Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Uh, hey, Pipes..?” 

She smiled up at her lover from where she'd been repairing a small hole in her favourite coat. He was a beautiful little thing; a few years younger than her, buff in all the right places, sun-kissed with freckles framing his dark green eyes, and ginger hair that fell in waves to his shoulders. He still had that young coltish look that not many people hung onto nowadays but that could've just been a holdover from when and how he was raised.
She'd hit the jackpot with him; gorgeous, funny, kinda shy. Not to mention that this man was currently the General of the Minutemen and had wiped out the Commonwealth’s bogeymen not five weeks ago. It had been rough on him, he'd been distant and mopey, but he was bouncing back as time went on, as they all did.

“Hey, Blue,” she stood to step into his usual waiting embrace. When it didn't come, she shrugged it off, “so, ready for that interview?” She wanted him to tell her everything that had happened in the Institute so that she could inform the people. She hadn't gone along for the fight, Blue saying that Nat would be alone if the worst happened, so he'd taken MacCready and Hancock along instead. The logic didn't fully track with her with Mac's son literally scream laughing across the street with the other kids and Hancock having a whole town plus Fahrenheit to look after, but she let it slide. He'd talk about it with her all in due time.

He awkwardly scratched the back of his neck. It was so endearing, he still had the awkward I-don’t-know-how-to-talk-to-people vibe that most people left behind in the dust the first time they set foot outside their house nowadays, “No, listen. I really need to talk to you…in private.”

“Ooo,” she popped her gum between her teeth with a wink, “in private, is it?”

“Um. Yeah.”

She laughed and grabbed his hand to lead the way. It was fun, most of the time, teaching this young man how to be in bed. He had a son, yes and that fact sometimes blew her mind because how?, but he was so beautifully hesitant and awkward when naked it was almost funny. Mostly it was just cute. His fingers would skim her skin as though he were afraid of breaking her and his eyes would squeeze shut in absolute concentration when he was inside her. As though he were solely focused on wringing out an orgasm from her or learning some new way to make her squeal. He'd told her that he just never had much practice before the bombs and that his wife got up the duff the first try. So, it made her exceptionally pleased that it was her that got to teach him all the new tricks and how to get better at it.

His kisses were the same. Kinda awkward. Kinda new. All the way cute.

She pulled him into her bedroom and turned to face him as her fingers flew to the buttons on her blouse. His eyes did that cute little frightened widening they always did as she slowly began to unbutton.
His hands flew up and, for a moment, she thought that he was actually taking initiative for once. But, his hands merely gently grabbed her wrists and pulled her hands away from her shirt.

“No! No. Sorry, no.” He bit his full bottom lip, “I just really actually need to talk to you.”

“Oh,” she'd listen to anything he had to say. Maybe he was proposing and, like everything remotely related to relationships with him, it was coming out awkward. She'd say yes, of course. Who wouldn't? She still couldn't believe that this man had given in to her advances all those months ago. Before that, she hadn't even seen him touch anyone else. Because he was hers and he was about to be forever, “I'm listening, Blue.” She sat demurely on her bed, the absolute picture of an attentive girlfriend-maybe-fianceé.

He was wringing his hands and wrists down by his belly, “Right, yeah, uh.” He took a deep breath as he flickered his eyes over every surface of her room before finally landing on her. The deep forest green pinned her in place. Their children will be so pretty with her black hair and those gorgeous eyes, “Piper, you're great and all and I really like you. You're funny, charming, so so kind, and patient with me.”

Oh my God, it's actually happening.

Her eyes lit up and she shifted in her seat as he continued, “Really, I mean it. I think the world of you and you were one of my first friends in this place when I…y’know,” he flapped his hand in the general direction of that blasted Vault up the hill beyond their little graveyard, “and, well, I gotta be straight with you like you have been with me.” He took a deep breath, “Piper -”

“Yes!”
“I'm gay.”

His eyes widened at her interruption and his face turned tatoe-red. She felt her fingers clench in her pink bed sheet before she forced them to relax, the gum popped in her mouth, “What did you say?”

“Did you think I was proposing?”

“What did you just say to me, Blue?”

He looked down at the floor, eyes squeezing shut and, as he spoke again, it came out wavering and watery, “...I'm gay…I kinda wanna…” he left it hanging with a shrug.

“You wanna what?” 

Gay?
How?
When?
What!?

“I wanna break up. It's not fair on you…or me. It's not the same now as it was back then and I was talking with -”

“Months!” She stood, a sudden tower of fury and hurt looming over the young man, “Months! Over a year!? We've been together and you didn't think, not once, to tell me you were gay!?”

“Well…uh, like I said, it's all different now and -”

“And now you want to break up? With me!?” She was pretty sure she was screeching now but she couldn't help it. How dare he!? All this time! All the things she had taught him, all the times she had gone on some hair brained slapdash mission, the people she'd introduced him to! Nick, Hancock, MacCready. 

It all made sense. All the shyness, the frigidness, his inexperience with a woman's body. The ways she had had to coax him into bed every single time. The times she had to be the first to start a kiss. He wasn't shy! He was batting for the other team. He was squeezing his eyes shut to pretend her pussy was an arsehole and that her tits were pecs.
He needed reminding of just who she was and where he stood with her.

“Piper, I'm sorry, I -”

She couldn't help it. She screamed bloody murder and slapped him hard across his stupid perfect pretty little face, before spitting, gum and all, over his chin, “After everything I've done for you, this is how you repay me?”

He rubbed his cheek even as the fingers on his other hand twitched for his knife, “What? I don't -”

“And now what, hmm? Gonna go off and let some guy fuck you? Slut around a bit?”

“No, Piper! I can't help it if I'm gay. I was born -”

She flapped her hand and he flinched, “Yeah yeah, you were born like this. Right. And I'm Cleopatra.” 

There was banging down the hallway and the next moment her bedroom door burst open to a heavily breathing MacCready and Cait. They looked over them both; Piper angrily panting with her hand still raised, towering over the General who looked about five times shorter than usual, his hand still holding his reddened cheek with actual tears in his eyes and spit dripping from his chin.
Cait grasped the situation first, “What the fuck, Piper!?” She budged a little to the side as MacCready came into the room and carefully stepped between the irate woman and their General. Cait hissed through her teeth, “What the fuck did you do to him?”

Piper was incensed. Why wasn't she being backed up? She was the wounded party here, “He's decided he's gay.” She snorted at the sheer ridiculousness of it all.

She glared at the steely gaze of the Merc before her, hiding Blue from her view. He actually tutted his tongue at her as though she were a bratty child, “He didn't decide, it's who he is. Did you hit him?”

She tilted her chin up, she wouldn't be spoken down to by a boy ten years younger than her, “What's it got to do with you, Merc. This is between him and me.”

Cait sidled further into the room, fists clenched and green eyes dangerous, “No' when yer goin’ around slappin’ and spittin’ at him it ain't.”

“Oh, fuck off, Cait! Like you're any fucking better.” She was shouting again but she didn't care. These were meant to be her friends. They were meant to back her up when she was wronged! Not come to the defense of the guy that hurt her.

“I don't smack ma friends. Or judge ‘em fer things they can't change.” She crossed her arms and Piper spied the old track marks there.

“I won't be spoken down to and lectured by a jumped up single dad and a fucking junkie about what me and my partner do!”

“Piper!” Blue stepped around MacCready then, recovered from the slap in full, and stared at her with wide, beautiful, tear filled eyes, “Are you being for real? You can't fucking talk to people like that! How are you even being like this right now?”

She scowled at them all, “Get the fuck out of my room. All of you.”

“Piper, I really didn't mean to hurt you. I just wanted to be honest with myself. I know it seems -”

“Get out! Take your fucking murdering junkie friends and your faggot self too!”

Then Hancock was at her door looking in, then Deacon and Nick, Curie and Danse, Preston and the fucking dog with Codsworth. The Mr Handy had the nerve to say: oh, my! under what counted as its breath, before Blue turned away from her and bustled the others out. As he was closing the door he meekly and quietly said into the air between them, “We'll give you some time.” And it shut with a soft click.

How dare he. They were meant to get married. They were meant to have children to take his mind off of Shaun. He was meant to be hers. Forever.

She seethed and raged. Her pink bedding was ripped. The typewriter Blue had found her in bits beneath her heavy boots. Pictures scattered. Window pane broken.

He was meant to be hers. Forever.

***

They sat around the fire in Jesse's back garden. Mac sat on his left as Deacon sat on his right with a damp cloth held out to him. Jesse took it in shaking hands with a quiet thanks sent the spy's way before he wiped the spit and shredded gum from his still stinging face.

Hancock, from where he sat across the fire, whistled low and cracked open a beer, “Well, can't say I saw that shit storm comin’.”

Jesse shrugged as Cait answered the Ghoul Mayor, “Feck, if that ain't tha truth. What did you say to her, Jess?”

He shrugged again. He felt raw and flayed open. He'd never seen Piper like that before. Had never even thought her capable of saying the things she'd said. It wasn't even the slap that upset him the most, she'd always been a bit handsy and rough. It was the judging. It reminded him so much of his mother that it has opened up scars he once thought kind of healed.
His voice cracked as he spoke and he hated it. He was the General of the fucking Minutemen! It was embarrassing and painful for people who technically worked for him, his best friends, his family, to hear and see that. Hell, all of fucking Sanctuary had heard her yelling, even the children!
“I just…I just told her the truth. I tried to be calm about it and make sure she knew it wasn't her personally I didn't like! I just…” He dropped his head in his hands and flinched only a little at the warm palm running down his back to soothe him.

“It isn't your fault, Jesse,” Danse said from somewhere to his left, “you didn't know she was going to react that way.” 

Codsworth tutted from nearby the cooler as his long appendages pilfered more drinks for people, “I believe it has brought some bad memories back to the young sir.” He was so much like a weird robot dad.

“Codsworth! Please, I'm twenty-five! Or six? I'm not that -”

Preston interrupted, “What bad memories?”

“Oh, here we go.” Hancock rumbled as he lit a cigarette and handed it over the fire to Deacon for them to share.

“‘Ere goes vat?” Curie asked.

Cait cracked her knuckles, “Nothin’ good. I shoulda fuckin’ laid her out! The fuckin’ nerve!”

“Wouldn't have changed what she said and did, sweet cheeks.” Deacon rumbled from his side, “What bad memories we talking about, Whisp? Be good to get it off your chest, yeah?”

The warm hand on his back continued to draw soothing lines as MacCready took the offered beer from Codsworth. Jesse cringed. He couldn't talk about it again, not so soon after he'd already laid it all out to someone else. Not so soon after he'd worked up the courage to come clean about it all and decide to go after the people that actually piqued his interest in that way. He waved a hand at Hancock. If Codsworth was his dad, Hancock was his cool laid back uncle who didn't give a shit what you did so long as you didn't get yourself killed doing it, “Please, John, can you do it?” Hancock snorted from around a Mentat, “Please! I can't do it again.”

He caved like wet tissue paper at the sight of his watering green eyes and little form smashed between his ever watchful merc and spy, “Fine, Sunshine, I'll spin the tale.”

“You don't have to spin -”

“Naw, you've asked me to do it now, haven't ya? So I get to tell it.” He pulled himself up straighter and the others actually leaned in to listen, “Let me tell ya the story of General Jesse Perrin: Life Before the World went to Shit.”

“John -”

“Hush, Sunshine, I'm getting there.” Danse snorted and Mac and Deacon leaned a little closer into him, smooshing him in a little cradle of heat and warmth, “So, the year is twenty-fifty-three ish and our little gay General graces the planet with his presence. Times are real smooth sailing, if you don't account for the looming nuclear war, and little Jesse gets raised like all good people do; mum, dad, schooling, good food, grandparents, all that Pre-War jazz, ya feel?” 

He took a sip of his drink, black eyes sparkling like liquid night sky as he made sure his audience was captivated, Curie had curled up a little with a dreamy smile on her face to listen, “Now, little Jesse was a good boy. Golden. Sunshine. Always has been and always will be.”
He winked at Jess from where he too sat enraptured in Hancock's story telling, “He helped his ma in the kitchen, his old man in the garage, the other kids with their scraped knees and street games. He went to school. Top of his class! A real whizz with maths and science and could recite the Gettysburg from memory. Yeah, he's a real good kid.” He paused for dramatic effect and took a drag on his cigarette with a hum, “Except, one day and just as, as it happens to everyone, puberty kicks in, a little light flickers on in little Jesse's head. His friends start to notice girls. The way they're growing, the way they sound and smell. They start to posture and peacock around to get the prettiest girl to notice them, yeah?” 

Everyone nods, “Jesse though? The little hero of our story finds a flaw in himself. He doesn't notice the girls of the neighbourhood the same way the other boys do. No. He notices the boys the same way all those pink-cheeked little lassies do, instead. Now, Jesse being the good boy he is, runs to his ma and pa to find out what's wrong.”

Jesse winces. For all the spinning and weaving Hancock is doing, he's hitting the nail on the head, “He says: ma, pa! Is this normal? Is this right? And his ma and pa say: no, Jesse! Not our sweet Jesse! What did we do wrong!? It's the devil that did it! And little Jesse is confused. He didn't meet a devil. Nah, what Jesse had done was find an old skin rag and discovered that muscles and manly faces were interesting.” 

Cait nudged Danse with a grin and Jesse rolled his eyes. He really didn't have to tell them that part, “Got a real little chub on for it, he did. He was ashamed for upsetting his folks. He wanted to be a good boy for ‘em, yeah? So, he does what he's told to do. His ma, in all her righteous fury, takes him to get fixed. Ain't no kid of hers gonna be a little shirt lifter, no sir.”

Another pause as Preston whispers out: what then? Then Hancock continues his tale, lit up by the fire pit like an avenging angry angel “Back then, folk didn't live like we do. They had rules and regulations. Things people had to follow to the damned letter. Red tape and injustice and sorrow for all. Not like now, nah, now you can flit about and do what ya like so long as you don't cross the wrong people or get the kids involved, yeah?”

Everyone nodded along to this golden rule of the Commonwealth: Don't go around like a murderous lunatic and you'll mostly get by with friends and a safe place to lay down at night, “Back then, everyone gave a shit about what their neighbours did. They'd peek over your fence, knock on your door, rat you out to the police, if they thought you weren't part of the flock. And what's outta the flock, my friends?”

They all shiftily looked around at each other. They were all weird in their own way: a ghoul, synths, mercenaries, spies, cage fighters, dog. None of them really fit in in what you'd call society. Nick hummed, he knew just as well as Jesse how things used to be, “Being different. Ain't anything more ostracising than being different. We get it,” he waved a finger between them, “us, who have all had shit to crawl through to get where we are with our ray of Sunshine. So, his ma takes him to get fixed, like I said. A special little summer camp for all the little boys and girls like Jesse. And what's at this camp I hear you ask
Nothin’ fuckin’ good, is the answer. Some fucked up weirdos pretending to be men of whatever God they thought they believed in. Taking kids in and trying to change them by force. Our little hero was:” he started ticking things off on his fingers, “whipped, beaten, screamed at, forced to watch porn till he was sick, and fucking electrocuted.” Jesse still has scars hidden beneath his hairline and one on his chest, “Just so his mum could take him home and show off her normal kid. And? Did it work, Jess?”

Jesse shook his head from behind his fingers. Green eyes wide with horror as though this story was about some other poor kid and not himself. Mac's arm wrapped over his shoulder as Deacon's found his lower back, “Didn't think so, Sunshine. His ma was horrified! All those caps spent on nothin’. So, what's next? What can she do to take the gay right outta her precious little boy?
Easy. Good old fashioned, behind closed doors, abuse. Everything the camp did but at the hands of the people who shoulda loved him the most.”
He was getting angry now, his body stiffening and rearing up further even as Nick placed a hand on his knee, “Well, I'll tell ya the truth, Jess. Ain't no one love you like we do. Don't give a damn where or how you get your dick wet. None of us do. You've done too much for too many to be scared about what strangers think of ya. We're your family and ain't nothin' that's gonna change that. And if someone even tries, they'll have a hard time getting past me.”

“Or the rest of us.” Mac said as his arm tightened over him like a shield.

Jesse let out a shaky breath, “Finish your story, John.”

Hancock tilted his head a little bit and nodded with a small frown on his scarred face, “Where was I? Oh, right. Good old fashioned abuse: beatings, neglect, washing your mouth out with soap and abraxo. Jesse's pa was just as bad. Jesse's dad was from the army, you see? And Jesse was meant to follow in his footsteps but the army didn't allow little poofs into their mighty ranks, oh no. So, what did he do?”

Danse rolled his neck and squinted into the fire. His background in the Brotherhood was a rough one, the bounty on his head for being different was massive, but no one had ever cared who someone slept with or got married to, so long as the Brotherhood came first, “He forced little Jesse to lie. Keep this big secret. Hide away this huge part of you that makes you you. Push it down. Hide it away. Don't ever mention or act on it. Definitely don't act on it! The police will come around and take you away. And, just so that no one definitely never finds out, you gotta get married.”

The arms around him tightened further and Jesse dropped his head once more into his palms, “His dad's friend had a girl Jesse's age and it seemed like a match made in Heaven. A dark haired beauty, clever, training to be a lawyer while Jess works his way through boot camp. Nora was thrilled at the prospect of marriage to our Sunshine. What's not to love? He's smart, pretty, well built, best grades outta college, and a well known family with connections all around Massachusetts for her to get to know. They get all bundled up in white and shoved down the aisle to a funeral dirge. Or, a dirge in Jesse's mind, anyways.”

Curie, dreamily and so out of pocket as always, wrapped her hand around Preston's thigh and sighed, “Oh, I bet it vas beautiful, oui? Jesse in an old fashioned suit with flowers in his hair.”

Hancock laughed, “Think you've had enough to drink, sister. Anyway, they get hitched except Nora doesn't know that this is all lavender to everyone else. She's confused when Jess doesn't want to fuck her silly on their wedding night. She waits months and months and months for him to make a move until she just…does it for him.” Jess flinched beneath the arms holding him to earth and sniffled as a calloused thumb gently brushes against his neck, “That's all it took. This one time. And then pop! Jesse is gonna be a dad himself.”

Hancock paused again and looked directly into Jesse's tear filled green eyes, “The year is twenty-seventy-seven and war…war never changes. The kid's born, Shaun Perrin, and the bombs dropped across our world like a fucking catastrophic firework show. Everything and everyone little Jesse knew is dead, feral, or stolen from him and he's locked away to freeze in a Vault-Tec fucking experiment for two-hundred years. Twenty-two-eighty-seven and Jesse is released like some fucking sideshow attraction for a bored and sick old man who Jesse once called son. And what does Jesse find? In the dirt and struggle and pain that life has become?”

The others looked around at each other, they knew the answer, “He finds himself. He finds that he can be exactly who he is exactly the way he was meant to be. No more experiments. No more trying to change for others' gratification. No more hiding in the dark where those that love you can't follow. He finds purpose, friends, new family, and simply…himself. You're gay, Sunshine, and that's one hundred percent normal and fine by us.”

Curie sniffed, “I just love a ‘appy ending, monsieur. That vas beautiful.”

“Did you even get who he was talking about?” Preston asked from above her.

“Of course! Ze General! All ze best stories have 'im involved somehow.”

The others chuckled as Jesse finally straightened himself up even as the arms didn't remove themselves from him, “Thanks, John. I think you told it better than when I told you.”

“Anytime, Sunshine.” He stood and stretched, “Welp, I'm gonna go get some shut eye, long day tomorrow.” As he went to swagger away he met Jesse's eye again and winked, “Don't do anything I wouldn't do.”

Everyone started to peel off after that, good nights happily said as they passed the three who still sat on the overturned tree log, some nattering about the story they'd just been told.

Mac shivered a little as the fire started to get put out by Codsworth before he spoke, “Jess. I know it's been a long day,” Deacon's arm coiled tighter along his lower back, “And I know everything with Piper is still…uh…fresh?” Deacon snorted and avoided the light jab from Mac's fist from where his arm still sat over Jess’ shoulder, “But, um, me and Deacon were thinking that -”

“Ah, come now sirs! I must insist you let the young master retire for this eve. He is practically dead on his feet!” Codsworth floated over after letting Dogmeat into the house, he waved his sharp appendages at Deacon and Mac, “I believe you are on mission tomorrow, yes? Can't go after those Reds without a solid eight hours and a hearty breakfast.”

Jesse was pulled to his feet from between his Merc and Spy, “Night, guys. I guess you can tell me tomorrow, Mac? You know how he gets if I'm dawdling.”

Mac looked up at Jesse as Deacon slid into Jesse's spot and looped his suddenly empty arm around him. They both watched the General leave and slip into his house through the backdoor. Deacon snorted in Mac's ear as he lay a gentle kiss there, “What a fucking cock-block.”

“Deek.”

“What?” They stood to go to their own house across the street to where Duncan was waiting, “It's true.”

Mac hummed and nodded but nudged him with an elbow anyways, “We don't want just his pr…uh…penis, Deacon.”

“I know, doll. Just sayin’ is all.”

The lights went out in Whisper's house as Deacon looked over his shoulder, “What a fuckin' day.” He pushed his sunglasses up his nose and stepped over the threshold into his own home with MacCready.

***

Hope people like this or are at least interested :)
Like I said, this has been in my drive for a while now and I wanted to give it a shot.

Ideas and hopes welcome <3

Chapter Text

Piper hovered a little ways away from her friends sitting around the fire, tucked behind the end corner of Blue's house with her eye peeking around every now and then to gauge the situation.

She was pissed. At all of them. Look at them all, laughing together and relaxing as though her life hadn't just been torn to shreds. Even Curie! Leaning against Preston and joining in as they all talked shit about Piper behind her back. Danse was lazing across the grass with his back against the overturned log, Nick was sitting beside Hancock as the Ghoul told some epic tale that she couldn't make out from this far away but she was sure that it was funny by the way people were reacting.

And then, the worst part, the betrayal that boiled her blood and made the stock of her pistol feel cool and comforting in her hand, was Blue. MacCready's hand was drawing little lines down his back and Blue was leaning into it! He was hers and he was letting someone else touch him like that. A man. He really was just a slut after all, like she'd said during their little argument. She sniffed when MacCready's hand moved to rest casually over Blue's shoulder, his thumb carefully tucked just there beneath the collar of his shirt. Skin on skin. And then Deacon’s arm wrapped around his trim waist. 
They were laughing at her. Brazenly displaying him cheating like it was nothing. She had half a mind to just aim at his back and punish him for it. It wouldn’t have been the first time he’d needed a gentle reminder.

Cait lit her cigarette in the fire and Piper rolled her eyes. She knew the younger woman wouldn't be happy with just a cigarette. It wouldn't be long before she relapsed and Piper would be of a mind to just let her spiral. It'd be her own fault after all.

In fact, all of them weren't like Piper was. None of them were good enough for Blue. Not like she was. What were his options if he left her, realistically? A junkie, a synth doctor who doesn't know the difference between the alphabet and a poem, another synth old enough to be Blue's father, an ex Brotherhood soldier who's so close to breaking down it was almost funny, a Minuteman whose nightmares woke up the whole of Sanctuary, a fucking spy who lies about the colour of the sky, a merc who kills folk for money, and a ghoul.
None of them were normal. None of them were like her. She's pretty sure she's the most human out of all of her friends barring Blue himself, he won't want to lump himself forever to someone with so many issues. People who couldn't give him a family. Blue was perfect and deserved perfect in return.

Yes, she had nothing to worry about even as he leaned further into the men's arms about him.

After a long while, Hancock stood and made his way out of the garden. The others slowly followed until it was just Codsworth banking the fire and letting the dog into Blue's house, plus the three men on the log. MacCready was saying something to Blue and Blue's big green eyes were wide as he turned his face toward the merc. Deacon's arm was still holding his waist and he was relaxing into them both.

Her gun was fully loaded. She could punish all three of them. 

She'd just got ready to cock the hammer of the revolver when Codsworth floated up to the trio being so cosy by the dampened fire and then Blue was standing with that pretty awkward blush high on his freckled cheeks. Codsworth bustled him to the house leaving Mac and Deacon to watch him go. She raised her gun. She could do it. They deserved it. Especially MacCready.

She missed her chance as the pair stood and made their way around to the street of Sanctuary. They lived across from Blue, Hancock and Nick next door, Danse, Curie, Preston, Cait. They all surrounded Blue like he was some fragile thing in need of constant protection. Piper knew better though. He was glorious in battle and even better when relaxed around the fire. He didn't need them. He didn't need anyone except her.
She'd make an exception for Codsworth and the dog.
Maybe. 

She made her way around the side of the house and watched, just to be sure that the spy and the merc didn't follow Blue into his home. They didn't. They crossed the street, hand in hand, and went into their own house.
It was silly, really. The two were like oil and water and Piper knew they weren't going to last. They'd hated each other when they first met: always sniping and moaning at the smallest thing the other did. And then, quite suddenly one evening as they'd all camped on the road, they'd started kissing. Blue had looked fascinated and she had had to pinch him to get his attention back onto her. It wasn't normal. But, Deacon and MacCready deserved each other and any sorrow they brought to each other's lives.

Deacon was the last to enter the house, glancing over his shoulder as the lights went out in Blue's. Piper watched the door shut and then crept around the corner to the window that looked into Blue's bedroom. There was a small crack in one of the panes just there from when they had all helped him put glass back into the windows a while ago and she found it as she peeked into the darkened space.
She could just overhear him and Codsworth talking as Blue sat on the edge of his bed. She'd never been in his bed. Everything had always happened at her home between them so that the robot butler didn't get uncomfortable.

“...I know you still think I'm a child, Codsworth, but you really don't need to give me a curfew.”

“Young master, I am just ensuring that you get the sleep you require.”

He flapped his hand negligently, “Yeah, yeah. I get it.”

“Sir,” a metal appendage gently pat Blue's head, his soft, red hair bounced merrily away, “you have had a very emotionally taxing day. I do believe a warm drink and a good sleep will have you feeling right as rain by the morning.”

“I guess.” He said quietly as Codsworth floated away to make said warm drink and Blue stood to start undressing. His shirt was halfway up, the smooth skin of his lower back on show just for her, when he called out to Codsworth again, “Codsworth?” The shirt fully came off and the robot floated back into the room.

“Aye, sir.”

His fingers were on the buttons of his pants as he kicked his boots off into a corner, “Um, what Mac said…do you think that…” he paused as the buttons came undone, “Nevermind, it's nothin'.”

The warm drink was placed delicately onto the side table, “Finish your thought, sir. It does no good to keep it inside.”

The pants came down and Piper got a fantastic view of Blue in all his naked glory. She loved seeing him getting undressed; he was all long toned limbs, sun-kissed smooth - barring a few scars - skin, freckles over his shoulders, back, and thighs, and his dick was, quite frankly, impressive. He sat back down and looked up at Codsworth. He was so relaxed and pretty with no people (that he knew of) observing his naked form and Piper felt grateful that it was only her that got to see him like this.
He finished his thought, “Do you think that Mac was trying to, I dunno, invite me over or something?” She felt the bitter flare of anger. Why was he talking about MacCready again?

“Sir, I understand that you have very little experience with things such as this so I will tell you what I believe, yes?” Blue nodded, “I believe that young master Robert and master Deacon may have been attempting to engage in romantic endeavours with you, sir.”

The gun was cool and comforting, a solid weight in her pocket as her fingers wrapped around it, “Oh! Um. But they're already…together.”

Fucking sluts.

“Aye, sir.”

“But that would -”

“As master John said, things are different now. Why, it wasn't all that long ago that I saw a group of five young folks enjoying each other's company.”

He was flustered and awkward and way too adorable, “W-where did you see that?”

“Not long before you came home, sir. In Concord.”

“Oh? Raiders? Well…uh, good for them I guess? Shame they were all,” he made finger guns and pretended to shoot randomly with little ptoo ptoo sounds. Piper sighed. He was too cute.

“Yes, sir. But, the point still stands. People really don't mind what folk do within that area of one's life. Master John was correct to tell you so.”

“Hmm, and you think Mac and Deacon -” she couldn't help pulling the hammer back on the gun and the sound was loud in the silence of the night around them. Blue paused in what he was going to say and glanced over his shoulder. Piper quickly ducked and then frowned when she heard the sounds of fabric being rustled. Blue said, “Actually, I don't think I wanna be alone right now. Going for a sleepover, Codsworth.”

The robot sighed, “If you insist, sir.”

Piper rushed through the shadows to the other end of the street and ducked behind an old generator to watch Blue's house. He emerged shirtless in his black cargos and had one of his many knives held tight in his hand. His bare feet didn't make a sound as he crept over the grass towards the corner of his bedroom window. Finding no one there, he flipped the knife and quickly made his way a little ways up the street and into a house with a green door.

Piper scowled and made her own way home. She went through her living room and down the hallway, ducking her head into Nat’s bedroom. Her sister was sound asleep curled around her blankets and stuffed toys. The age gap between them was massive. So big that people often assumed that Piper was her mother.

But no, the only children that Piper would bear were Blue's. When he was ready. 

***

Jesse practically ran to Hancock and Nick's house. He let himself in with the skittering feeling of being watched erupting over his skin and making him pebble into goosebumps. 
He rushed down the hallway and had the wherewithal to knock on the bedroom door as he panted heavily in the darkness.

Nick's voice rumbled out after a few little shuffling sounds, “Come in?”

Jesse breathed out in relief and pushed the door open, peeking one green eye in and having the decency to look abashed and sorry. Nick and Hancock were casually leaning against their headboard with a cigarette each and lit up in lantern light, “I'm sorry,” he paused and awkwardly scratched the back of his neck. He was an adult. He shouldn't need to do this! He was a fucking General for Christ’s sake.
He’d forgotten his shirt but it was okay. Hancock and Nick already knew.

“Come on, Sunshine.” Hancock scooted over to make space on his side of the bed. Jesse sagged and almost sprinted to the warm spot beside his friends. He lay down instantly with his back to them and sighed when scarred fingers brushed carefully through his hair, “What's eatin’ ya, Jesse?”

He shrugged, “Just felt weird. Thought I heard a noise at my window and didn't want to be alone.” Nick grumbled as he got up from the bed. Jesse heard the rustling of fabric and then the synth left the bedroom. He heard him walk down the hall and then the front door opening and closing again, “Sorry, Hancock. I didn't mean to interrupt.”

“Don't worry about it, we weren't doing anything that can't be picked up again later.”

Jesse rolled over to face him, “I spoke to Codsworth.”

“Uh huh.” Hancock shuffled down and lay on his side to face him, almost nose to no-nose, “And what did old pop say to ya?”

“He said…he believes that Mac and Deacon were flirting with me.” He laughed. Self deprecating and nervous.

“Oh?” Hancock brushed a stray lock of hair out of his face and tucked it behind Jesse's ear, “Well, I believe it.”

“Yeah?” 

Nick came back into the house then with Dogmeat on his heels. The dog huffed and jumped up to settle by Jesse's feet, his big head a comforting weight on the young man's shin, “Nothing around your house, Jess, except a worried dog.” Nick shrugged back out of his clothes, synthetic skin damaged and displaying gizmos and gyros within his abdomen and torso, before he climbed back into bed and flopped an arm over Hancock's waist, “What are we talking about?”

Hancock wriggled a bit, getting comfortable against Nick's chest, “Just about Sunshine's love life.”

Nick snorted, “Mac and Deacon have been making goo-goo eyes at our boy for months.”

“Really?” Jesse asked, a little sleepily as the safety and warmth of the two older men slipped around him, “You think so?”

Hancock nodded, “Know so. Get some sleep, Sunshine. Everything will feel better come the morning.”

***

Morning came, bright and hopeful, and the group were making preparations to leave Sanctuary in the capable hands of Sturges and the guard so that they could set out to take down a nest of ferals in the Super Duper Mart.

Piper approached Jesse and he felt himself tense before he forced his muscles to relax. He was fine. She had just been upset and he could understand that, “Hey, Blue.”

“Piper. Uh, you okay?”

“Oh, peachy. I was actually thinking of sitting this one out if that's fine by you? I'm not feeling at my best and would appreciate some down time.”

Relief washed over him. He had felt the coils of trepidation all morning at the thought of travelling with her for the week or two they'd be away. They'd made arrangements for Duncan and Nat to stay with the Longs and Sturges but, if Piper was staying, Duncan could just stay with Sturges. It was honestly a load of his mind and also meant he and Piper could get a little distance to recover from their…argument, “Sure!” He probably said that a bit too brightly, “Um, that is, if you're sure.”

A muscle in her jaw twitched but she held it back, “I'm sure, Blue. Be safe and I'll see you when you get home.”

Then, suddenly and before he could react and step away, she grabbed him by the tops of his arms in a biting hold and slotted their mouths together in a desperate and hard kiss. He carefully pushed her away and he spied Cait standing to one side with a deep frown on her face as she let the head of her bat meet her palm, “Oh! Piper, please don't do that to me. We aren't together.” She opened her mouth to protest, fingers twitching as she clenched and unclenched her hands, “Please, I meant what I said yesterday. I understand you're upset.”

She rolled her neck and took a step back from him, “I'm not upset. It's fine.” She turned away, jumping slightly at the sight of Cait, before brushing by and calling over her shoulder, “See you when you get home, Blue.”

He watched her go and the sheer amount of embarrassment that he had felt yesterday flooded through him like a great wave of nausea. She'd done that in front of Cait again! He was meant to be in control. He was meant to be confident and a leader and a warrior. He felt about twelve going through his first awkward break-up as the older kids laughed at him. He squeezed his fingers around his wrists, willing the panic not to come, and then jumped as a hard shoulder pressed against his.
He let his arms drop to his sides and glanced out the corner of his eyes at Cait. It truly was uncanny when he stood by her, they could've been siblings; green eyes, red haired, pale and freckled. Maybe they shared an ancestor way down the line somewhere, “Cait.” He said simply.

“Jess.” She replied back in that thick Irish accent that he still wasn't sure how she picked up, “I think it best if you stay away from Piper for a while.”

“Yeah? She doesn't want to come anyways, so that's good, I guess?”

She snorted, “I mean even after we get back. She's givin’ me the heebie-jeebies.”

“Oh. I'm sure it'll be fine. She just needs to cool off a bit.”

“Uh huh. And to stop fuckin' touchin’ ya. I mean it, Jess, somethin' ain't right with that one.”

He didn't get a chance to reply as Preston bounced over like an overly excitable Labrador, “General! Ready to make tracks? Ferals aren't going to take themselves out.”
He flopped a big arm over him and Jesse nodded in affirmative. He was led down the road to the gates of Sanctuary, his family spread out behind him like a great wall of come and fucking try it. Dogmeat loped along at his side, never too far away.

Across the way, in the shelter of her own doorway, Piper watched them go. She frowned when Preston lay himself over Blue and practically combusted when MacCready and Deacon stepped up to his back, MacCready reaching out and gently adjusting a strap of Blue's armour for him. That was her job.

She finished packing her bag, gathered her armour and weapons, and, when she was sure the group had a good enough head start, set off to follow. She'd make sure Jesse didn't stray from her.

He was hers and she was his.

Chapter Text

The Super Duper Mart was a full day and a half out from Sanctuary and, as they crossed through Concord, Jesse felt a small amount of weight lift from his shoulders. Yes, a bit of space from the disaster that was yesterday was already doing him some good. He found himself laughing and smiling at the light conversation going on around him. Dogmeat barreled himself into a cluster of birds and barked at them till they flew off in a great fluttering panic. Curie had linked their elbows together and was nattering on about some new experiment she was working on and, just ahead of the group to scout the road, Deacon and Mac kept looking over their shoulders at him with little grins.

We're they actually flirting? With him? Codsworth, Hancock, and Nick seemed to think so and he usually deferred to their wisdom in life stuff. He'd never ever explored actually dating before and, the more that he'd thought about it the last few weeks, his relationship with Piper had just kinda happened to him.
She had been persistent in her affections. Hanging off him in any quiet moment, always sitting by him, making suggestive comments. He liked her, he really did, as a friend. She was funny, smart, confident, and had shown him a lot in those first few months. Always directing him on who to speak to to get what they wanted, tapping and pinching to bring his wandering thoughts back around, helping with his armour and weapons. Eventually, he gave into her suggestions because he'd believed it was what to be expected of him. A young man with a pretty woman on his arm like it had been back before this time.

But, that niggle in his brain consistently told him it wasn't right. It didn't feel good. He'd seen men and women all over the Commonwealth in what he now saw as same-sex relationships but couldn't bring himself to believe it. Couldn't bring himself to believe that his friends and family around him didn't have a problem with it. And then, one night on the road during a quiet moment by the fire as they celebrated getting the news that Duncan was on his way north, Deacon had leaned into MacCready and kissed him. In front of everyone! And, no one had batted an eye. It was like everyone has just been waiting for it to happen and that it was normal. He found Hancock the next day and asked him about it:

“Hey, can I ask you something?”

“Anything, Sunshine.” He always called him Sunshine. Said it was because he was a ray of light after the Commonwealth had been in the dark for so long.

“Mac and Deek…they're um..?”

“Fuckin’?”

He'd blushed to his ears but nodded, “And that's…okay?”

Hancock shrugged, “‘Course, why not?”

“Well, they're both -”

“Guys?” Jesse nodded again and Hancock blew a breath sharply out of his nose, “Jess, are you bi?”

“What!? No! How can you think that when I'm with Piper?”

Hancock stared him down, taking in the flush and nervous shuffling as he scrutinised him, “Uh huh, and how's that going?”

“Fine.”

“Just fine?”

“Well, yeah. That's normal.”

Hancock waved him over to sit on a crumbling wall as the others looted a nearby raider camp they'd just taken out, “Listen, kid, it shouldn't be just fine. You should be excited! Giddy! All in the honeymoon phase and shit, right?”
Jesse shifted awkwardly in his seat, the rocks of the wall digging in painfully, “Jess…do you have sex with Piper?”

He scratched his nose and squinted into the middle distance somewhere, “Sometimes.”

“Hot piece of stuff like that and it's only sometimes?”

“Well, I'm busy and tired and -”

“Do you like it?”

“What do you mean?”

“Do you like having sex with her? Kissing her?” More awkward shuffling and Hancock sighed as he looped an arm over his back but ignored the flinch, “Sunshine, do you even like women like that?”

He paused for a long while. He couldn't tell the truth but couldn't lie to Hancock either. He was his best friend. Like a brother or cool uncle or a funny dad. He squeezed his wrists as his hands twisted nervously in his lap, “Um, no. You can't tell anyone! Please!”

“Why not? It's all good and no skin off my nose,” Hancock didn't have a nose, “think any of us is gonna give a shit if you're gay? Look at me and Nick! No one cares.”

“But it's…my mum and dad said…”

“Oh, and what did your old man and ma say to you?”

So he told him. Told him everything. The camp, his parents anger and disappointment, his own self flagellation as he tried to change himself. His lavender marriage. Shaun. His close relationship with knives and razor blades when it all felt too much. Hancock tutted and rolled up one of his sleeves and frowned down at the old straight scars there.

“Sunshine, first things first, you come see me if you ever feel like doing that to yourself again. Second, your mum and dad are full of shit. Third, you need to tell Piper. It ain't fair on either of you to live in a lie.”

“But I -”

“Nah, kid, you can't go on like this. Look at you! You need to do something before you get in too deep. I promise, pinky swear and everythin’, that no one is gonna think any less of ya for just being yourself. Ya feel me, brother?”

Jesse nodded as the sleeve was gently rolled back down, covering the past like a balm or panacea, “I feel ya.”

Curie moved away to play a game of some kind with Preston and then Danse was brushing shoulders with him. They walked in companionable silence as they passed the church in Concord until Danse, quietly and almost apologetic, said, “How're you feeling?”

“Better. Thanks.” He accepted the water passed to him by Nick and took a sip, “Kinda glad to be out.”

“Action is always the best way to work through hard emotions.” He nodded to himself as though that were the Gods honest truth of it, “I'm happy you got it off your chest.”

“Me too. John was right: no one cares about that stuff anymore.”

Danse nodded again and went quiet. He was like this. He only said things when they were absolutely necessary and didn't feel the need to fill silences with nothing words. It was nice and let those in his company think or simply enjoy the solid force of his presence. Jesse basked in it as they picked their way over to a campsite as the afternoon started to draw late. It was time for a little break and a few hours of shut eye.

The camp was set up quickly and efficiently; bed rolls laid out, fire lit, and food warming up over it. They all sat and removed their boots to give their feet a rest and some air and Jesse found his bedroll sandwiched between Mac and Deacon's. He sat and was promptly joined by the pair as they settled on either side of him with Dogmeat resting his great head on his shins. It was cosy and comfortable and, before long, he found himself drifting off to the quiet murmurings of those around him. Deacon shifted slightly and Jess' head lolled to one side to settle onto the spy's shoulder. He didn't seem to mind so Jesse relaxed further against him. Mac stretched and his hand found a strand of Jesse's red hair and started twirling it absently as he joined in the conversation.

“Yeah, but you need to account for the wind when shooting from that far away.” He said and Jesse stopped trying to follow the conversation completely as his eyes shut fully.

No one disturbed the General as they all clocked his quietly snoring form. Cait jerked her chin at them all and dropped her voice, “Piper kissed him before we left.”

Nick frowned into the fire, “And he let her?”

“It wasn't a letting kinda situation. She grabbed him and just crashed their faces together.” She picked at some grass and scowled around at them all, “He had to shove her away. And then she was all: see you when you get home, Blue. I swear, she's fuckin' cracked.”

Mac mumbled quietly to not disturb the sleeping form squished between him and Deacon, “I can't believe she smacked him.” It hadn't left a bruise but Mac could still see the hand shaped red mark when he shut his eyes. He'd seen Jesse get shot, stabbed, punched, and almost blown up, but none of it had shaken him quite as badly as that hand print had. It shouldn't have been put there. That's the thing; Raiders, Super Mutants, Slavers, Gunners, you expected those kinds of people to try to hurt and kill you. But, your own friends? It wasn't right. It shouldn't have happened. And the spitting? Someone should've gone with him to speak to Piper.

Preston rubbed his forehead with a finger and thumb before saying what the rest of them were thinking, “Didn’t it seem like, I dunno, like she was kinda comfortable doing that to him?”

“Like she’d done it before?” 

“Well, yeah. He didn’t seem all that phased by it. He just kind of shrugged it off and got pissed when she went for Cait and Mac. I think she’s done it before, yeah.”

Nick frowned over the fire and carefully lay a hand over Hancock’s angrily bouncing leg, “Won't happen again, can promise you that.”

“Oh, for sure, Bolts.” Deacon adjusted himself slightly and Jesse's head slipped down. He caught it gently and lowered it as Mac moved the man's legs out from under Dogmeat so that he was stretched out over them both, breathing deeply with his head on Deacon's thigh and knees nestled on Mac's. Deacon carefully dropped his hand to lightly scratch at the red head's scalp, “Not if we have anything to say about it.”

***

He and Deacon had stealthed through the majority of the Super Duper Mart before an errant can tipped over and alerted the horde. It was all going well, the rest of the group using the growls and screaming of the ferals as the signal to rush the building, shotguns were blasting, knives flashing and Jesse felt weirdly at peace.
For all his young awkwardness and naïveté from his mostly sheltered upbringing, this is where he belonged. He had been surprised, at first, at how easily he'd adjusted to this new life after some initial panic - excluding his hangups on relationships, of course - his brief stint in the army through boot-camp and a single deployment seemed to have been just enough for him to be able to hit the ground running after he'd defrosted. He was good at it and, if he'd been able to rise through the ranks above a lowly private, he'd bet on himself being a Commander eventually.
Knives were his go to, quiet and stealthy and able to take down most of a raider camp alone when he caught them sleeping, but he was handy with a rifle and pistol too. Before he knew it, he'd been made General of a little budding militia with a solid group at his back ready to take on the Institute and find Shaun. That, the Institute, had been nearly six weeks ago and he found that, whilst the pain was still raw sometimes, he felt okay enough to begin to move on a little. Time waited for no one and the Commonwealth didn't allow for grieving like it once had.

It made him think of Deacon. The man had opened up to him about his past, slowly and with much bullshitting at first, but once he started it all just spilled out. He'd had a wife before. A little farm that they'd worked hard to make flourish. And, like with the story of many of them, it had been blown away from him like ashes on the wind. As though it had never existed. Barbara was killed for being a synth, even if neither she or Deacon had known it at the time, and Deacon blamed himself for a long time. His eyes shook behind his sunglasses without him telling them too and Jesse had told him that it looked like a condition called Nystagmus. Deacon had just shrugged. Apparently they hadn't done that before he'd been booted in the back of the head by one of his old gang members for trying to save his wife. He kept his sunglasses on like a shield, only letting them down in the evenings when it was just their group around the fire. Then, he and Mac had started dating.

Which brought his thoughts to the Merc. Like himself and Deacon, Mac had also had a wife taken too soon from him. And a son. He'd been waspish and bratty at first but settled into the easy companionship surrounding them all and got better and better the more weight that was lifted from him. Winlock and Barnes? Gone. His son? Cured and safe in Sanctuary.

The three of them, in a weird way, were the same. And now they were flirting with him. Even in battle they brushed against him to back him up, covering him easily and even helping with a Stimpak. It was so easy with them both. Flowing and natural. How he'd imagined proper relationships and friendships to be.
When he'd woken up that morning in between them both, Mac's arm over him and holding Deacon's fingers, and Deacon's leg draped over them both, it had felt…warm. And right. And good. He'd looked over at Hancock and Nick, as always his usual go-to's for a bit of affirmation, and just got lazy smiles and a black eyed wink in reply. It was fine. They'd both said so. So, he'd enjoyed the quiet moment of solid muscle against him and warm breath fluttering his hair.
Cait had ruined it, like the annoying little sister figure she was, by snorting and telling them to get a room. He'd shot up, ignoring the grumbled protests from them both, and moved to start his day.

The end of the fight came suddenly and he stood in the center of a cluster of dead ferals and cracked his neck to release the tension there. One deep breath in and a slow one out. He glanced around at everyone, Curie flitting across them as she assessed their scrapes and bruises, no one was majorly hurt. Preston had a bust lip, Danse had a scratch along his neck above his armour. Cait's knuckles were busted. Deacon was wiping some grime from his shirt. Hancock was flicking blood from his knife with his usual grin as he nudged Nick with an elbow. Mac was limping and looked a little greener than usual from his run in with the glowing feral.

“Hey,” Jess stepped over the corpses, “need some Rad-Away?”

Mac casually grabbed Jess by his arm and leaned into him to help balance off his bad leg, “Couldn't hurt.”

He didn't flinch, “Okay, let's find a cleaner spot to settle for a while.” He took Mac's weight and started to lead him towards the pharmacy section behind the counter of the mart. The others followed absently and Deacon came to Mac's other side to take more of his weight.

“Fu - frickin’ hate ferals, guys.”

Deacon snorted, “We know, buddy.”

They settled Mac onto the ground cushioned by a hastily unrolled bedroll and Jesse dug around his pack for the Rad-Away. Deacon rolled up the merc's sleeve and tied a little strip of leather over his bicep to make the faint blue vein inside his elbow pop. Jess cleaned the skin with a little gauze damp with vodka before quickly sticking the needle attached to the primed line of the miracle drug into his arm, “Ouch!”

“Sorry, shoulda warned about a sharp scratch.”

He chuckled, “It’s okay.” He leaned his head back against the wall to wait for the Rad-Away to run its course and Dogmeat flopped down beside them all to keep guard over the injured mercenary. People tended to get a little nauseous during this particular treatment so Deacon scooted over a bucket just in case. The others were sitting nearby but far enough away to give the illusion of privacy to the little trio, “Jesse, we were talking around the fire last night.”

“A favourite past-time, I know.” He smirked as Mac rolled his eyes.

“Fu - frick, I don’t wanna do this when you’re in a good mood.”

Deacon shuffled a little and nudged Mac’s boot with his own, “You’ve started it now, MacDaddy.”

“Ew. Don’t call me that.”

“Don’t wanna do what?” Jesse was frowning now, bottom lip being worried by his teeth as his hands started to pick at his sleeves, “Were you talking about me?”

Deacon lay a hand, ignoring the slight flinch with furrowed brows, onto Jesse’s wringing fingers, “Yeah, but nothing bad. At least, nothing bad about you, Whisp.” He sighed as Mac pulled the bucket toward himself and spat into it, the Rad-Away was hitting his system now, “Listen, Whisper, about the other day when Piper hit you.”

“It’s fine. She was upset! I understand and she gets like -” He cut himself off and kept his eyes on the grimy floor he could see between the hollow space of his crossed legs. If he squinted a bit, that stain kinda looked like a rabbit.

More spitting before Mac straightened, “She gets like what?”

“It’s fine. It’s nothing and I can handle it.”

“If it was nothing, you wouldn't have to handle it.” Deacon said simply, “Jess, has she hit you before?”

He was quiet for a long moment as his good mood completely faded away and he continued to squint down at the floor. He carefully stood, not meeting the eye of either Mac or Deacon and ignoring the soft whine from his dog, “I, um…I don't want to discuss this right now.” His tone had slipped into the one he used when giving orders to the guards of the settlements and Mac and Deacon could only watch as he turned and walked away.

He waved away Hancock and Nick, shook his head at Cait and Preston, and said I'm fine to Danse and Curie as he passed by them, “Just going for a piss. Be back in a sec.”

He needed air. Everything felt too hot and tight, his clothes scratching at his skin and old scars burning beneath it all. Prickling sunburn ghosted over him and he gagged.
He shoved the side door of the Super Duper Mart open and took a great ragged gasp in as the fresher air hit him. He felt like he was drowning. Why had that felt like an interrogation? Why had he felt the need to defend her like that? He braced his hands on his knees and just let the tears come. Better out than in, Codsworth would say, and he was usually right about most things.
He'd been happy with the flirting. Couldn't it have just stayed that way? It felt too deep. Picking away at things he'd rather not have raised to the surface. They'd already seen enough embarrassment, why did they want to see more? He dropped into a squat and hugged his knees, fingers picking at the sleeves of his shirt. He didn't want to do this again.

He just wanted to be normal.

It was a little while later when Hancock dropped to his side. He didn't touch him but made sure that Jesse could see him in his periphery, “Longest piss I think a man's ever taken, Sunshine.” His eyes trailed over the fingers still picking at the sleeves, “Wanna talk about it, brother?”

“No.”

“No problem. We'll just sit for a bit then.”

“Okay.” He sniffed and dropped his head into the hollow space made between his knees and chest.

***

Hope people are enjoying this :)

Chapter Text

The Super Duper Mart was surrounded by handy little buildings with many nooks and crannies a person could get comfortable in. So she did.

As the group of her friends discussed the point of attack at the side door of the mart, and she knew exactly how that conversation was going, she settled by a window and kept an eye through the scope of her pistol. They were all huddled and listening as Blue drew lines in the dirt beneath them. He always did this. He made cute little maps for them all to follow with arrows indicating which person would be best where in a close quarters fight. Stumbling across raiders and Gunners in the streets was different, that was all feeling and instinct and covering each other. In a planned attack, Blue really showed his leadership qualities; he was firm in his decisions, calculated, clever, and everyone followed his instructions to the letter. It made them efficient and brutal with minimal risk of injury to themselves. They still got hurt, they weren't immortal by any means, but it was very rarely because of one of his decisions. Usually it'd be a surprise hidden person, or an explosion, or some other random event.

He was fantastic. Even watching from afar, she could imagine the way his voice sounded. It wasn't too deep but not light enough to mistake him for someone much younger, not too sing-songy but not flat either. The perfect balance of old Boston with the twang of somewhere down south. She watched him draw a new line with a finger before pointing up at Preston who nodded in agreement. The others were loading up ready and MacCready was already picking the lock on the door with Deacon helping.
The little sneak thief didn't need any help with robbing people.

The door was carefully and oh so slowly pushed open and then Deacon and Blue disappeared inside. Alone. MacCready kept watch around the edge of the threshold with his rifle raised. She had his head in her scope. She could so easily just…pull the trigger. She shook her head, it wouldn't do. Her gun wasn't silenced and the noise would attract every feral to her position if she did. She saw MacCready tense and then make a motion with his hand and then they all flew into the building, the dog a streak of black and tan. She could faintly hear the gunshots and see the bright strobe flashes through the dirty windows or wood boarding. She grit her teeth. Blue had better not get hurt. Not without her there to help with a Stimpak. She knew he didn't like other people to see the insides of his arms and she believed that it was only her and Curie who knew what lay beneath his sleeves.

The shooting stopped and she waited for them to reemerge. It was a while and she was growing more and more impatient before she smiled as Blue practically ran from the building.

She raised her scope again and levelled it to see his pretty face. He was crying. Great fat tears falling silently down his face as he twisted his hands together and pulled at the fabric over his flushed skin. She couldn't hear him as he frantically paced but she could see when he took in a great breath before collapsing into a squat.

She should go over. Comfort him. Remind him of where he belongs.

Then Hancock was there and she snarled as her scope brought his warped face into clearer view. Blue had slept at his house the other night. Him and Nick. She could take him out right now. Mayor. Please. He's barely ever at Goodneighbor anymore, leaving it to Fahrenheit for weeks and weeks at a time. Sure, he'd taught her how to do it, but he was meant to be the Mayor. Not her.

And now he was sitting with Blue. Mouth moving as he comforted her partner. She should do it. Just pull the trigger. It'd be so simple.

If she couldn't have Blue, no one could.

***

“I really really don't want to talk about it, John.”

“That's fine, Jess, we don't have to. How's about you give me your hands so that you stop worrying at your wrists though, hmm?” He held out his scarred hand for Jesse to take. It took a moment but, soon enough, Jess' smooth hands were in his own and he relaxed marginally, “There, feels a bit better, yeah?”

“Yeah.” He wiped his eyes on his still bent knees before looking at him properly, “Can I ask you something?”

“Sure.”

“How do you know how to do this?”

“Do what?” He didn't like seeing Jesse like this. He was a ray of Sunshine in this dark world. People flocked to him like he was the second coming and he worked so hard to keep them all safe and happy. It didn't leave much time for himself so Hancock swore he'd never ask anything of him if he could help it. He'd paid him for a couple jobs before he truly knew him, of course, but he wouldn't ask anything more: not a typewriter, not help with an old case, no desperate search for a miracle cure. It was too much for someone so young and still so unused to this world. Too much for his narrow shaking shoulders as he tried to hold them all up out of the struggle and dirt.

“You know. This stuff.” He clenched his fingers into his hands to make his point and Hancock grinned.

“Ah, Fahrenheit.” 

“Oh.”

Hancock nodded and smiled, “She's kinda like you in a way. Didn't have the easiest time growing up, ma was a bit of a Jet addict who got physical when angry. I didn't know about her until she came knocking on my door when she was about thirteen, maybe fourteen, all scarred up from a stint with the Forged.” Jesse sat properly, keeping his hands on Hancock’s, “Didn't believe her at first until she described her mum. Some one night stand I had when I was still smooth and young.” He grinned a little, "Plus, she has my hair and eyes."

“And you took her in?”

“‘Course. What else could I do? Leave her on the streets of Goodneighbor and pretend she didn't exist? Nah. I'm a lot of things, Sunshine, but a deadbeat dad I'm not.”
Jess relaxed further, his legs spreading out and the muscles in his back loosening up, “Anyway, she had nightmares and panic attacks for a long time, like you. Sometimes she'd want to fight to get the tension out, sometimes she'd just scream at me, sometimes she'd wanna talk. And, sometimes, she just wanted to be hugged. Properly. The way a dad should hug his kids, y’know?”

“Oh.” More silence stretched between them as Jess processed this new information about the formidable and terrifying daughter of the ghoul Mayor, “Do you think, maybe, that I could get a dad hug, maybe? If you don't want to, that's fine. Just, if it worked for Far then maybe -”

He was cut off as Hancock shuffled in and wrapped his arms around Jesse, “Don't even need to ask, Sunshine.” He held on firmly but not tight and allowed Jesse to sink his head into the crook where his neck met his shoulder. He ran a hand carefully up his back and between the straps of his armour so that he could feel the warmth and just pulled him close. It was nice. Cosy. And while Hancock didn't want any more children of his flitting about the Commonwealth, he'd make an exception for Jess. He had Codsworth, sure, but Mr Handys weren't exactly known for giving warm hugs to settle someone's brain when they have a bug in it.

Jesse sighed, a warm puff of air over Hancock's neck, and Hancock grinned into the top of his flaming hair. If the kid were bigger and had grey eyes, he could've been mistaken as Far's kid brother or something. And wasn't that a wild thought? Him, Cait, and Fahrenheit all did look a little similar to him the same way all blondes kinda did.

If Jesse had been born in the Now, if Hancock had met him sooner or even, another wild thought, raised him, how would he have turned out? Hopefully, not as prone to panic. Stronger. Less likely to take people's shit. He wasn't a doormat, not fully, but he needed to learn to say no and be firmer. And not let random broads fucking hit -

A gunshot and then blinding white pain erupted along his upper back. He heard Jess scream as he fell to the side but everything was kinda fuzzy and under water. Kinda like when he mixed Med-X and Calmex.

“Curie!” Jess was on his feet and sprinting to the door and Hancock watched him from where he lay in a rapidly spreading pool of his own blood, “Curie! Everyone!”

When Jess turned back to face him, it wasn't the scared young man going through too much he saw, it was the General of the Minutemen: Righteous fury. Anger. Rage. Hancock grinned, even though his face felt oddly numb, as Jesse pulled his knives out with a glinting flourish and stood over him like a goddamn angelic meat shield.

Curie was on him then and tutting as Jess directed Preston and Deacon to stay with them as he flew off with the others towards a nearby cluster of buildings. He'd be fine. He was good. A ray of Sunshine.

***

They didn't find anything in the buildings surrounding the Super Duper Mart except the fresh spent casing of a .44 from a revolver. It was unremarkable and not marked with any kind of branding. Homemade. The same way some raiders, Gunners, or even themselves made their bullets.
Mac tucked it into his pocket and frowned around the little space they'd found that had a perfect clear view of where Jess and Hancock had been sitting. He got onto one knee and pulled out his rifle to check the range and wind direction. He grit his teeth. They'd been lucky that Hancock had been shot in the back. Whoever had done it hadn't taken into account the slight degree change from the height of this hiding spot and the wind swooping in from the south. If they had, the bullet would've gone through Hancock's head.

He could see Hancock and the others slowly shuffling back inside of the mart. They'd be spending the night to let him recover before moving on to check out a few settlements and then to Goodneighbor before looping back home. He kept watch from this vantage as Hancock was taken inside by Deacon, Preston, and Curie and then spied the others as they did a quick circuit of the area around them. Tonight would be a traps, mines, and a constant on watch kinda night.

“What do you think, Mac?” Jess said from close behind him, Dogmeat at his heel as always.

“I think Hancock's a very lucky ghoul. Anyone with any real skill at long range would've made the shot easily.” He dug the bullet out and showed him, “Shot was made with a .44. I'm betting a modded high powered revolver with the range we're talking.”

“There's no evidence of any raiders being close by recently or Gunners.” He knelt beside him and checked the shot himself through the scope on his heavy pistol, “I mean, if someone wanted a fight, they'd have stuck around, yeah?”

The sunset made Jess' hair look like fire. His eyes changed from a deep dark green to a sparkling amber and grass mixture and his skin practically glowed. Mac looked away and checked down the scope again. Danse was heading inside the mart with a bag of random loot he'd found slung over one shoulder, “You thinking a targeted hit?”

“Yeah, but I don't know any assassins and feels a bit weird that they'd missed if they were hired for it.”

“Something personal, then?”

“Hmm. Could be. He's not exactly sang about as a good guy in the Brotherhood and I'm sure some folk outside of them have issues with him.” He sighed and sat back, lowering the pistol and tucking it away into the holster by his hip, “Maybe Nick would be able to look into it better?”

Mac dared to lean in a little and grinned only a small bit when Jess leaned a little towards him too, “What if Hancock wasn't the target?”

“Ha! They'd have to get in line.” He was smirking again and Mac was glad to see it. He hadn't meant to send him into a spiral earlier on. He would've liked very much to lean further in and maybe loop his arm around him but he didn't want to push it so he simply tilted his head away and let their knees knock together as he scooted more fully to the floor.

“They could get in line but they'd find a bit of an issue in actually getting to you.”

“Oh? How's that then?” He waved a negligent hand in the general direction of Hancock's drying blood stain across the way and below them in the dirt.

“Pfft. Look at your weird group of friends, Jess. Sure, Hancock got shot today, but which of us hasn't gone through that? He'll be up and about in an hour flat and raging at some unknown entity's audacity. Or whatever you call it. Then there's Danse and Nick. The others.” He paused and watched out of the corner of his eye to gauge his reaction, “Deacon and me.”

He saw him smile as he stood, brushing invisible lint off his thighs and knees, “Yeah. And you all have me. So it's square, yeah?”

Mac stood too and looked down at him, “I do like to keep things square.”

He snorted out a little laugh as he led the way out of the improvised snipers nest and out towards their little found family getting ready to shut the mart for the night, “You're a dork, Mac.”

“Your dork.”

A small moment of quiet before Jess shrugged one shoulder almost up to his ear, “Yeah, I guess.”

Later in the night, Jess sat with Cait by Hancock's head as the ghoul slept off the Med-X and Stimpaks that Curie had pumped him full of. He had an amazing tolerance for drugs and it usually took a lot to actually knock him out so that he'd lie still long enough to heal properly. Nick was on watch, doing angry loops of the mart and peeking through windows. The door was rigged with a frag bouquet and the others were sleeping soundly not too far away hidden behind the counter by the pharmacy. He could just see the little huddle of Deacon and MacCready: Mac with his head in the hollow of Deacon's shoulder with the older man's arm about his waist.

Cait nudged him, “Why don't ya just go lay down with ‘em?”

He scratched his nose and blew out a breath as he looked away, choosing instead to look over Hancock's face. He was all scars and fury and charisma but, right now, he seemed so peaceful and relaxed, shadows flickering over him from the small fire keeping him warm as he recovered, “It's…complicated, I guess?”

“You guess? It ain't that complicated, Jess. Just go and get in their bedroll with ‘em. They won't mind.” She was tapping at the toe of her boot with a finger, the rhythm a weird backdrop to Nick's patrol.

He could feel the familiar panic bubbling up again and shut his eyes as he let his head fall back to rest against the wall, “So people keep saying.”

“‘Cause it's the truth.” The tapping continued and Jess used it to ground himself. He stretched his legs out in front of him and felt his calf nudge against the top of Hancock's head. He cracked an eye to make sure it hadn't disturbed him before shutting it again when the ghoul didn't react.

“I dunno how to do this, Cait.” He was whispering into the dark behind his eyelids, “The only people I've ever…y’know, are Nora and then…and it just felt…” He trailed off, not sure how to finish.

“Not right? Normal?” Her tapping stopped for a moment before it resumed on his knee, “Forced?”

Forced. Had it been forced? He'd done it with Nora once. A weird few hours where everything had felt wobbly and wrong. His knees had shook and he'd felt so sick afterwards he couldn't get out of bed for a full day. Nora just went about her day as though nothing had happened and they didn't speak about it. Hancock told him that it sounded like Nora had drugged him a little but he didn't remember taking anything. They'd had dinner, he got ready for bed, and then…the weirdness. He mentally waved it off.

With Piper, it didn't feel any less weird though he could remember each instance with startling clarity. The first time, she had dragged him to the hotel Rexford and shoved him onto a bed. He tried telling her he wasn't in the mood and wanted to go play cards with Mac and Hancock but she didn't hear him. She stripped him and pinched his skin to get him into the place she wanted. Rough and handsy and dragging his hands along her body as she took whatever pleasure she could from him: 

“P-Piper…it's…I dont…” she lowered herself onto him and pulled his scarred wrists away from his eyes as he tried to hide.

“Hush, Blue. It's okay, I'll show you how.” He knew how. He just didn't want to.

He just shut his eyes and waited for her to finish. Each instance afterwards was more or less the same. When she was done, he'd get up from wherever they were, get dressed, and then go find Hancock or Deacon or Mac and just…leave it alone.
It was embarrassing. Awkward. He was young. Ish. But, he was the General, he was a fighter, he was a man. It didn't work like that. He hadn't tried to fight them off like he knew he could've so some part of him must've wanted it. Right?

Warm hands touched his fingers when they had started picking at his sleeves and the skin beneath, “Jesse.”

“Cait.”

“I know what it's like, to be made to do somethin' you don't wanna do. We all do, in one way or another, it's okay to tell us about it and get help.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Imagine where I'd be now if I didn't ask you for help. Probably be Radroach food in a gutter somewhere. Mac's kid would be dead. The Railroad would be gone. Danse would be dead. Nick would've lost his mind. Preston? Dead. Curie? Locked in a vault forever. Everyone needs some help sometimes.”

He didn't reply but accepted the calloused hand in his. It wasn't the same. He couldn't ask for help in this because it was something, as an adult man, that he should've been able to stop himself. It wasn't the same as stopping one of his friends being killed or helping them settle old grudges. Not the same as them coming to the Institute with him to put that nightmare to rest. 

Why was it so warm again? The hands in his held tight and he swallowed down a tight breath. Hancock shuffled a little in his sleep, the others light snoring filled the air and, eventually, Cait's head dipped to one side. He helped her lay down properly with shaking hands and stood. He could see Nick at the other end of the mart and waved. Nick waved back.

He silently moved to where Deacon and Mac were sleeping; both relaxed, Mac's face free of the worry lines on the bridge of his nose, Deacon's eyes rapidly moving with dreams instead of injury beneath his eyelids. They'd put his bedroll next to theirs and he quietly took off his boots before climbing into it. Deacon was on his left, empty space to his right, and he lay stiffly and stared up at the ceiling. He wasn't sure how long he lay like that: fingers pick pick picking. The repetitive motion distracting from the prickling pain beneath his skin. The throbbing in his head.

Pain.
Pain.
More.
More pain.
Drown it out. Drown it out. Drown it out.

He startled as Deacon shifted and then there was a heavy muscled arm draped over his chest. It was solid and warm. Like a weighted blanket to soothe troubled minds and bodies.

“Go to sleep, Whisp.” Deacon's low voice was close to his ear and he turned his face to look at him. A tired blue shaking eye was looking back, “Close your eyes. I got you.”

Jesse shut his eyes and let sleep take him as warm breath ghosted over his face.

Drown it out.

Chapter Text

She followed them around the lake and watched them enter Covenant. The walls were high and the single heavily guarded gate was the only way in or out. She wouldn't be able to get in without being spotted and the others being alerted to her presence. 

She hadn't been surprised when Hancock had emerged mostly okay the morning after he'd been shot. He was resilient and it would take more than a bullet to the back to take him out. She had aimed for his head.
The ghoul linked his arm with Nick as they'd meandered around to Covenant at an easy relaxed pace. They were all laughing and talking. About her. Laughing at how she missed her mark and, no doubt, poisoning Blue against her.

He'd walked between Danse and Curie, nodding his head and saying short answers to whatever the two were talking about, and then Danse hooked his great big arm over Blue’s shoulder and gave him a little shake. Blue had laughed. Laughed as though her heart wasn't breaking. As though she wasn't seconds away from crying and shattering to the ground nearly every second of every day. 

He was her fiancé! How could he do this to her? Flirt and slut around with their group as though she meant nothing. He wasn't gay. Look at him! Flirting with Cait and Curie as they pulled his hands to cackle like psychopaths and kick rocks into the lake.
Hancock and Nick stood close by, eyes sweeping the area around them but she knew she wouldn't be seen. She'd packed her supplies well and Stealth-Boys were a resource that her Blue had cleverly hoarded over the last year or so.

He laughed in the sunlight, hair lit up like fire, and then Mac and Deacon were there threatening him with some wet plants on the end of a stick. MacCready had a cigarette hanging from his mouth as he and Blue took off their boots to wade in the shallows as they continued their walk around to Covenant. 
Then, him trying to make it look like an accident as Blue tripped a little, Mac grabbed Blue’s hand and then kept holding it. Deacon wrapped an arm around Mac's waist and the three stumbled out of the shallows and laughed again as they took their boots from Danse. The dog was paddling around before dashing out of the water to shake himself vigorously.

It was as if they were taking a weird pre-war vacation! Without her! Preston had taken off his hat to waft cooler air at Curie as she tilted her head back into the light, Deacon had Mac on his back and running back and forth to make the merc giggle like a child, Hancock and Nick shared a kiss that made her gag before joining in a conversation with Danse, and Cait and Blue started an impromptu tug of war with a random branch. 

The gun was cool and comforting in her pocket as the gates to Covenant shut behind them all. She'd have to wait to see them in the morning and got comfortable in a nearby copse of trees as the afternoon turned to evening.

They'd most likely move south from here and hit a few more settlements before making it to Goodneighbor. That town was raucous and full of people screaming well into the night. Not necessarily bad screams or panic, mostly people having a good time as they tipped out of the Third Rail after a long night drinking and taking chems. She could, if she planned it right, use those screams to her advantage. No doubt, once in Goodneighbor, they'd relax beneath the shield that Hancock’s influence provided. His guards were loyal, as were the people, and Fahrenheit was the most effective guard dog Piper had ever had the displeasure of meeting. The Rail would be too busy and full and Hancock wouldn't allow the group to sleep in the Rexford when he had rooms available in his Statehouse.

Piper, in the dirt beside her, drew a map as close as she could to her memories of the streets and alleys of Goodneighbor like Blue would. She drew the floorplans, as best as she could, of Hancock and Fahrenheit's home. Of the Rexford. Of the Rail.

They all deserved to be reminded of who she was and of what was hers. 

The sun rose and the gates of Covenant opened. The group emerged looking well rested and happy. Blue, with one arm linked with MacCready's and the other with Deacon's, kept smiling at them both with a blush from his ears to his neck.

The stick she had been drawing with snapped in her hand and she raised her gun.

***

It had taken a long time for Deacon to accept this new life that had been carved out for him. It had taken him a long time for him to stop lying to himself and to those around him and to accept that maybe, just maybe, things would be okay this time.

His life had bounced from one extreme to the other more times than he could count: from growing up a mostly normal kid in University Point, to joining the UP Deathclaws. He helped harass and beat folk that they believed were synths, he had bullied them into submission, and believed that their little gang was the last line of defence between the Institute and the people of the Commonwealth. To then realising, during a lynching that would forever be seared into his brain, that not everyone their gang had bullied and ultimately killed had been a synth. They had been people. Travellers. Traders. Townsfolk.
He'd been indoctrinated and radicalised by the UP Deathclaws as a young teenager wanting to find his place, sure, but the blood would never wash off. He'd ran away and his life flipped from the horrors of that gang and University Point as its streets had turned red beneath his feet to the sudden glowing visage of a young woman with deep dark skin and eyes he could've swam in. 

Barbara had been the best thing that had ever happened to him. She taught him that life wasn't all down to the trigger on a rifle. It wasn't all killing and fighting and screaming.
Sometimes, it was farming. Sometimes, it was laughing in the sun and holding hands as they talked quietly in bed at night. She smelled like the earth they tilled and the Hubflower tea she liked to drink and her hair was so thick and tightly curled it grew out of her head in a great halo in the setting sun. She was perfect and his and he got to marry her. He couldn't believe it but didn't question her mental capacity any further as a swift elbow to his gut and a laugh told him that she was, in fact, serious about him.

And, as life always did for Deacon - though he hadn't been called Deacon then -, it found a way to come crashing down around him like great panes of broken stained glass. He'd been forced to kneel in their razorgrain field and watch as the deep earth that reminded him so much of Barbara turned red. Her beautiful hair hid her face as her head was removed from her body and he thanked whatever God that was listening for that small grace. He wanted to remember her, always, as smiling in the sunset as she sipped Hubflower tea.
He'd been made to lay down in her blood, the red seeping into his sleep shirt and thin pants, and the gang that had followed him here and targeted her for his desertion had laughed. Barbara was a synth. The stump of her neck sparking and leaking fluids that weren't only blood. They called him a traitor. An Institute bitch. Then they had kicked him so hard in the back of his head he couldn't move. He couldn't blink. Could barely breathe.
He couldn't remember killing every member of the gang that had come to his farm. The blood seeped into his nail beds and into his nose and gasping mouth.

Then, he'd been found in that blood stained field by the Railroad. They had believed him to be a synth and he didn't bother correcting them for a long while. He couldn't remember his true name at first so they simply called him John Doe. Then John D. Then D. Then Deacon.
He knew his true name now, it had filtered back to him like a picture through static one day as he'd read a book, but he let that name mostly fall into obscurity. Only one other person, who he trusted fully and completely, knew it now.

He was good in the Railroad. Pledging his allegiance to them and the Synths that required help and worked hard to fulfill that oath. A total one-eighty from his purpose with the Deathclaws. One extreme to the other. One radicalisation to the next.
He was fiercely loyal to Pinky and then fiercely loyal to Desdemona after she took over. But, there was always a small niggle there. Deacon, it seemed, had some kind of supernatural and horrific luck when it came to surviving things that should not have been survived. He'd survived the UP Deathclaws by the skin of his teeth, the brain damage taking a while to heal and the only remnants being the unnerving quake in his ice blue eyes. He survived the razing of Railroad HQ and then three more safehouses. Each time he had been the sole survivor. People in HQ started to avoid him as though he were a bad luck charm: like a backwards rabbits foot or the opposite of a four leaf clover. They couldn't meet his eyes, always looking away when he looked over. It didn't matter. He liked wearing sunglasses anyways.

It reached a boiling point, however, during an argument with Glory. He can't remember what that argument was about anymore, only that it had been huge. Desdemona stepped in and sent him on some bullshit mission to the north for some Vault that no one knew about.
He went, because of course he did, and spent two weeks bivouacked between some trees and a little lean-to. He only ever saw a Mr Handy at the same time every day floating about near the entrance of the Vault. Sometimes it tapped on the great metal doors as though it were a neighbour asking to borrow sugar.

He hadn't expected to be woken up by a great rumbling, as though an earthquake had hit Boston with such force it made his teeth rattle, and then the piercing sound of long still metal finally moving again. Through the scope of his rifle, he saw him rise out of the ground with his arm raised against the light, and then saw him collapse to his knees as he let out the most blood curdling scream he'd ever heard in his life. He'd knelt like that for hours screaming and crying into the uncaring still air of early autumn. Hair as red as fire but so so cold.

The crying only stopped when that Mr Handy bustled up at its usual time and the red haired Vault Dweller threw himself at it as though he knew it.

Desdemona was going to have a field day.

His life was full of an unusual excitement again after being told to watch this maybe-synth-boy that the Institute had appeared so interested in. That is how Desdemona had learned about the Vault up north after all: some tourist saw the Institute hazmats picking around the place. So, Deacon followed him around.
He didn't think this boy was a synth but he definitely wasn't your typical Vault Dweller either. After the initial shock of being outside seemed to wear off, the guy threw himself into life as though he hadn't been raised all safe underground for all his life. He revived the Minutemen out of their ashes and built settlements and settlements and settlements. People flocked to this new beacon of hope. Hell, even the terrifying Mayor of Goodneighbor seemed to have a soft spot for him after a while. He seemingly started to date the woman who ran the newspaper out of Diamond City: Piper.

And, then, the Vault Dweller hired MacCready. Deacon had heard of MacCready before. Dug up all the dirt he could on the ex-Gunner. Then vehemently decided he didn't like the guy. He killed for caps, what was there to like?
It wasn't much longer afterwards, and after a fight to the death with a Courser which blew Deacon's mind a bit, that the Vault Dweller and his whole group stumbled into Railroad HQ asking for a favour. They had a chip taken from the Coursers skull, again mind-blowing because what the fuck? and Desdemona agreed after a little nudge from himself so long as the Vault Dweller did some jobs for the Railroad in return. He'd rolled his forest green eyes but agreed.

Deacon met with him and MacCready nearby the rendezvous to meet with Ricky. 

“Still have your guard dog then? Was meant to be a one-on-one get to know you type deal, pal.”

The Vault Dweller, Jesse he'd since learnt (and he was a man, not a boy), just shrugged, “Mac's a good friend and a lot's at risk if you turn out to be a weird axe murderer or somethin'.”
MacCready had flushed a dark pink which had Deacon raising his eyebrows. The Merc just scowled at him.

Deacon shrugged as nonchalantly as he could, “Fine, I get it. Can't have the General of the Minutemen turning up face down in a river, can we?”

MacCready had taken one step forward and slightly in front of Jesse then, “That a threat?”

Deacon laughed, “Nah, pal. From me? We're on the same side here. Anyway,” he began to lead the way to Ricky, “the answer is: mine's in the shop, when he asks about your Geiger counter.”

Jess tilted his head but followed, “But my Geiger counter is right here.” He held up his arm that had the PipBoy strapped to it.

“Wow. Are you, like, twelve or something?”

“No.” He sniffed and narrowed his eyes, “In my twenties actually, old man.”

Mac snorted. Deacon laughed. It was the start of a beautiful friendship.

Deacon's life continued to flip-flop and wiggle around him and then, quite suddenly, he got way too comfortable. And, when he got comfortable, people had the tendency to die.
He got the distinct impression that those at HQ were glad for his absence so he stayed more and more with Whisper and his group. They didn't seem to mind and even his sniping with MacCready felt more like playful jabs than actual vehemence after a while.
They'd all sit by the fire and talk and laugh together; Piper would hang on Whisper's arm, Cait and Mac would spar, Danse and Preston would discuss tactics, Curie would be nearby with some kind of experiment, Codsworth would hand out drinks, and Nick and Hancock would laze about and share a cigarette. Deacon found himself petting Dogmeat's belly and actually enjoying himself.
He lifted his shades to his forehead and no one cared that his eyes shook and rattled. Mac simply said it was his weird quirk and that they all had one thing or another. It was like a breath of fresh air and his mind, usually coming up with escape routes and contingencies for survival, started to relax. 

Mac became a near constant fixture by his side. They actually had a lot in common; reading, music, similar histories - though Deacon didn't think he had a kid wandering around -, similar fears and hang ups. And so, one evening as they all took their usual spots around the fire for camping on the road, it felt weirdly natural when Mac leaned against him, happy and blissed out at the good news from his son. It felt natural for their fingers to entwine and for their legs to rest together. Totally normal when his arm wrapped around Mac's trim waist. Totally fantastic when his head tilted and their mouths slotted against each other like they'd been doing it for years.

It also felt natural, as their relationship blossomed and steps were taken to become more permanent in Sanctuary, when he started to notice Jesse more. He wasn't blind. He could see that the guy was attractive and funny and powerful. But, he could also see that he was sad. Naïve. Scared. He hung on Piper's word like the woman was a prophet for a long time.
After a while though, Deacon noticed that it was less attentiveness and more habit, but they'd been together for a while so he was sure that it was just their routine now. 

Watching Jess with her made a twisting feeling flare in his belly and that feeling developed into something else. He found, at night in the quiet of his bed with Mac's head on his chest, that he felt like he suddenly had more space for someone else to share that spot with his merc. He brushed it off. The guy was straight. Obviously. A woman like Piper on his arm? 

Jesse slowly began to change a little while before they took down the Institute. A shift in his usual patterns. A hiccup in the way he composed himself around men vs women. Mac noticed it too.

“Does he seem…different?” He waved a hand in Jesse's general direction where the man was not too subtly watching Danse strip out of his shirt.

“Hmm. Yeah. Seems to be pissing Piper off, whatever it is.” Said woman was angrily narrowing her eyes as she flicked them between Jesse and the buff attractive ex-Brotherhood Paladin.

“Deek, I know this might sound wild and I might be totally wrong, but I think he isn't all that into her.”

“Oh? What gave you that thought?” Mac leaned into him as he played with his hair.

“Well, I spend a lot of time with him, yeah? And I can't help noticing him noticing…uh…other people.” Mac couldn't keep impure thoughts off his face if his life depended on it. Deacon laughed and kissed his cheek, “I mean it. Right now he's doing it with Danse. I saw him checking you out not long ago and, the other night when we were all getting clean in the river, I turned and he looked away so quickly. His face was so pink!”

“Yeah? And, how do you feel about that pretty pink face checking you out, buddy?”

His blush deepened and that's all the answer Deacon needed. 

He and Mac enjoyed the fantasy of Jesse together. He'd make Mac say his name in bed as he came and Mac would let him pretend, sometimes and only when the kink was just right, that he was Jess.
Deeper and deeper it went until one day, absently until he caught himself doing it with a jump, he started setting their table for four. They started leaving a little space in their bed for a third. A coat hook was left empty. It was…weird. But they couldn't seem to not do it. It was like Jesse was already, strangely and obviously not actually physically, a part of their little family. Deacon, Robbie, Jesse, and Duncan. It felt right. And not right. Like a bad parasocial relationship except they actually knew Jess. They saw him every day. Made him blush and stutter. Sat next to him and linked arms and made him laugh. Tease him with quick pecks to his hair and cheeks. He just…didn't come home with them at night. It felt wrong. 

When the Institute fell, Jess shut down for a while. Who could blame him? The guy had just lost his son. Even if that son had turned up to be a monster, he was still his son. The creepy, even in Deacon's opinion, child synth version of Shaun lived down in Railroad HQ.
Jesse locked himself in his house for three solid weeks. The only persons allowed entry by Codsworth had been Hancock and Nick. They'd be in there for hours and hours and emerge shaken but confident that he'd be okay with time. Jess asked for Mac once and, just like with Hancock and Nick, he'd been in the house for hours. When he came home, he'd obviously been crying but wouldn't say what they had talked about. 

When Jess finally left his house, he looked a little thinner but happier. Curie had rushed over and Deacon saw her discreetly lift one of his sleeves before sagging a little in relief.
Deacon didn't like this new revelation that he's sure he wasn't supposed to know so he asked Hancock about it. A stupid idea maybe in hindsight but he'd needed to talk to someone about it and the ghoul was practically his dad:

“Heeey, Johnny H, how's it hangin’.”

Hancock looked pissed off about something as soon as he approached, “First: don't ever call me that again. Second: hangin' as I always do. What's eating ya Deacon, got a feeling this ain't just about who gets to deal the cards tonight.” He was picking his nails with a knife.

“I have made a startling discovery about our fearless leader and I felt I needed to let you know. You're his best friend and I wanted -”

The knife flipped and Hancock frowned at him, “More than his best friend, pal. Get to the point Deacon.”

“Sure, keep your nose on,” that had been the wrong thing to say. Hancock straightened his back and stood from the barrel he'd been sitting on, “Sorry! I swear I'm getting there.”

“Get there now. I'm in a bad mood and you're making it worse.”

“Okay,” he held his hands up as the knife flickered in the light. He doubted Hancock would kill him but he was still a threatening presence when he wanted to be and, apparently, when someone wanted to gossip about Jesse, “He's been hurting himself. I saw Curie checking his arms and thought you ought to know.”

Hancock sucked on his teeth before spitting on the ground to the side, “I already know.” The Ghoul Mayor stepped closer and crowded Deacon against a wall, “Now, listen to me Deek, not many people do know about it and you're to keep that shit to yourself until he's ready. No running to Dez with a special update, no telling Cait, not even Mac. If I hear that anyone but himself has opened up about it, I promise you, our next talk won't be with words, ya feel?”

“Yeah, scouts honour.”

“I like ya, Deacon. And so does Jess. And I don't want Mac aiming his scope at me if I have to hurt ya, so don't give me a reason.”

“I love you too, Hancock. I promise, I won't say a word.”

A scarred hand tapped his cheek then and Hancock wandered away like nothing had happened.

Deacon's life was full of twists and turns; mum and dad, gangs, synths, a wife, so much death and survivors guilt, lying and bullshitting, people that should've been friends avoiding him any chance they got, and then a family again. Actual friends who kept him grounded and assured that, even if their town was attacked, they'd kick and scream until they were all safe again. Who would stick by him no matter what. A new partner. A kid…kinda. Duncan was still warming up to him but that's fine. A hope that his weird little family would get one person bigger if that person just believed that he and Mac wanted him enough.

Twists and turns. Laughter in the sunshine outside the gates of Covenant as they started their journey south. Jess and Mac blushing together as Mac shamelessly flirted with their General. Cait snorting at them from a little ways away.

A gunshot. 

A green hat falling to the ground.

Jesse's blood curdling scream.

A red sticky puddle.

Chapter Text

The clinic room in Covenant was dim and quiet when Hancock walked in. On one side of the cot was Deacon, head in his hands as he sagged heavily into his chair. On the other side of the cot was Jess, pale as he gave more and more blood to fill the baggies lined up ready to be used. It's sheer dumb luck that he and Mac share a blood type. Rare and hard to find. AB-. He could've had an O- blood bag but, annoyingly, the clinic was out after a recent raider attack. The bullet had gone through Mac's neck, thankfully missing the major artery, but causing damage enough. If Curie hadn't been there, he'd be dead. They'd searched the area thoroughly and found nothing.

“Nothing, Jess.”

Jess cracked his neck, eyes narrow and dangerous as he watched MacCready's face, “We’re being followed.” The blood bag was filled so he swapped it for an empty and hooked the fresh one up to Mac, “This isn't random. We're being targeted.”

“Yeah. They've missed twice now though. Seems odd if it's a hired merc.”

“Hmm. I think they're using Stealth-Boys. Clever but not fool proof.” 
The doctor came in and checked on Mac: fingers at his pulse and checking his temperature, he said: he'll recover in time. Here, eat this and drink this, General Perrin. Thank you for the blood. and then left again as Deacon sighed in relief and rested his forehead against Mac's side on the cot, "When Mac is awake, we'll make a straight shot to Goodneighbor. No distractions. Get on the radio there and check in at home to see if anyone suspicious was seen before or just after we left.”

Hancock watched as Jess trailed his fingers over Mac's where they lay on top of the sheets covering him. They'd had to take his clothes to be cleaned. There was so much blood, “Sure thing, Sunshine. Need me to get you three anything?”

Deacon shook his head, eyes shaking as he looked up at him, and Jess hummed in the negative as he chewed on the jerky the doctor had given him. He had more blood to give and he'd give it all to MacCready if needed. Hancock left them to their own company but he didn't go far. He stood at the door of the clinic with Danse: guarding those inside like an angry wall of righteous fury.

Deacon reached out and grabbed hold of Jesse's hand, he didn't flinch away like he may have done a few days ago, his fingers curled to entwine them together and Deacon let out a shaky breath, “Thank you.” The blood bag was half empty where it drained into Mac and Jess was already getting ready with the next on.

“Don't need to thank me, Deek. I'm just glad I can.” Sheer dumb luck.

“Yeah, but I wanted to say it anyway. I can't lose another, Whisp.”

“Me either.”

They were silent for a long while as they watched Mac slowly heal. The skin beneath the gauze on his neck knitting back together with a Stimpak and another blood bag hooked in.
It was a comfortable, if worried, silence that Deacon appreciated. His mind tumbling over and screaming at him that this always happens! It was selfish to try and be happy again and that selfishness had nearly got Mac killed. It was just like with Barbara, with University Point, with the old HQs and safehouses, with -

“It's not your fault, Deek.” Jess whispered to him as his hand held on tighter, “I know where your mind has gone to and I'm telling you, this isn't your fault, okay?”

“It always -”

“Deacon, whoever did this isn't doing it because of you.”

“How do you know?” His shaky eyes held Jesse's as he bit his lip and let out a shaky breath.

“I think it's because of me.” Hands held even tighter and Deacon brushed his thumb beneath Jess' sleeve to feel the old scar tissue, he didn't pull away but he jumped, “They hit Hancock first when we were…hugging. And now they've hit Mac and I think it might be me they're after.”

The scar tissue was raised but smooth with straight lines that he could feel beneath the pad of his thumb, “If they were after you, why haven't they hit you?”

He shrugged, “Dunno. Shit aim, maybe?” Deacon snorted, “I mean it! Both times it happened when I was right there with the person. What if they do have shit aim!? Maybe it isn't a merc or assassin and just some random settler or trader that I've pissed off.”

Deacon laughed again, “Well, if that's the case, I'm very glad for their shit aim.” His other hand brushed the hair off Mac's forehead. His colour was slowly coming back as more life blood drained from Jesse to him.

“Me too,” Jesse dropped his head to the cot, a little tired and woozy from all he had given. Deacon wriggled his hand free from his and scratched at his scalp. Jess tilted his head to get more comfortable and sighed at the gentle massage, “thanks.”

“Anytime.” More comfortable silence before Deacon just blurted out his next thought. A thought that had been churning in his head since he caught himself setting four plates up at his table, “We love you, you know.”

His voice was slurred and sleepy when he sighed out a half dream-like reply, “Sure. Love you too.”

Deacon smiled, leaned his head down onto Mac's chest, and let himself doze for a while.

***

Piper changed tactics. She'd seen MacCready die (and good riddance to that) and would now need to adjust to be able to handle the others. Their guard would be up now with one of them gone.

She'd go home and play the concerned and sympathetic aunt to MacCready's whelp. She'd tell the boy how his father had been shot clean through the neck and bled out outside of Covenant as the rest tried to save him. There had been so much blood. Not even Curie could fix a severed carotid on time.

Her heart pounded in her chest. Blue had screamed MacCready's name so loud, hammering the nail in the merc's coffin.

She'd go home. Soothe Duncan. And, when they returned without the boy's father, Duncan would tell them all how she had been there for him. Not Deacon. Not Sturges. Not Hancock. Piper.
Blue would be so grateful to her he'd come crawling back and forget all about the rest of them. Then, accidents would happen until it'd be just the two of them alone. They'd move away from Sanctuary and start fresh. They'd finally get married and start a brand new family just for them. No one else. Nat would be happy staying with the Longs. Or not. It didn't matter.

Yes. Go home. Play with Duncan. 

One down. Seven to go.

***

Mac woke up a little cold beneath a too thin clinic blanket but with two warm spots on his chest and arm. He saw Deacon first, sleeping half curled on the cot, sunglasses askew, and his forehead pressed into the side of his chest. Then he saw Jesse, tired and pale looking but awake with his bare foot resting on Mac's arm as he read a comic quietly.

His throat was hurting. As if someone had tried hanging him and crushed his wind pipe but he could breathe. He felt like something was painfully constricting his throat and then it all came back to him.

The gunshot.

The pain.

The screaming and shouting.

The ground flew up to meet him as it was stained in his blood.

Then nothing.

He gasped and tried to reach for his own neck, jostling Jesse's foot and alerting him to his wakefulness.

Jesse whispered as he moved to stop his arm from raising, placing the comic hastily aside, “Hey, hush, it's okay. You're in the clinic in Covenant.”

He tried to speak but it just came out as a rasp. Jess helped him sip from a water can and then the words came a little easier, “What happened?” Easier but no less rasping and painful.

“You were shot. We think by the same guy who got Hancock. Curie managed to keep you going until we could get you in here for blood and stuff.” He sagged a little, “Sorry, I was a bit…upset. I couldn't really follow what they were doing and saying about it at the time.”

“That bad?”

“Yeah.” Green eyes looked over the still sleeping form of Deacon before meeting his again, “A little too close for comfort, honestly. They didn't have any blood you could take so -”

Another sip of water, “So?”

“We have the same blood type.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

A long pause. Comfortable and soothing as Deacon's slow breaths sounded out around them both. Mac was happy to maybe get a bit more sleep after Jesse administered another Stimpak to him, “For the bruising.”, and was just about to shut his eyes again when Jesse said, “I'm sorry, Mac.”

“For?”

“I think they were aiming for me and you were just in the way.”

“So?”

He planted both bare feet on the floor and splayed his fingers out onto his knees, “Uh, well -”

“How many times have you taken a bullet for one of us? Or a ferals bite, or stepped in front of a Deathclaw? If they were aiming for you and I just got in the way then I'm glad.” He shrugged as his hand carefully lay over the back of Deacon's neck. The older man turned into the touch but stayed dozing, "I'd do it again; for you, for him, Hancock, Cait, any of the others.”

“What about Duncan?”

Blue eyes met green and Mac frowned a little but didn't waver in his resolve, “I don't ever wanna leave Duncan, boss. But, if it happened, I know he'd have Deek. I hope he'll have you, too.”

Zero hesitation, “Of course Duncan will have me. Obviously.” He was closer to the cot again now as he leaned forward as he spoke, “Jeez. What do you take me for? I wouldn't leave some little tiny -”

Mac's free hand carefully gripped onto Jesse's and twined their fingers together. He was smiling as his thumb rubbed over his knuckles absently, “I know, Jess. We're all already family. I know he wouldn't be alone.”

“We're fam -”

“Jess, can I kiss you?”

Jess froze in his seat as Mac calmly observed him. It was a great effort. His own anxieties kicked up a notch but he channeled his inner Deacon and attempted to appear as nonchalant as humanly possible. He watched as Jesse furrowed his brow, bit his lip, and then scratched at his nose with his free hand in a practiced habitual movement. He tried to pull his hand free but Mac held on and watched as his other hand came round to pick at his sleeve instead. His eyes were clouded and then Mac realised he'd lost him, “Jess?” No reply came as the picking increased.

Mac's hand, where it lay on the back of Deacon's neck, tightened and he shook his partner softly, “Deek. Deacon…”

“I know. Let him work through it.”

“But he's…” Jess had a thousand yard stare and Mac adjusted his hold on his hand to turn it upside down to stop the fingers picking at the skin.

“She really fucked him up.” Deacon stood and went to Jesse's side, “Hey, Whisper?” No response and Mac lifted himself onto his elbows to watch, “Jess?”
Large gentle hands were on the side of his face and Deacon ran a rhythm with his fingertips over the length of Jesse's high cheekbones. His eyes fluttered at the disturbance and Deacon grinned down at him as they became clear again, “Hey, Jesse, you okay?”

“What?”

Mac murmured from where he's slowly scooted closer, “Where did you go?”

Jess just looked between them both helplessly so Deacon shrugged, “How's about we just start with a hug and a nap, yeah?”

It took a little shuffling as Deacon, being the biggest, lay down so that he could accommodate Mac's head on one shoulder with space enough on the other side if Jess chose to lay down with them. The red head watched them in silence as they settled and looked as though he were having a mental war with himself. Mac hummed as his head met that comfy spot in the hollow of Deacon's shoulder and then said, “You don't have to if you don't want to. We're not going to force you, Jess.”

Picking fingers stilled, “Promise?”

It broke his heart the way he sounded. He was so unsure and nervous. Scarred from a past that he hadn't fully let out of his head yet: 

When Jess had called for him after the Institute, they'd sat in silence for a long while on one of his couches as Jess just cried silently.
Then, through a quake in his chest, Jesse had asked Mac what he would have done if it had been Duncan. Would Mac have been able to shoot his own son, old and warped and twisted like Shaun was, between the eyes to put him out of his misery and to end an era or terror over the Commonwealth? Mac said he didn't know.
Then, Jess had asked if Mac would've taken in the synth boy, who looked so much like Jesse but with brown eyes and slightly darker skin, if it had looked and sounded like Duncan and called Mac daddy? MacCready had said he didn't know. 

Then, Jess rolled up his sleeves a little and Mac saw the scars: straight white lines from wrist to elbow. Some big, some small, all done with some kind of blade or another. Some are old. Some are newer. Three freshly bleeding.
Mac had tutted and took his arms carefully into his hands before muttering: hey, let's get you a Stimpak, yeah? No judgement. No interrogation or questions. Just quiet concern.

When he left Jess to heal and sleep, he finally burst into tears. He didn't think he'd have been able to do what Jesse had done for them all. To save the Commonwealth and its people. A ball of sadness and some kind of rage at the marks on his arms unspooled all at once and, next thing he knew, he was back at home with Deacon rubbing his back.

To know that, while Jesse was dealing with this grief, Piper had been doing God knows what to him too. Jesse had kept it inside to keep the peace. To protect them and himself. It wasn't right and he suddenly hated Piper with every fiber of his being.

“We promise, Jess. Anything or nothing. Up to you, boss.”

It was another few minutes before a great puff of breath forced its way out of Jesse's nose. He stood and came round to the side that Deacon had reserved for him and carefully climbed onto the cot. Deacon wrapped his arm around and up and let his fingers sift through Jesse's hair. A few moments later, the General fully relaxed and he dozed lightly with his legs tangled in Mac's over Deacon's shins. It was a tight fit but none of them complained. Mac grinned and slowly laid his arm over both of them. 

They stayed like that for a long while in the quiet, eyes shut and half dreaming, before Hancock peeked his head in and roused them with all the casual indifference he could muster.

Chapter Text

The walk to Goodneighbor took a day and a half from Covenant and was mostly uneventful. They camped in small copses of trees away from the roads and made no detours otherwise to make it to the relative safety of the town. Jess avoided walking too close to someone else as much as he could to prevent another stray bullet from hitting anyone but his efforts were in vain as he often found his arm linked or hand held.

Mac and Deacon walked closest to him which had his anxieties spiking astronomically. Would Deacon be next? Or, Curie who kept checking in on Mac. Or, Cait as she tried to tempt Jess into a game as they walked. His fingers would wring at his wrists and he'd use the familiar motion to ground himself but then his hands were taken away by Deacon or Hancock with stern frowns and mumbles of: don't do that, Sunshine. 

Goodneighbor was, as per its usual, chaotic and full of messy charm; chems, music, neon lights, and raucous laugh-screaming. They felt safer behind the gate with the Triggermen holding the line between the dangers of the Commonwealth and those within the town. Hancock was quick to lead them through the streets and alleyways, eyes glancing back over shoulders and up to roofs and windows, always on the lookout for this nebulous threat that was clicking at their heels. 

Inside the Statehouse, they breathed properly for the first time since they set out from Covenant.

“I gotta check in on Far. Need anything and I'll send someone out for it, yeah?” He and Nick moved together deeper into the building to find Fahrenheit and to get whatever updates Hancock needed to keep his town running effectively even with most of his time spent up north.

The others shrugged and started their own wanderings,: up stairs and down corridors that led to private rooms set out specifically for Hancock and his entourage. Jess entered his usual room and kicked his boots off before flopping down onto the bed. It was clean-ish with a little bedside table nearby for him to set his weapons and PipBoy onto. 

His nerves felt ragged. As though he'd been pulled and twisted and yanked ever since they'd left Sanctuary. He had a belly ache and felt about ten years old.
If it hadn't been for those ferals in the mart and the need to check in on Hancock's town, none of this would've happened. Blood stains from his family wouldn't exist. They'd be calm and safe around a fire or doing the more mundane half of their jobs focused on town security and supplies.

His arms wouldn't be itching. His clothes wouldn't be pricking his skin. 

He stripped his shirt off at the thought and felt the instant relief as the cold air soothed his fizzing nerves. A doctor from before once told him that it was a side effect of the electrotherapy he'd had as a child. Allodynia.
On his worst days; a gentle tap felt like getting stabbed, sunburn tingles nearly forever present beneath his clothes and armour. He could manage it, for the most part, if he stayed calm and avoided triggers. But, those triggers were a hard thing to avoid in this time: stress and pain was a constant every day occurrence.

The easiest relief he could find was to distract his brain with a worse pain. He tried not to. He tried to find other way, other methods; meditation, games, counting, fucking knitting. But, the scars along his arms are a forever permanent testament to his slipping over and over again. 
He ran his fingers over them and shivered. Too many people knew about it now: too many people around to stop him when he felt the urge and need for distraction. To enjoy a different kind of pain and watch the blood rivulets make patterns over the existing marks as they dripped and pooled into the valleys he'd made over so many years.

The knife was out of his boot before he even registered himself grabbing it. The sleek dark metal hovering over his skin in morbid anticipation. It was a balancing act: cut deep enough for it to hurt but not so deep that he'd faint or die from blood loss. 

Not deep enough for others to hear his gasp. 

Not deep enough that a Stimpak and bandage wouldn't stop the stains on his clothes.

He pressed the point of the blade just there along the inside of his wrist. One quick pull and he'd be able to focus again. He'd be able to pull his mind out of the confusing distractions of relationships and assassins and be able to get his people home safe. He'd be able to ignore the prickling of his nerves and the torrent of storms forever battering the inside of his skull. To forget.
To be able to use the radio to check in with Sturges.

one...small...cut...

Another hand wrapped around his on the handle of the blade and pulled it away from him. He jumped and looked up: Mac and Deacon stood over him, a mix of concern and upset on their faces. Mac tutted and unwrapped Jesse's fingers from the knife and put it away into his own pocket, “You didn't answer the door so we got worried.”

He couldn't speak. Embarrassment and shame flooded through him and he averted his eyes down to the floor. He felt the mattress dip as the pair sat on either side of him, one arm gently wrapped over his bare shoulders and a hand was placed on his anxiously bouncing knee, “You wanna talk about it, Whisp?” He shook his head, "We'd like to know what makes you do it so we can try to help and stop it from happening again.”

A thumb was brushing gentle lines over the top of his arm and he took a shuddering breath, “Sorry.”

“Don't need to be sorry, boss, we just want to help.”

“I don't know. It's…dumb.”

Deacon shifted a little so he could lean against the wall to their backs, “Dumb?”

He almost laughed but the noise came out garbled and strange as he worked around the tightness of his throat and the constricting edge in his chest, “I'm meant to be in control. Strong. All these people in the settlements ask for my help and expect the General to be on it. Go out and get shit done and be fine.”

“Yeah.”

Another deep breath as he was pulled to rest against the wall too, “I'm not fine.”

“No.”

“I wanna be fine. Normal. I just…don't know how to be.” Mac moved and lay down to look up at him, head carefully placed into his lap and Deacon's fingers brushing through his hair. 
They were patient. Maybe his best friends. Just letting him spiral and work through his bullshit without rush or judgement. They just sat with him in this dimly lit room and waited, “I hurt a lot, y’know? This prickling on my skin. And then everything with Piper set it off. And then the shootings. Sometimes it's fine and it goes away for a bit but then it comes back and I get in my head about it. The knife…it helps sometimes.” He looked up at the ceiling and frowned, “I'm not trying to die or anything.”

Deacon moved his hand out of Mac's hair and twined his fingers with Jesse's, “ You are normal, Jess. And, you don't have to be the General all by yourself. You have us and the others to help you and we'll deal with the Piper mess.”

“I didn't mean to hurt her or string her along. She was a good friend -”

Mac huffed, his head wiggling as he got more comfortable on Jesse's thigh, “She's not a good friend. Good friends don't smack around their partners.”

“She just gets excited.”

“No. Jess. Don't defend her. She's not right, she forced you to do things you didn't want, made you think it was normal, made you hide it from us.”

There was that word again. Forced. He still couldn't decide if it was forced or not. He supposed that he must've wanted it a little bit for him to have even got hard enough to go through with it. Right? He could've fought her off. He could've said no and got away.

She'd told him he was beautiful. Cute and funny. She had told him she was his best friend and understood him more than anyone else during a time when he had very little support around him. She gave him sweets and brought his wandering mind back to focus with a sharp fingernail to his hand when he got distracted.
She had told him who was trustworthy and worth his attention and who wasn't.

But, she'd been wrong a lot too. She had told him not to hire MacCready and she told him to avoid Hancock. To not bother with Cait after they'd saved her from the fighting ring she was enslaved to. Danse was a bad influence. Nick was fine until after the Memory Den, then he was a distraction to his goals.
Preston was too needy.
Curie was too much of a liability.
The dog is too loud.
Codsworth is too clingy.
Deacon was a liar.
MacCready is a murderer.
Hancock is an addict.
Cait is a junkie whore.
Danse is brainwashed.
Preston is weak.
Nick's a Institute Synth. 

We could run away, just the two of us.

Just the two of us. Him and Piper. None of his family, not his dog, not even Nat.

Things clicked into place like a key fitting into a lock as he sat with his murderer and liar. It washed over him as he heard the cackle of an addict and the rattle of a synth, the bark of the dog, a well meant rumble from the brainwashed, the call for help to carry more glasses from the needy, the laughter of the junkie as she played a snapping game with the liability. She had been so so wrong.

It was forced. She had forced him like Nora had done. She had forced him to stay with her with honeyed words and fake affection. She'd never listened to him or his needs, hadn't even took him seriously when he'd told her the truth of who he was. She'd hit him. Pinched him. Laughed at his scars like he was a dumb and clumsy child who'd simply scraped their knee. Led him like a lamb to slaughter as he reeled from this new world he'd suddenly found himself in. Pulled him up by the hands when he felt like he was drowning in the pressure and warped it to her own needs. Brainwashed him. A fucked up nuclear Stockholm syndrome.

She wasn't a friend. She wasn't even his girlfriend. Not in the ways that those things should be, anyway. She was using him for his power, for his body, for his naiveté. He was beautiful, cute and funny. Sweet. Like a child.

He ran his free hand down his face and let it all spill out to the two holding him steady. His real friends. The murderer and the liar: the most loyal and the most calming. Those who were patient and had never once laid a hand on him that he didn't want. They'd offered themselves up to him and took his hesitation in stride and simply…waited for him, “She forced me.”

He heard Deacon sigh quietly before the older man hummed, “She assaulted you, Jess. You know the word for that, yeah?”

“...yeah.”

“Say it. Get it out and off your mind.” His hand squeezed his; calming, grounding, soothing, Mac's head shifted its warm weight on his thigh; loyal, sniper-patience, a weighted blanket.

“Rape.”

She'd raped him. Taken everything she could from him and blown up when he refused to let her take more. Had made it seem normal and healthy.

Mac brought his hand up and gently pressed it to the side of his neck, “We won't let her touch you again. None of us will. And, we’ll deal with it in any way you want to, okay?” Jess nodded and breathed out slowly through his nose as he stared up at the peeling ceiling.

They sat in silence together, the sounds of the Statehouse filtering through the gaps in the door.
It was nice. They hadn't got up and left him. They hadn't called him stupid or demanded his mind to stop whirling and tripping over itself. Hadn't tried to bring his eyes back to them as he focused on something else for too long. They just sat on his bed with him, sometimes smoking a cigarette or humming quiet words to each other, and simply lay gentle palms on his hands or belly. No pressure. No tugging or pushing. Just the soft connection that he sank into.

Hancock came in at one point, took in his shirtless form with the two men leaning against him, and simply grinned, “Want somethin' to eat, fellas?” They moved to get up but Hancock waved them back down into their cosy warm places, “I'll get it for ya. Stay chill.” 

A few minutes later, he brought a tray with a random collection of warm food, snacks, and drinks, and placed it down, “See you three in the morning.”

***

“Howdy, Piper! Thought you were out a-wanderin’ with the rest of them?”

It was so easy. So easy to put on a face, to come home dirty and disheveled and so heart broken. She met Sturges' eyes and wobbled her bottom lip just so, the small muscles in her chin puckering, her brow furrowing even as her eyebrows raised. So easy to watch his smile drop. To watch the worry etch out on his face like a pen ink on paper, “Is everything alright?”

“S-Sturges, where's Duncan?” The hitch in her voice, the drop of a tear, her hands bunched in her pockets to keep them from shaking.

“He's playing with Nat and Billy at the back of the school house. Piper…What's happened?” He took a step towards her with his arms out and she threw herself into his hard muscled chest. She let her legs give out and for a shake to skitter over her body. She sobbed as he pulled her beneath the awning of the workshop and sat them both down against a wall, “Hey, hush now, tell me what's up and maybe I can help.”

Sturges was more often than not left in charge when Blue and the team went out on mission. He knew everything about every single settlement and resident, a true Minuteman all the way down to his mechanical heart.
She took a deep breath and accepted the cigarette Sturges held out to her, “There was a shooting on the road near Covenant.” A pause for dramatic effect as Sturges paused in the pull on his cig, “The others, they've gone down to Goodneighbor to finish the job, but -”
She let another tearing sob rip from her and wiped her eyes with the back of her gloved hand, “but, MacCready. He…he didn't make it. A bullet right through his neck. There was so much blood, Sturges.” 
She chanced a glance at him and his face was pale, eyes watering with his mouth drawn into a thin line, “Blue sent me to check in on Duncan and to…let him know.”

The line of his mouth narrowed and the edges of his eyes hardened with grief, “And Deacon?”

She shuddered, “Last I saw him, he couldn't stand with all the drink he'd had.” Deacon had been almost completely sober for years but a heart break would send anyone back to the bottle she reasoned, “Cait found some Jet…Hancock was angry…Blue…”

Sturges turned his face to look over at the school house, face drawn tight with worry for the little orphan boy playing happily and not knowing his whole world had just been pulled out from underneath him, “Maybe…maybe we should wait to tell Dunc. Let him have a few more hours of sunlight.”

God, he was so stupid, so easy to manipulate.

“If you really think it'll help.” The attentive and demure aunt to a little scarred boy.
A boy who needs a loving mother and a stable father. Not a scraggly struggling mess of a man and his lying older boyfriend. What kind of role model had MacCready been, really? With her and Blue, Duncan had the chance to truly flourish. She would give him brothers and sisters. A real family. And, in time, he'd forget all about MacCready and Deacon as young, traumatised minds often do.

“I think it will. Later, after dinner, we'll tell him. Let him...let him just be a kid for a bit longer.”

Later that night, Duncan was curled into her lap and sobbing his little heart out. He was begging her to tell him that it was a lie. It wasn't though, she'd seen the blood and MacCready's body drop to the floor herself, and she told the boy so. He cried all the harder, little pock marked hands gripping desperately at her shirt as his tears wet her shoulder.
He wanted his daddy. He wanted Deacon. He wanted Blue. Blue who would climb trees with Duncan and take him for walks through the woods by their home. Blue who showed Duncan how to fish in the brook and how to hold a knife properly when peeling carrots. Blue who gave the boy anything he asked for; like a weird replacement child for his own dead son, handing him Shaun's crayons and colouring books and teddies. Items that their group had collected for a child who simply didn't exist anymore. Items that should've gone to her own children. But, she let it slide. 

She lay her cheek onto the top of Duncan's head as he cried and cried and cried. She glanced up at the doorway at Sturges where he hovered with a sad frown and smiled at him.

He moved away from the doorway and left them in peace.

Chapter Text

He woke up to a strange sound coming from behind him. He was comfortable and tucked in snug beneath blankets, the shabby wall of his room in the Statehouse in front of him, and warmth at his back.

That warmth shifted and the strange noises continued. It was a kind of wet sound with rustling and too quiet shifts of fabric. He remembered falling asleep with Mac and Deacon in the bed with him, all squished up comfortably after their food and drinks: they'd been talking about nothing in particular and the three of them had all slowly fallen asleep as the night wore on mid conversation.

A little gasp from one of them and Jesse's eyes widened. They were kissing. In his bed. With him not even an inch away.
He knew times had changed. Oh, how he knew. But, surely, this was a bit over the mark. Yes, they'd said they loved him. Yes, they'd asked him for a kiss. Yes, they'd told him they'd wait and let him take his time and never push. Anything or nothing, Mac had said. But, did that make them a couple now? A throuple? Polycule? Triad? He didn't even know the word that would define them if it ever needed defining. Did it make him part of them now, to be able to lay next to them and they be comfortable enough to just…do things. Was it voyeuristic on his part to just stay quiet and pretend to be asleep even as his brain short circuited at this new reality? Was it exhibitionist on their part or was this their new normal? 

Was it normal?
Was it right?
Was it forced?

He dared to glance over his shoulder; they were both still fully clothed, Mac simply draped over the top of Deacon as they shared a couple kisses, and the light touches of Deacon's hands trailing down Mac's back. It was way more innocent than the images that had been bombarding his mind a moment ago. He had imagined them naked and wetly rutting against each other to completion quietly  so that they didn't wake him.
This though? This he felt comfortable enough with to roll over and announce his wakefulness to. He'd seen them kiss many times before. Had imagined being kissed by them many times before. This was normal.

It was still dark outside but he still said, “Mornin’.”

Neither jumped or seemed sheepish and guilty at being caught kissing in his bed, they just broke apart and looked over at him, “It's still night.” Deacon said as he brought an arm up to brush a stray lock of red hair back behind Jesse's ear, “Go back to sleep for a little bit, if you want.”

“I'm okay.”

Mac grinned a little lopsided grin at him before shuffling off Deacon and working his way between Jesse and the wall, trapping him between them both in a little warm cocoon, “Sure. I'm not ready to start the day yet, though.”
Neither was he, if he were being honest with himself. He wanted to stay warm and sleepy for a little bit longer. 

Very slowly and carefully, Mac's arm snaked its way over his waist and gently held him to his chest, shuffling the blankets around until he could wiggle in properly. Deacon snorted and flapped the blanket out to cover the three of them before laying on his side to face them both.

He met Deacon's shaky eyes and just looked at him for a while as Mac breathed warm air over the back of his neck and into his hair. He felt Mac's forehead dip and rest against the back of his head and Deacon shuffled closer to drape an arm over them both. A happy noise came from Mac and Deacon smiled at it.

It felt good. Normal. Just a quiet moment of casual domesticity that felt like it had been happening forever. He didn't feel pressured to do anything except to just lie there and be comfortable. The nice weight of their arms over him, Mac's chest against his back, Deacon a solid presence in front of him. Like a shield and a guard. In front of him and behind him like they always had been since they'd met. Watching his six and showing him the ropes. It had always been easy with them both, even when Mac and Deacon had started out so rocky, they'd never shifted from his side. Even when they'd started dating, they'd never left him out; linking his arms, pecking his face, making him laugh. He'd never felt like a third wheel. Everything had always just been normal.

He took a deep breath, Mac's fingers splaying a little on his belly as it pushed out with the force of it, and let it out again. In and out. In and out. Inhale. Exhale. Count to five. Then eight. Then ten.

Then, he tilted his face up, closing the small distance between his and Deacon's, and brushed his lips along the older man's chin. He felt Deacon's arm tense and, for one awkward second, he thought he'd terribly misjudged this whole situation. But, then, Deacon dipped his head and gently slotted their mouths together. Chaste and unrushed. Not a single move to deepen it and push harder. Just a light ghosting of lips that had Jesse's heart flipping behind his ribs and his mind melting out of his ears.

It didn't feel wrong or awkward. He didn't get those awful prickling goosebumps on the back of his neck that screamed at him to stop. He didn't feel sick or dizzy.

It felt…good.

He pushed a bit into the kiss and Deacon obliged, pressing a bit firmer and brushing his tongue over his bottom lip. Jess felt his whole body shudder and then shudder impossibly more when Mac's mouth carefully kissed the back of his neck and over his shoulder. He slowly opened his mouth and Deacon slipped his tongue in with a pleased hum. Mac's hand moved from his belly to ghost over his thigh and still clothed hip and Jess pulled away from Deacon and turned slightly to be met by the merc's mouth.
He kissed differently than Deacon: more desperately and eager with the slight brush of teeth. It was still warm though. Still good. And, when Deacon's hand brushed gently over his stomach and chest, it dragged a genuine breathy moan out of his mouth that Mac swallowed with a smile. He would've been embarrassed, making such a noise, but he found that he wasn't. It was normal. A normal natural reaction as every nerve in his body fizzed and sparked.

His fingers subconsciously found their way beneath the hem of Deacon's shirt and trailed over the muscle there as Mac moved off his mouth to meet Deacon's directly above his flushed face. He couldn't help but watch wide eyed as Deacon pushed his tongue into Mac's mouth and felt his hips twitch as the mercenary moaned around him. Someone's leg moved and pressed against his groin and couldn't help the little roll he did to push into it.

Oh, shit. He wanted this. He actually wanted it. He felt so keyed up and excited and ready to go. All they'd done is kiss but damn if he didn't want more right now! 

Two mouths were on him then, one trailing over his jaw and another sliding over his shoulder. All he could do was shut his eyes and roll his hips again. He was answered by the press of a hard length against his side and he felt the goosebumps pebble over him. Good goosebumps. Not panicked prickling. One of his hands raised unbidden and tangled into Mac's hair to subtly press his mouth harder against himself.
A shift and he opened his eyes to watch Deacon pulling off his shirt: hard muscle and broad shoulders contrasted MacCready's lighter form as his shirt came away too.

Oh my God. It was happening. Something was going to happen. He watched them both give each other some attention with their hands roaming and mouths leaving hot trails over their skin. It's like they were giving him a show. A private show that told him how this stuff tended to play out between two (or more) people who respected and loved one another. Giving and taking in equal measures. Making good consenting noises and not being asked to be let up so they could go play cards with friends. He had no doubt that, if he wanted to, they'd let him get up and leave to go and find Hancock. No questions asked, no pinching fingers to make him still, no demands or laughter to make him feel small.

He saw Mac's fingers pop the button on Deacon's pants and swallowed. The older man's hand splayed over Jesse's belly and kneaded the muscle there, tracing little patterns downwards. He pulled his mouth from the Merc and brought his lips to Jess, his tongue delving in deep and exploring as his hand moved lower and lower. He canted his hips again against the thigh, Mac's thigh he realised, and shivered at the friction it brought. It was as if fireworks were going off in his mind; bright colours, loud noises, sparklers and screeching rockets. It was too much and not enough as Mac’s breath was hot and ghosting over his chest as he kissed over his ribs.

What would happen? Making out was one thing, a thing he was enjoying immensely for the first time ever. But these things had a tendency to progress beyond just kissing and heavy petting. At some point, the popped button on Deacon’s pants would develop into a lowered zip, fabric coming loose about his hips before all his bare skin would be revealed. He’d be out and Mac would be touching him and then one of them would undo his pants and…Jesus. Even simply imagining it as Deacon’s mouth roamed over his neck and his hand moved to gently grip his hip was enough to have him groaning and becoming impatient.
He dropped his own hands to his own button, ready to get the show on the road, as it were, and didn’t miss the slight gasping pause in MacCready as his eagle eyes watched the movement with a slight twitch from his tongue over his lip. He wanted that tongue on him and arched his back to tempt him back into laving his chest with kisses and kitten licks.

“Please.” He whispered out and was answered by a quiet oh, fuck from Deacon as he gripped his hip harder and ground his own into his side.
Mac pressed his thigh harder into him as his mouth met the soft sensitive skin beneath his ear where he bit and sucked just hard enough to leave a bruise. Marking him as theirs and he was one hundred percent for it. He could feel it building. A need and want he’d never felt before. A need to actually fuck someone. Or, be fucked.
He felt his pants come loose as his fingers lowered the zip and then the calloused pads of MacCready’s fingertips were carefully tracing over the soft delicate skin that stretched over his hip bones. He skirted the evident issue begging for touch there and then he was distracted by Deacon dipping his fingers into Mac’s pants to get rid of the many clasps and buckles he wore for belts. Jess, feeling brave and wanted and comfortable, traced the V of Deacon’s abdominals and followed them down to that zip still waiting to be dropped. He pulled on it and blushed furiously at the brief brush of his knuckles against the obvious hardness in his pants. Deacon was bigger than him, he knew, and he wanted to know what it would feel like. The first touch of a penis that wasn’t his own. He dipped his fingers in and grinned at the moan of anticipation from the older man. Deacon wanted this as much as he did. MacCready did too considering the noises he was making as his partner’s hands loosed his pants. He hadn’t imagined Mac being so vocal and responsive but he wasn’t going to turn it down either.

His fingers had just made their way into Deacon’s pants when they were all startled out of their little bubble of hot skin and needy moans by a loud rapping on the door before it clattered open without waiting for a response.

Jess brought his hands to his mouth and stared wide eyed at Hancock as his face burned red with embarrassment and something bordering on shame. Hancock paused with his mouth open before it snapped shut after taking in the scene as Mac and Deacon casually lay back on their elbows either side of Jesse. All shirtless, pants undone, flushed red and panting.

“Sorry for...interrupting,”
Oh, fuck, Hancock was ashamed of him. The way he spoke bordered on a tightly controlled emotion that had Jesse wincing. How many times had his parents spoken to him like that? His grandparents? Aunt, uncles, and cousins. All thin lipped and holding back shouting. Like he was dirty. A dirty little slut like Piper had said, “we just had a message on the radio sending condolences.”

Mac and Deacon were already together. He’d got carried away. They’d got carried away. They had each other and didn’t need a nervous little freak like him disrupting that. They had Duncan and a home and he had to respect that. His fingers dug into the space between his mouth and nose, pinching it subtly, as his eyes widened at Hancock's face as the ghoul's eyes seemed to harden. They were talking but he couldn’t hear. The sheets beneath his back prickled and burned his skin, his hair felt too much where it lay on his brow, his pants too tight and constricted in the blanket. The bodies beside him too warm. Too sweaty. Too suddenly achingly familiar.
He couldn’t see.

He couldn’t breathe.

The pressure in his chest compounded as sweet honeyed words trickled in his ear and made all the goodness of a few moments ago feel like tar in his belly. Pinching nails. Slaps that evolved from playful taps to his arms to hard cracks to his gut and face. Bruises healed with Stimpaks. Vomit in the sink after it happened again and again and again. Pressure on his hips. Closing his eyes and wishing he were anywhere else. Private punches. A stomp to his toes beneath a table in public.

No one will believe you.
You’d really make them all hate me because we’ve had an argument? That’s a little childish.
Come on, Blue, this is just how things are now.
I didn’t even get you that hard.
You liked it, didn’t you? You came, right?

“...Jess! Jesse, c’mon, Sunshine.” Scarred hands were holding his and pulling him into a hug, “C’mon, Jess, breathe for us.”

“Dad?”

“Sure, Sunshine. It’s me.”

***

The message on the radio had come from Sanctuary giving the group condolences on their terrible loss. It confused them all, at first, until Nick blew out smoke and glared at the piece of paper with the message scrawled onto it. It was short and awkward with the frequencies throughout the Commonwealth too spotty for clear communication. Only pre-recorded messages and music seemed to be able to be played clearly enough.

General and Co.
Condolences for the loss.
Return home ASAP if able.
Water purifier down.
I repeat.
Water purifier down.
- S.

Jesse had no idea what Water Purifier Down meant but, after a few short moments, Nick snapped his fingers and flicked the brim of his hat, “Obviously, something is going on at Sanctuary.”

Preston frowned and crossed his arms over his chest with a roll of his big brown eyes, “Obviously. But, what?”

Mac and Deacon’s faces were all tight lines as Deacon said, “Well, we," he gestured between himself and Mac, "need to go right now then. Me and Rob have to check on Duncan.”

Jesse agreed with them there but didn’t like the idea of them running into possible danger without a clue of what was happening. Sturges was one hundred percent capable of handling a purifier on his own so had to have been warning about an attack, in which case Sanctuary will have evacuated to the Vault until the town was made safe again. Or, maybe a spreading illness? Purify usually means cleanse which someone did when fighting infections. Had radiation flooded the river? Were people dead? Was Sanctuary down and Sturges was trying to tell them via condolences? He stared at the paper as though it had the answers written on it clear as day. Something was wrong.

Nick took the paper up and waved it dramatically, “It’s obvious, fellas! And ladies, excuse me,” Cait snorted and Curie smiled demurely as she pat Nick’s arm, “someone from the settlement saw our Mac get shot at Covenant. I’ll bet my left eye that they pulled the trigger themselves and ran as soon as they saw him drop so the blame could be placed somewhere else. They’ve told Sturges, hence the condolences, but he’s a smart guy, hence the code for something being wrong.”

“Who, then? Anyone we’ve pissed off enough lately for them to attempt to take us out?” Hancock was pacing behind his desk, glancing down at bits of paperwork and at his terminal every now and then. He still had mayoral stuff to do even in this impromptu panic meeting.

Everyone looked at Jesse. His brow was furrowed where he sat between Mac and Deacon as always though they kept their usually draping arms off him for now. He couldn’t think of anyone he’d annoyed so badly lately that they’d want him dead.
Sure, every now and then, he had to make decisions that not every single person agreed with, but that was leadership. The harder choices fell to him and nothing was simply black and white. One person loved their loadout for guard rounds where others wanted more. One person loved a supply route where another hated it. Some respected the buildings they built so everyone had enough space to live where another wanted a garden and potted plants that he simply couldn’t provide straight away. It was a balancing act that he thought he’d gotten quite good at.
Who had he pissed off? Who wanted him dead so badly that they’d attempt something like this when he and his group were at their most dangerous armed, loaded, and on high alert on the road? He couldn’t think of anyone. His settlers were good people for the most part; men, women, children, ghouls, synths, all lived together relatively seamlessly. And, where arguments did break out, he and Preston mediated or Cait opened the sparring ring when blows needed to be had.

He sighed and rubbed his face with his hands as he finally leaned back against Deacon and MacCready. Instantly, the pair adjusted to him, an arm over his shoulder and a warm hand on his thigh to stop it bouncing. Easy. Simple. He glanced at everyone and no one cared except to wait patiently for his brain to work, “I have no idea who I’ve annoyed but I agree that we need to go home as soon as possible.”

Mac lit a cigarette and scowled down at the coffee table in front of them all where it was loaded with drinks, “My son thinks I’m dead. If Sturges was told, this person wouldn't have kept it quiet for the town's sake.”

Danse stood and was joined by Preston as the pair started packing bags, “Duncan is a strong boy. As soon as he sees you, he’ll be just fine.”

The sound of a bat hitting a palm, “Whoever it is is gonna meet Betsy.”

“Who the fuck is Betsy?” Hancock switched his terminal off and swept his papers into the desk drawer.

“My bat. Obviously. Jeez.”

Chapter Text

They were on the road within the hour and Deacon was interrupted from his musings as he watched MacCready and Jesse walk ahead almost holding hands by a semi-high and semi-pissed off ghoul dad.

“So, Deek, wanna tell me why Jess was such a mess earlier on?” He had his knife casually flipping between his fingers as they walked, “I walk in and lo-and-behold! He’s shirtless, squished between you two, red as a slapped arse, and on the way to a breakdown. I’m gonna ask him too so you’d better tell me the godsdamned truth.” He said it so calmly but Deacon could feel the acid on his tongue.

He’d been expecting this from the moment Jesse had spiralled. It did look suspect, he knew that, but as far as he’d been aware they had been having a good time. That breathy please that had spilled from him was playing over and over on repeat in his brain. Watching Mac kiss him would forever be plastered like wallpaper to the insides of his eyelids.
He went with the truth, fully and God’s honest, he didn’t fancy meeting Hancock’s knife yet and he was fully sure he’d use it for Jess. Hell, he was a million percent sure after he saw the ghoul’s face after Jess accidentally called him dad. The most protective and deadly dad in the Commonwealth bar none.
He shrugged, eyes trained on his partner’s hand where his knuckles brushed the back of Jesse’s, “I don’t know what started it, Hancock. It was all consensual and good, you know me and Rob wouldn’t force him into anything.”

“After the week we’ve had? I ain’t taking any chances, Deacon.”

“Yeah, I get it. Look, I swear I don’t know why he got upset. Everything was going great! Sunshine and rainbows, yeah? I ain’t one to kiss and tell,” Hancock snorted, “I resent that. No, he pulled away so quickly when you came in and just…spiralled. You saw it happen.”

Hancock hummed as his tar pitch eyes locked onto Jess. He and Mac were whispering quietly and, while Jess hadn’t fallen back into the ease and comfort of what they’d shared in his bed, he didn’t seem close to getting upset now. His shoulder bumped MacCready’s and got nudged back just as gently. Mac hooked his little finger into Jess’ and the red head didn’t pull away but did blush so hard it blocked out the freckles on his face, “I believe ya. Doubt he’d be so chill with Mac if either ya had done somethin’ he didn’t like. Who gave him the hickey?”

“Like I said, I don’t kiss and tell.”

***

Hancock did speak with Jess as they camped on the side of the road a few miles out from Sanctuary. They chose to camp rather than plough ahead after deciding it’d be better to face whatever issues were brewing in cold hard daylight.

He dragged the General to the edge of the camp as the others got invested in a card game dealt out by MacCready.

“I spoke with Deek.”

Jess squinted into the middle distance as night fell and Hancock saw his fingers twitch to the sleeves of his shirt, “...yeah?”

“What was going on in that room, Sunshine?” He held a hand to stop the fingers picking away.

Jesse took a little while to reply and, when he did, he sounded watery and apprehensive, “Are you…are you disappointed in me?”

Hancock furrowed his brow. What? Him be disappointed in Jess? The thought was laughable. The only way he’d ever be disappointed in his Sunshine is if he ended up becoming some crazed mass murderer and cackling that he’d been playing the long game this whole time. It’d be so out of character, so incredibly unbelievable, that he’d have to ask Amari to check that the radiation wasn’t finally eating his brain.
Disappointed.
He snorted, “What are you talking about, Sunshine?”

Another long pause before Jess spoke again, “When you walked in on us you looked so freaked out and then you sounded pissed off.” Hancock pulled Jess into his side as his voice dropped into vacancy: almost monotonous and accepting that someone was pissed at him. Hancock wished he could travel back in time and shank his parents for ever making something like this normal for him. For stripping down his self-worth to almost nothingness only to build him up into a life that fit their ideals.

“I’m not pissed at you, Jess. I was pissed for you. I walk in and you’re all squashed between them both and looking like you’d rather be anywhere else. I thought…I thought that they’d made you do something you didn’t want.”

He flinched and pulled back with wide eyes, “No! They’d never! It was…good. I swear.” His face was pink with embarrassment but determined to defend Mac and Deacon against Hancock who was known for stabbing people for less, “I saw your face and your tone of voice and I just…fell over.”

“I hate your ma and pop, y’know.” He pulled him back in and rested his cheek on top of his hair, “So long as it was all consensual then it’s all good, yeah?” He nodded against him but tensed again, “Who gave ya that pretty little bruise?”

“Um…Mac? I think.”

Hancock sighed and rubbed his back to try and disperse the tension coiling in the young man's muscles, “Let it out. You’re tensed up tighter than a mutant choking on a missile. C’mon, I ain’t gonna think any less of ya.”

“It’s stupid.”

“No, it ain’t.”

He huffed but didn’t pull away, “Fine. I dunno what this means between the three of us and then there’s the whole Piper thing and it just feels messy.”

“What whole Piper thing? She has no right to touch you anymore and -”

“John, if I tell you somethin’ will you promise you won’t go killing someone about it? Please? Mac and Deek already know and they said I could deal with it any way I want and I really don’t want to cause a fuss over it. But, maybe you have some idea on how I can deal with it? How to get it out of my brain so I can…” He waved his hand in a confused waving motion, “So I can maybe be happy with those two and Duncan and stuff, y’know? Without freaking out and constantly bringing the mood down or going all morbid and shit.”

“Jess. You never bring the mood down. We’re family, yeah? I’m gonna walk this earth with you and the others and Far until the end of my days. You never bring me down.” He paused and kinda wished he’d brought his Mentats for this. He had experience dealing with Fahrenheit and her brand of panic and anxiety, knew the things that made her snap and brought her down, knew what had happened to her in full.
Jess was a little different. He came from a time where the problems were convoluted and hidden behind a veneer that was hard to crack through to get to the root of his issues. Whatever the young man said to him now would either give him a piece he could use to help or throw him for a loop of uncertainty that could shatter the trust Jess had in asking for help again in the future.
He couldn’t say no though either. He had to get it out so he could begin to heal. So he could begin to fill the cracks left behind with golden sunshine and memories that made him happier, “Tell me what you need to, Jess. I can’t promise I’ll know what to do straight away, but I’ll try.”

“I need you to promise me you won't stab someone.”

“Jesse…saying that makes me believe that there’s someone that needs hurting.”

“Please.”

“Fine. I promise. Cross my heart, scouts honour, pinky swear.”

He could practically hear Jess’ brain frying as he sorted out the words he needed to get out what needed to be said. When he did speak, Hancock saw the edges of his vision turn red and his blood rushed and boiled in his ears. 

“The Piper thing. I already told Mac and Deacon and they were…not cool with it but, you know, just listening and stuff.” He was rambling so Hancock waited as patiently as he could even though he could feel a bad time coming, “She, uh…God, it’s so fucking stupid. I’m a grown up! You know! A man! This shit just doesn’t happen, right?” 

He pulled away from the hug so that he could wave his arms as he spoke and Hancock felt darker and darker with each passing word, “So, it started fine. All sweet and she’d hug me and say nice things. I was cute and beautiful and funny. She’d hold my hand and sit close at night when the dark felt a bit too much. Warned me about certain people or places even though she was wrong about a lot of people.”
He glanced pointedly at Hancock who was biting the inside of his cheek to keep from interrupting, “Then, one day, she kisses me! And I’m so fucking dumb I just went along with it even though I know I didn’t want it. I never fancied her! She was just a friend. But I didn’t know then that no one would care that I like men.” He wiped his face as a tear fell but still Hancock didn’t intervene. He needed to get everything out the way he needed to.

“Then, she started being not so nice anymore. She pinched me even when she knew my skin hurt. She rolled her eyes at my scars like I was a fucking idiot. She tried stopping me from talking with you and the others and then she started to…hit me.”
Hancock shifted his weight on the ground and lit a cigarette, Jesse continued on and Hancock desperately wished he didn’t have more to go on with, “They were small, at first: little taps to gain my attention or to stop my mind wandering. They got harder. The more private the place, the worse the hit was. She told me it was because I was cheating on her with my eyes or that that was just how couples were nowadays. She was more subtle in public and healed the bruises with stims. She told me no one would believe me because I’m the General and no one would dare assume that I couldn’t handle this on my own.”

Cait and Preston had been right: Piper was comfortable with slapping him about because he’d never fought back. If he had, she’d simply be dead.
For all his nervousness and awkwardness people tended to forget how absolutely deadly he could be. He wasn’t the General for nothing; he hadn’t taken the Institute down by accident, he didn’t step into a Deathclaw’s path because he was dumb. Piper had forgotten because, even with all his deadliness, he was incredibly kind and loyal, he’d never want to hurt any of his friends and family. 

There was more and Hancock wished he hadn’t made that promise to him, “Then, one night, we were in Goodneighbor. I can’t remember why but I think we’d just finished clearing out the Castle?"

He seemed unfocused: eyes lingered on nothing in the deepening dark, "Anyway, she got us a room at the Rexford even though you’d offered us a room in your house. I wanted to stay with you and MacCready but she said no so I went with her. I should’ve said no. Should’ve stood up for myself but I just…didn’t?”

He took a deep breath and squinted his eyes shut as more tears fell. He let them drop to the ground between them, “She made me do it. Touched me and kissed me till my body reacted…fucking embarrassing. She raped me, John. Made me go inside her…I just…” His eyes opened as more water fell, “I just wanted to play cards with you.”

And if that didn’t just break his heart, “I wanted to stay with you because you’re safe. You killed someone for me the first time we met and you’ve never made me feel bad or stupid. You’re like my cool uncle or my dad and I…I just wanted to play cards!”

He bowed forward and sobbed so loud Hancock looked over his shoulder at the camp at the others. They were all watching. They could all hear as his voice had pitched louder and louder during his speech until he was practically scream crying it into the night around them.

“And then she did it again! Over and over and over again! She tried to come into my house to do it but I told her Codsworth wouldn’t let her because I just wanted a space where it hadn’t happened yet. A place where I could be alone and it just be me and not her but I didn’t realise that that was why I’d done that until I told those two everything.” He took a shuddering breath as he sat back up straight, “I thought it would stop when I broke up with her but she still touched me. Still kissed me. And I don’t know what to do about it all and I need you to tell me what to do.”

Hancock let his rage wash over him. He’d never regretted anything more than the promise that he had just made. Though, maybe he regretted not realising that this was happening to Jesse in the first place.

He was silent for a long time as everything burned beneath his skin. Pure unadulterated anger. He fought with everything in him to simply not stand up and run to Sanctuary to deal out some much needed bloody justice against someone they had all called friend for so long. The sheer fucking audacity of her. She'd been getting away with it for months and months, Hubris and arrogance spurring her on as no one challenged her place beside Jess. How many times has she hit him? How many times has she made him question what was right and wrong? How many times has she assaulted him?

He just wanted to be happy. He just wanted to move on from his past, the death of Shaun, the injustices done to him, and he was asking Hancock how to do that. Asking someone he thought was a guiding figure in his life for help with the storms in his mind. Like a father would.

Hancock knew a lot of fathers. He knew what they did for their children. He knew what he'd do for Fahrenheit and Jesse and even any one of the others. Hell, even what MacCready had done for Duncan was nothing short of amazing even though the man wasn't fully proud of all of his decisions. None of them were. Hancock had done things for Fahrenheit that would make the skin curl off someone else; when they'd hit the Forged at the ironworks Hancock had made sure to make the bastards hurt more than strictly necessary. You can do things with fire and molten metal that even those fanatics didn't enjoy.
He'd seen a dad use himself as a meat shield, had seen another stand up against Vic and got his head popped for the trouble. The man's kids had survived though and still lived in Goodneighbor now.

“You believe me, don't you?” Forest green eyes watering as he looked at the silently raging ghoul.

Did he believe him?
Of course he did and, looking back on things now, the evidence was there clear as day:

When they'd first met, he'd been just as naïve as ever but he'd had a funny snark about him that drew folk his way. Slowly, so slowly that no one caught it, he became more and more…reserved. Withdrawn. Timid. He'd done what he needed to do to find his son but, even through that, he started folding in on himself. And, now that Hancock thought about it, Piper had been there at his elbow like a dark shadow.
It had seemed almost cute the way they had clung to each other. Sappy and close and, Hancock thought, maybe a touch too co-dependent. But, those gentle hands of the woman he'd assumed loved Jess had been claws. Claws shredding at his skin and mind to mould him into the perfect little puppet.
He saw now the way he tensed a little at her touch, saw how quiet he'd go. Unexplained bruises hastily covered up. Awkward mornings where he looked pale and ill but had brushed it off as a cold or headache. The way Piper would lock eyes with him when the group was settling down for drinks and a game and he'd stand and follow her with a small look over his shoulder at Hancock. Those small looks, once just: goodbye, see you tomorrow, now screamed: help me! Call me back! 

Hancock shuddered through a sudden bout of rage, murderous fury, and guilt. He should've questioned things. He should've checked in sooner. Way before Jess came out to him. 

“I'm sorry, Jesse.”

Jess frowned. More than frowned. His face crumpled like a puppet with it's strings cut before he righted it and turned to face the night again with his fingers wrapping over his wrists, “Oh.” He said simply.

“Sunshi -”

“No, no. I get it. It's unbelievable, right? Stupid. I'm the General of the fucking Minutemen. I get it.”

Hancock grabbed one of his hands to stop the picking and shuffled so their sides were flush together, “No, Jess, I'm sorry for not catching it sooner. I believe you. Of course, I do. And, if I'd have known, I promise I wouldn't have let it go so far, kid.”

All of Jess seemed to sag in relief. His whole body folded forward as he breathed out a great shuddering breath that rattled through him and into Hancock and the ghoul carefully wrapped an arm around him, “Listen, Sunshine, you can't let her get away with this. We'll deal with it the way you want to but I'll be damned if she gets to swan off into the sunset like nothin’ happened, yeah?”

“I don't know what to do, that's why I asked you.”

“Well, I already promised not to stab someone so you've taken my solution off the table.”

Behind them, Cait snorted, “I ain't promise no one shit. I told ya she wasn't right.”

“We didn't either.” Nick and Preston gestured to one another and Danse cracked his neck.

Jess laughed a crackling broken sound before wiping his face on his knees, “I don't want her to die but I appreciate the offer.”

“You're too nice for your own good, love.” Mac said.

“If she dies, what about Nat, y’know?”

“Who knows what she's been doing to her!” Cait stood, bat swinging between her antsy hands, “Jess, I love ya, but this isn't gonna end in hot chocolate and fuzzy slippers.”

Deacon held his hands up, “Okay, everyone, how about we see what she has to say for herself before we start planning her funeral, yeah? Jess has already said he'd like to try and resolve this amicably so let's follow his lead.”

“Oh, shove off, Deek. He's our friend! We can't let her -”

“He's the wounded party here. He gets to decide how this thing goes. All we can do is stand at his back like we always have and get in her way if she tries anything tomorrow.”

They fell into a tense strained silence then as one by one they all turned their faces to Jess. He wished he could hide. He wished he could take everything he'd said back and just deal with it alone. He wanted the earth to swallow him but Hancock's arm around his shoulders kept him in the now and facing down the Deathclaw that was this whole mess.

Hancock could feel his tension rising from what had been a relieved puddle and gently rubbed circles into the top of his arm with his thumb, “Jess. It'll be okay. We're with you whatever you decide and, if you don't want to decide that's fine too. Me and Nicky will take her down to Diamond City and let the guard have her, yeah? Or, I can give her to Fahrenheit? The Glowing Sea? Anything you want, Sunshine.” He leaned close and whispered in his ear, “And, remember, you got Mac and Deek too. They won't let shit get between ya now.”

The tension bubbled away to awkward flustered embarrassment at his words and Hancock grinned as Jess spluttered back, “Shush! That's embarrassing!”

He shrugged and pulled Jess ever closer to his side and turned his attention back to the view of the night sky over Boston, “What dads do best, Sunshine.”

Chapter Text

Sturges was not a stupid man. He was big, bulky, knew his way around machines the same way people knew the backs of their own hands, and his way with words was not the most refined or eloquent in existence. But, he was not a stupid man and he knew his friends and family very very well.
There was a reason MacCready and Deacon trusted him to watch Duncan when the group was out saving the Commonwealth more so than anyone else in the settlement. The primary reason being that he knew everything that happened in the town. He knew where everyone was, what they were doing, how they acted on a day-to-day basis, and how they acted when something wasn't right. Duncan, in his care, was never far from his sight and Sturges would always know if mischief was afoot. The secondary reason was that Duncan simply liked his Uncle Sturges.

So, as he has done many times before, he played the role of Chief whilst Jess and the others were gone. He'd watched them pack, received his orders and Duncan, and then had watched the sheer awkwardness that was Piper's goodbye to them all. He'd heard what had happened the night before, nearly everyone had, and knew that Piper had lost the right to kiss their General and was thankful he hadn't had to step in with Cait swinging her bat nearby.
He waved the group off as usual and hefted Duncan up onto his shoulders so that the boy could watch his dads walk over the bridge for as long as he could.

Then, he watched Piper leave her home a few hours later with a bag heavily packed, and watched her go after the group. Initially, he hadn't thought much of it. Maybe she'd regretted backing out of the mission or maybe she'd run to apologise. He had hoped that she had. However, another hour passed and Nat, bleary eyed and groggy from sleep still, came out of their home and approached him with a look of confusion and upset on her little face.

“Um, uncle Sturges, do you know where Piper is?”

Weird. Normally, Piper would pass Nat to either himself or the Longs and, because Nat hadn't been handed to him, he'd assumed the Longs had her, “She's gone on a job. Did she not tell you? Do Marcy and Jun know you're alone?”

“She didn't tell me. Maybe I should go check with Mrs. Long?”

Sturges lay a hand on her shoulder and gathered up Duncan who was giddily waiting for Nat to play with him, “C’mon, kiddo, we'll go check together.”

Marcy and Jun had not been told that Nat was alone and would need to stay with them like she normally would've done so, Sturges in his role as Chief, made the call to have both Nat and Duncan stay with him so that the Longs could continue with their plans. The children were ecstatic with this idea and made their own plans of late night pillow forts supplied with sweets and comics. Perfectly fine by him.

So, with the children taken care of, Sturges had time to ponder the unusual actions of their resident papergirl. He ticked everything over in his mind of everything he could remember about her that would make her act this way: 

When Hancock got grumpy, it was usually resolved with a chem or a walk-about to allow him to shake off any feelings of stagnation. Nick would need a puzzle to resolve or a joint in one of his limbs would be bothering him that Sturges or Jess would help tune up. Cait needed to let off steam with a sparring match or raider hunting. Danse required a good old fashioned chin-wag and a turn on the Power Armour stand. Curie needed a new experiment to fixate on. Preston liked to have something to do, be it a patrol, a job around the settlement, or someone that needed their help. Deacon needed quiet when things got a bit too much. And MacCready either needed quality time with his son or something to shoot. Easy problems that Sturges had gotten adept at solving.

Piper and the General were harder. Piper rarely, if ever, seemed much different from one day to the next and seemed to enjoy solving her own issues if any ever cropped up. Her solution to most things was Jesse from what Sturges had observed. She needed to get a drink or food? Jesse would go with her. She needed someone to sit with by the fire? Jesse would be wonderglued to her side. Whether he was busy or not, if Piper crooked her finger, Jesse would go to her. However, for the last few months, Sturges had noticed a very subtle shift. Jess spent more time in quiet moments with Hancock. He’d drag his feet a little when Piper called him over. He’d give excuses to not go into her home as much.

And Sturges had never seen Piper go into his home once. In all the time they’d been together; he never stayed a full night with her and the one time she had tried to go through his front door, Codsworth had shaken his sharp appendages in a flustered I am not ready for guests! kind of way. In fact, now that he thought about it, he’d never seen anyone stay the night at the General’s house at all and only Hancock, Nick, and MacCready had been in there since the Institute.

It was a puzzle and Sturges was not stupid.

He chewed it over and chewed it over some more like a Brahmin chewing its cud. What had changed apart from the recent break-up? Yes, a break-up can make people act peculiar but something was telling him that this went deeper than that. A break-up would not make an attentive sister simply forget about her sibling. Was he being paranoid? Was he thinking too deep about it all? Maybe. But, he couldn’t shake the feeling that something was going on and he never didn’t know what was going on. From harvest rotations, to domestic squabbles, to the internal struggles of his family, he knew everything.

So, when Piper returned without the rest of them a few days later looking like the last shaking leaf on an autumnal tree, he knew something was desperately wrong. At first, hearing of Mac’s death had shaken him to the core. He wanted to run to Covenant and help bring his body home for burial in their little cemetery up on the hill in the trees. He’d initially thought that that was why Piper had returned alone: to tell them to get a burial site ready and to care for Duncan.

Instead, she’d said that Jess and Deacon had decided to continue the mission to check in at Goodneighbor before returning home. They were just going to leave MacCready to be interned in Covenant? Away from them all and away from Duncan? No way. There’s not a snowflake in Hell's chance that Jess would suggest that or that Deacon would have accepted it. They’d have returned with his body as quickly as possible to give him a proper goodbye.
She had said that Cait found some Jet. That Hancock was too angry to function. That Deacon had turned to the bottle. All unlikely scenarios in Sturges' mind even if MacCready died. Of course, they'd all be devastated, Deacon and Jesse most of all, but they wouldn't let each other fall back onto bad habits and Hancock would be the one most likely to keep them standing tall.

And, then, that evening with Duncan sobbing on her knee, she had looked at him standing in the doorway and smiled. Not a pitying or comforting smile. No. It had been too wide. Too toothy. Too happy. Scary.

She was lying.

She was lying and thought he was stupid.

Or, she believed she was telling the truth but had something to do with the team not coming home. He went to the radio with his mind turning over. The only reason the team wouldn’t come home with MacCready’s body would be because they were all dead. But, if they were all dead then Piper wouldn’t be as calm as she was and Covenant would’ve sent a message or runner instantly. He sat at the radio and thought about what to say and to who. Goodneighbor was a definite stop on their route so the obvious choice was Fahrenheit.

He flicked it on and then nearly jumped out of his skin when Piper appeared at his shoulder, “Hey, Sturges, you okay? Who you talking to?”

He swallowed down the sudden nervous energy in his throat and tried to sound as normal, but sad, as possible, “Hey, Pipes, I dunno, doll. I was gonna send a message out to the General, y’know? Condolences and stuff…a purifier is down too so I need him to bring back a new board on his way back if he can.” It was true about the purifier but he didn’t need any help with its repair.

Seemingly satisfied with his answer, she patted his shoulder and hummed, “Send him my love, okay?” She wandered away back to Duncan and a nervous looking Nat.

Sturges sent his message and all he could do after was wait and watch.

***

Coming back to Sanctuary, to home, was like a breath of fresh air for Jesse. All the familiar sights and smells blanketed him with a deep sense of familiarity and belonging and he grinned as the gates opened.
This was the home he'd built with the family he'd chosen and found and, after finally getting everything off his chest and out into the open, he felt more like himself than he had in the longest time. More like himself than since he was a child before he knew what being different really meant, before the traumas of life, before the traumas of being used and abused by the people that should have loved him the most; his parents, his grandparents, his aunts and uncles. All long dead now but they'd lingered in his periphery until he'd met John. From being abused by Nora and Piper who had used his body for their own gains until he understood that that's not how those things were meant to be. 
He hadn't know how it was meant to be until he was shown how it should be by Deacon and MacCready. He was excited. He wanted to try again and, hopefully, not get interrupted by a nosy ghoul dad who only knocked out of habit before swinging doors open regardless of what was happening on the other side of the wood.

Maybe, if he was feeling brave enough, he'd let Deacon and Mac into his personal sanctuary to see where things went.

That was, of course, after they had dealt with Piper and whoever had attempted to kill Mac and Hancock in cold blood. The person who had attempted to take those most important from him over some slight he couldn't even fathom or remember.

The guards nodded respectfully before doing double takes as Mac appeared around the gate with his hand held in Deacon's. He bobbed his head at them and waved off their surprised but happy exclamations. 
Jesse led the way up the street to greet the people of his town and to find Sturges. His team fanned out behind him as usual, chatting idly and laughing at the giddy faces pointing at a very alive MacCready. 

Some children ran off excitedly and, not one minute later, a happy screech erupted through Sanctuary. Jesse paused in the street as they watched Duncan, closely shadowed by Nat, pelt around the bend near the workshop and run as fast as their little legs could carry them. Mac took a step forward with his arms out wide as Duncan screamed, “Daddy!”

He was laughing and crying in the same breath as he launched himself at Mac and they wrapped themselves around each other. Duncan was wailing but giggling through the tears streaming down his little scarred face. Jesse grinned and leaned into Deacon as the man ran a hand down his back as they simply waited for Duncan to calm enough for Mac to get a word in. Nat was nearby bouncing on the balls of her feet as she clapped and wiped her face off relieved tears for her friend.

“Duncan, baby, everything's fine. I'm okay, see?” He adjusted his arms around his son and brought their foreheads together so they could just look at each other. They always have big hugs and a moment of reconnection after Mac has been on a mission, but this hug was different: a reassurance for a young boy to prove that awful rumours were completely and totally false, “You didn't think I'd go down that easily, did you?”

No one interrupted to point out that it actually had been very close and only sheer luck had kept MacCready alive.

Sturges ran up to them then with a wide grin and quickly linked up to Preston's side, “Howdy! So glad to see you're all in one piece!” He genuinely looked relieved but not overly surprised as he took deep breaths and looked over Mac and Duncan where they still stood swaying together. Nat shuffled over to Sturges and wiped her face again as the big man lay a gentle hand in her hair, “When we heard -”

A gunshot. Settlers nearby screaming and ducking for cover. The children were barreled to the ground and his people dropped into their ready stances as they drew their weapons.

Jesse tried to do the same as he turned on the spot to face the wall of sound reverberating with absolute screaming fury coming from up the street but his body wouldn't do as it was told.

He heard someone scream his name even as the banshee in red stepped closer and closer with her .44 raised level at him. Something warm and wet was making the skin beneath his shirt itch and burn, the fabric sticking uncomfortably where he raised his hand to press at his belly. He looked down and frowned.
An exit wound? When had he been shot? Why was Piper shouting at him? Why was Nick pressing against his back?

Why is the ground getting closer?

He felt himself be lowered to the concrete and then Curie was there pressing her hands against the wound. She said something about in and out and Stimpaks but he couldn't focus on it as he tilted his head on the ground to watch Piper's approach.

She was so angry. Her face flushed and twisted up in absolute rage. Her gun was pointed at him before it swayed to his left where Mac lay with Duncan shielded beneath him. His big blue eyes were wide as he met his: his face pale and brows furrowed in a mix of worry and anger. The gun moved to his right where Deacon was on one knee with his hands raised. He didn't understand. Why had she shot him?

“Piper..?”

She was standing above him now with the gun leveled at his head. He heard Hancock growl out get the fuck away from him, you psycho bitch! but she just smiled down at him. She has him pinned by the end of her barrel and, by extension, his family was pinned too.

He coughed and the taste of iron filled his mouth when Curie moved her hands away from his belly to put them up in surrender as Piper waved her gun at her, “P…Piper…what are you doing?”

“You stupid little boy. Why couldn't you have just let him die!” Nat was crying from beneath Sturges as Piper cocked her gun, “He'd be dead and we'd be together!”

“I don't…understand…” he could feel hot trickles escaping the corners of his mouth and dripping into his ears.

“Fucking child! It was meant to be just us, Blue! Why did you cheat on me? And with him!?” She waved her gun at Mac where he was still shielding Duncanagain and Deacon moaned low in his throat. At the sound, the gun was pointed at Deacon's head, “And you! Are you not fucking livid that they're sneaking around behind your back, Deacon? That's what you get for shacking up with a little merc whore like him!”

Jess tried to roll but was stopped with a boot on his shoulder and the gun pressed to his forehead. Piper leaned forward over him as her other hand raised up high to be brought down hard on the side of his face. She kept her fingers there and pinched at his cheek hard enough to draw blood in little sharp red crescents, “Ow…”

He wasn't sure if it was embarrassment, anger, or shame burning through him then but he felt too lightheaded to address it. His back was wet where he lay in his pooling blood and he couldn't move his arms to reach for a knife or even to pick at his own skin.

“Do I need to remind you, again, of just where you belong, Blue?”

“You shot John…and Robbie..?”

She snorted at his weakness as her fingers moved to grab his hair. She yanked it and pushed the barrel of the gun harder against him as Danse shifted his hold on his rifle, “Don't you fucking dare, synth bastard.” She looked back down at Jess, “I shot them, Blue, but how else are we meant to be together!? These people, that ghoul, just keep getting in the way! Distracting you, Blue! It's meant to be me, you, and our babies!”

“Babies?”

Oh, fuck, no!

“I'm gonna give you children, Blue. Make you forget about Shaun and Duncan, yeah? Make you happy…”

He squirmed against the hold in his hair, “I don't want to forget about Shaun or Duncan, Piper.”

She sniffed as actual tears started falling from her scarily wide eyes. She glanced back up at his family where they remained frozen either covering a child or hands raised as that barrel left a bruise on his face, “I see…well then…” her finger moved to the trigger, “If I can't have you…no one can.”

He shut his eyes. He didn't want the last image he saw to be her face as it twisted into a mockery of the person he once thought of as a friend.

The gun went off and he was surprised that death didn't feel any different. He could still feel the wet puddle of sticky blood beneath him. Could still feel the pins and needles in his arms and legs as they fought with his blood loss. He recognised the motion of the hand leaving his hair and the gun moving away from him and frowned. Wasn't death meant to be warm? Wasn't it meant to feel peaceful? Where was the light or the people waiting for him on the bridge?

He groaned when hands pushed on his belly and the sting of a Stimpak spread warmth into his veins. He blinked his eyes open and, if he had the energy, would've laughed at the sight of Curie's stricken face hovering above him. Then, Hancock's face was there, angry and splotchy and glancing up every now and then to something he couldn't see. He felt a warm soft hand on his face and leaned into it as Deacon whispered something to him but he couldn't make out any words as his head filled with the happy cotton candy of Med-X.

He woozily tilted his head as Curie messed with his stomach and back when she rolled him onto this side.
He wanted to see what Hancock kept glancing at: Cait was straddling Piper's back and punching her in the side of the head repeatedly. Preston and Danse were circling with weapons drawn as settlers approached in a wide perimeter with their own guns and knives held ready. Piper was screaming and clawing at Cait's arm where the furious woman of fire dragged her down. Then, MacCready was there with his rifle raised, stalking like a cat, as Cait got Piper's hands up her back. Nick appeared with handcuffs flashing.

Cait roared, “Fucking shoot her, RJ!”

Mac cocked his rifle and glanced over his shoulder at Jess as if waiting for his order. What he saw was his partner bleeding out slowly as Curie fought the hands of Death back. He saw his other partner panicking as past hurts were dragged to the forefront of his mind. He saw his son crying behind the red coat of a ghoul who almost looked feral as he tried to help Curie heal Jess.

He looked back to Piper as she writhed and screamed beneath Cait. His would be murderer. Hancock’s would be murderer. Jesse's would be murderer, his active tormentor, his rapist. Something deep had cracked inside her. She was dangerous to herself, his family, and his home. To all the people the Minutemen had sworn to protect. She would've killed them all.

He breathed out slowly as he raised his gun. His rifle is cool and comforting in his hands and welcomed him like an old friend. He pulled the trigger and Piper went still.

It was days later before things started to settle into some kind of tentative normalcy. Nothing would ever be the same ever again but the world they lived in now left very little time for grief and mourning. And, there was grief and mourning. 

Piper, for all she had done and had tried to do, had at one point been their friend. She had been funny and smart. Confident. Beautiful. So arrogantly sure that she was right that it had been hard to prove her wrong in most things. But, that arrogance, that sure fire confidence, had been her unravelling. 

When they had been emptying her house and moving Nat in with Sturges, they had found manifestos and stories and little pretend fictions of Jesse and the future she'd wanted with him. It was scary to read. Obsessive and dark with tall tales of the children they'd have and how, if Jess ever wanted to leave, she'd do everything possible to prevent that. It was as if she had a blueprint in her mind of the prison she was slowly building around the General of the Minutemen.

A recent entry gloated about the murder of MacCready and how she was so proud that it was her that had taken down the formidable sniper. She wrote paragraphs and paragraphs about how she'd nearly killed Hancock with plans of how to finish the job. Little accidents here and there around the settlement and on the roads to take out the whole team. A misplaced mine. A fire in a home after a night of too much drink. A rogue Codsworth after a tweak of his programming. Accidental friendly fire. A lure for a Deathclaw. On and on it went.
Disturbingly, she even had a short paragraph detailing how she'd be able to get rid of Nat and Duncan if it came to it.

Not once did she use Jesse's name in these pages, always referring to him only as Blue. And that in itself was disturbing. It's as if she'd forgotten that he was a living breathing person. He was an object to her, a tool, a means to a happy end and, if that meant taking out his family, she'd do it.

Jess burnt those pages in the fire of his back garden. He'd recovered physically from the bullet that had ripped through his back and out his stomach. But, mentally, he was a ball of claustrophobic anxiety. He felt more misplaced and awkward than ever before and oddly wished that therapy was still something widely available. God knows he needed it. They all did.

Usually, after a big fight or after taking down a particularly tough enemy, there was some kind of revelry. Some gloating and laughter over a few beers and music. This time, nothing had felt good about it. Cait hadn't told them a play by play of the fight, Mac hadn't waxed poetic about a clean shot, Hancock hadn't grinned and cleaned his knives.

They buried her up on the hill in their little cemetery. A little white cross with her name as Nat laid out some carrot flowers she'd picked. The goodbye was shorter than their usual tradition of reciting all the good a person had done and how much they would be missed. It lacked the stories and songs and lingering conversations as the hole was filled. He hadn't cried and neither had anyone else. There wasn't a wake. No long party to drink the soul into the beyond. They'd just…gone home.

And, now, Sanctuary was quiet and still and he sat alone in his backyard by the fire burning paper. Dogmeat huffed by his feet and he absently scratched at his ears.

“I know, boy.”

He truly hadn't wanted her to die. Even after learning that it had been her stalking them to Covenant and attempting to kill them all. He still believed that there could've been another way but, maybe, that was the old world ideals peeking through his rose-tinted vision. A world with actual laws to abide by and punishments to be dealt out. Though, even then, it hadn't always been fair or just. People still got away with murder and rape and kidnapping.

Now, if someone was caught doing that by a person with even a shred of any kind of human decency, a bullet or knife tended to be the solution. Quick. Efficient. Exacting in taking out the scum that plagued the earth. He shouldn't have expected it to have gone any other way, really. How could he have let her walk away or talk her way out of Diamond City if that option had come to pass. His family wouldn't have let her go after she'd shot him and, in reality, he didn't think he'd have been able to either for Mac and John's own sense of justice.
He sometimes forgot that his family had been born and raised in a world that demanded eyes for eyes. Hands for hands. Blood for blood. None of them were cruel in the strictest sense and, ultimately, all he could do was be content that she hadn't suffered in the end. A clean quick bullet through the center of her head. Like Nora. It had happened so fast.

He shivered and glanced up at the hill that held the dead: Nora and Piper beside one another, a little away from those that hadn't done him harm in the past. He didn't realise he had laid it out that way until after they'd covered Piper's shroud in dirt. Two little crosses just a few meters to the side as though those they housed could contaminate the people they shared the ground with. There was nothing he could do about it now and he couldn't fathom burying the next person purposely next to them to bring them into the fold.

That could be their punishment, he supposed, to be kept away from others in death so that the future would know that they'd done bad in the past.

He didn't jump when Codsworth floated into the yard to bank the fire and drag him to bed.

“Come now, sir, it is very late and you must try to rest.”

He followed Codsworth in with Dogmeat at his heels. His house was warm and lit nicely with the smells of tea and something cooking ready for breakfast come the morning. He glanced out of his living room window and saw that the houses opposite his were already dark as those inside slept: Hancock and Nick there, Danse, Mac and Deacon and Duncan. The houses either side of his would also be shut up for the night, Cait, Curie, Preston. The workshop's forge cold with Sturges and Nat cosy inside somewhere.

He felt cold. Alone. His house is too big for one. Too much furniture for someone who rarely lets anyone inside. Spare bedrooms are going to waste. Plates and bowls and cups that never got used.

“Codsworth?”

“Aye, sir?”

“Would it be too late for a sleepover?”

“...no, where is it you'll be going?”

“Just across the street.”

Codsworth didn't reply but his robot-butler-friend watched him from their door as the General of the Minutemen silently made his way across the quiet street. Guards were in the distance doing their rounds, houses all over cast in sleeping darkness, string lights keeping alleys and dark corners bright. 

He held his breath as he stepped up to the red door and knocked quietly. He couldn't hear anyone moving inside and no lights were lit to alert him to anyone being awake. It probably was too late but he decided, just this once, to be overly persistent.
He knocked again, a little louder, and then again. He furrowed his brow and tried the handle and found it locked. He wouldn't break in and couldn't help the sting of disappointment as he turned on his heel to go back to his empty sanctuary.

He heard the door open and a quiet Jess? and turned back. Deacon was peeking around the door before he opened it fully; bare chested, soft loose pants, sunglasses nowhere to be seen as he blinked tiredly at him. Deacon beckoned him in and Jess allowed his body to be drawn like a fish on a hook toward him. The door shut behind them and Deacon locked it again quickly.

“What's up, Whisp?” He was whispering and Jess finally checked the time on his PipBoy: 01:37am.

Fuck.

“Sorry…I didn't want to be alone and everything felt…”

“Bad?”

“Yeah.”

Deacon held his arms out, “C’mere.” And Jess stepped into him. Strong arms wrapped around him and Jess rested his check against his bare chest, “I'm sorry we've been distant for these few days. Robbie's been…upset, I guess.”

“I can understand why.”

Mac had been the one to kill her. Her who they had once called friend. No matter what she had done or had planned to do, she had been their friend first.

“Is he okay?”

“He's dealing with it.” He rubbed soothing hands up and down his back and Jess copied the motions along Deacon's spine, “What about you?”

“Not good.”

“Hmm. You wanna stay here for a while?” Jesse could only nd against him and felt the nod from Deacon in reply, “C’mon then. Dunno about you, Whisper, but I could do with some beauty sleep.”

Mac and Deacon's house had stairs so Jess followed him up as quietly as possible. They tiptoed past their bathroom and past Duncan's room where the little boy slept with the door slightly ajar and bundled in a great teddy bear fort before coming to the door of their bedroom.

Deacon carefully pushed it open and bustled Jesse in before closing it behind them. The room was dark but Deacon helped to lead him over to the large dark shadow that he assumed to be their bed where quiet snoring was coming from a sleeping Mac.

“Sorry to ask, but can you change?” He mumbled into the dead almost silence of the room, “I don't like outside clothes in the bed.”

“Oh…I didn't bring anything. I can just sleep on the couch or something?”

Deacon snorted and turned to rummage through a box or a drawer, Jesse couldn't tell in the shadows, before handing over some soft pants, “Here, promise I won't look.”

Jess was grateful for the dark as he shucked out of his shirt and quickly toed of his boots and cargos. He quickly pulled up to too big pants and then Deacon directed him to lay down first.

Mac barely moved as Jess lay down beside him and Jesse wiggled a little as he felt Deacon's hard muscles against his back. He carefully linked his restless hands in with Mac's where the Merc has tucked them beneath his chin like a little cherub and let out a relieved sigh as Deacon's arm lay over his waist.

He felt better. Cosy. Warm and safe and not alone. Soft strong hands and the sounds of quiet sleepy breathing all around him.

He shut his eyes and let sleep take him properly for the first time in days.

***

MacCready woke up and jumped at the sight of Deacon snoring lightly with Jesse's head cradled on his chest, both shirtless in soft loose pants.

On autopilot, as his brain slowly processed what he was seeing, he reached out with one shaking trigger finger and ran a small line down the middle of Jesse's spine before flattening his palm against his lower back. He'd expected a flinch or jerk away from his touch but was instead greeted with a sleepy sigh and slight shuffling into the warmth of Deacon. The older man grumbled and shifted to accommodate the movement but didn't fully woke up. Mac moved to get closer and pressed his forehead against Jesse's side. He was warm and so so soft.

“When did you get here?” He whispered into the early morning quiet.

Jess hummed and rolled to face Mac, the Merc's forehead against his lithe scarred chest, “Last night,” he said quietly, “sorry, you were asleep and we didn't want to wake you.”

“It's fine.” His hand hovered over his side, “Can I touch you?”

“...yes.”

He breathed out slowly against him as his hand softly landed on the dip of his waist before he dragged it up to his ribs and held him close to his face, “I'm sorry.”

Deft fingers tangled in his hair and gently pressed his head closer to his chest, “I know. Me too.”

“I know you didn't want her to -”

The hand tightened in his hair and gently pulled him back. Green eyes met blue and Jess frowned slightly, “Robbie, you and Cait did what you had to. She was gonna kill me, or one of you, or one of the kids…”

“Yeah.”

“...I found her journals.” He shivered and Mac held him closer even as Deacon rolled to his side and slipped an arm over them both, “She had all these fucked up plans and ideas to slowly get rid of everyone so that I'd be trapped with her alone, forever. Cait was right…something had just snapped in her. Or, maybe she was always gone and just saw an opportunity to bring others with her. I dunno.”

Deacon rumbled, still half asleep, “We wouldn't have let her.”

“I know.”

They were quiet for a long time just breathing in the same air beneath the warm blankets of Deacon and Mac's room. All the times Mac had imagined Jess in their bed hadn't involved some massive depressing build-up to get him there and he wasn't sure on what to do. His daydreams always involved the General being pressed into the mattress as he and Deacon loved him as well as they could. Tag-teaming him until he was a melted mess of sweat and fucked out bliss. This, though? Everything felt too heavy and sad. 

Even this, still, was enough. Just being close and having soft touches shared between the three of them. Besides, it was good to know that they could weather through rough times as well as the good. He didn't want whatever they had to be a one time thing with Jess and he knew Deacon didn't want that either. If they were doing this, it would be for the long run, maybe forever, and not every day would be perfect.
To him, it already felt like they had been together for a long time; from Jesse hiring him, to meeting Deacon, to the kissing and flirting and never ending delight in getting Jess to blush.
Just lying here in this kind of sad but warm place was enough.

He shut his eyes against Jess’ chest and enjoyed the slow back and forth of Deacon's fingers over his spine. Jess still had a hand in his hair and he tilted into the touch as he gently scratched at his scalp. He would've fallen back to sleep if the sound of Duncan shifting around the house didn't prick at his ears.

He untangled himself from his dozing partners and went to find his son. He glanced back over his shoulder at them both and grinned as green and blue shaking eyes sleepily watched him go.