make it. Then the raiders hit us, and it all went to hell. I’m gonna go see if I can find them.”
Sounded like a clusterfuck. But hey, what else was new?
“Thing is, I could use an extra hand. And, well…” Garvey gestured at the road, and the better part of two dozen dead bandits. “You’re pretty good in a gunfight, putting it mildly. You mind helping me out?”
Nate shrugged. “Sure. Why not? We can swap stories later.”