#love in the wasteland | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

nightingaelic · 2 years ago

Note

Since I’ve seen you also do fallout 4 Reacts, how about this, romanced fallout 4 companions react to synth Shaun calling the mom/dad

They had known, going into this thing they shared with Vault 111's sole survivor, that the road to a happy ending wasn't going to be easy. Love was already hard enough to navigate, even without the person on the receiving end being a pre-war relic, a figurehead of the Commonwealth, and number one most wanted on multiple factions' bounty lists. Those moments of peace they managed to snatch were fleeting, but they teased of greater things, and when their fingers and the sole survivor's intertwined atop the roof of Mass Fusion as the Institute crumbled into the Charles River below, they selfishly wondered if this meant a newfound freedom for their relationship.

Then came Shaun. Pure, naive, starry-eyed Shaun, who looked up at the sole survivor with the sweetest smile and gifted them the saddest holotape, who held out his arms for one person only and folded inward if left with anyone else. He confounded everyone, not just the sole survivor's chosen partner, but it didn't matter. His remaining parent held him close during the darkest hours, told him stories and sang him lullabies until he stopped shaking and slept. It was on one of these late nights that the sole survivor's companion resolved to do right by both of them, no matter what it took, and pressed a gentle kiss into the crown of the sleeping boy's head.

Cait: "You envy him," the sole survivor said quietly the next morning as they watched Shaun skip ahead on the road to Diamond City.

Cait swallowed. "I do," she admitted. "I've told you what my own parents were like. When I look at you, I can't help but notice every last little thing they didn't do. Everything you are doing, with him. He's damn lucky, and he doesn't even know it. Then there's me, and kids... All the ones I spent time around were just as broken as I was, older souls than they deserved to be. He won't ever know that kind of fear, and I'm fucking glad of it, but it also means I can't talk to him."

"Well, you have to start somewhere. But I get it." The sole survivor pulled her in by the waist and kissed her. "I love you, Cait. I can't tell you not to feel sad about the way things worked out- just don't take it out on him. He's been through a lot, too."

Cait rolled her eyes when they weren't looking, certain that she was always going to be the distant, red-headed stepmother to Shaun's actual parent, but her moment came sooner than expected. Batty old Moe Cronin was still hawking his baseball gear in Diamond City's town square, beckoning to anyone who wandered too close. "Swatters, right here!" he called as the sole survivor and their little family passed by, clearly aware that Shaun had perked up his ears. "Don't let down the home team! Why, even kids will appreciate a swatter in their hands, when they're traveling the Commonwealth!"

"No thanks, Moe," the sole survivor said, waving the salesman off. "He's still a little young for that kind of sport."

"I disagree," Cait cut in, putting a defiant hand on her hip. "Best to start him young, else he won't know what he's doing until it's too late."

Shaun looked between his two guardians. "Please?" he begged the sole survivor. "Mom's okay with it."

Cait could've melted, right then and there in the marketplace. Before the sole survivor had a chance to answer, she'd turned back to Moe, fumbling for her caps. "That one," she said, pointed at a lighter model splashed with indigo paint. "Seems about the right size."

Moe took it down from his display wall and presented it to the boy. "A genuine model, there. Perfect for a first-time owner. You take good care of her, kid."

Cait pulled the boy close to her hip and ruffled his hair. "He'd better. I was planning on using those caps to buy us Power Noodles."

Shaun smiled and closed his eyes as he hugged the baseball bat close. "Thanks, mom."

Curie: Although her educational modules had only been installed for the purpose of making her a better laboratory assistant in Vault 81, Curie still had the full knowledge repository of a Miss Nanny robot to draw upon stored up in her new synthetic brain. Caring for a 10-year-old boy meant following clear developmental guidelines and standards, and she set about writing a rough curriculum for him so as to give him some semblance of schooling while he wandered the Commonwealth with his guardians.

To her delight, Curie found Shaun to be especially receptive to her lessons. He was very interested in biology and history, perhaps because of the obvious blind spots that came with spending his early life inside the Institute. He wanted to know everything there was to know about the mutated creatures that walked the wasteland, coloring in the pictures of radstags and deathclaws and bloatflies alike in Curie's battered notebook as she sketched them. For history, though, Curie had to turn to those around her. The most recent history of the Commonwealth could be found with the sole survivor, who had spent most of their post-vault life at the center of it. Further accounts came from Preston Garvey thanks to his experience with the Minutemen, and Piper Wright and Nick Valentine had quite a bit more in their extensive periodical and case records. Even Paladin Danse pitched in, offering a rather thorough recollection of the Brotherhood of Steel's history on both coasts of North America and in between that left Shaun playing at being a Scribe for over a week.

Shaun's best subject, though, was language. He had an adequate grasp of English, but he began to press Curie early on to teach him French. She added it in between her other lessons, until they could carry on basic conversations. "Pourquoi vouliez-vous apprendre le français?" Curie asked him one day when it was just the two of them, curious. "Oui, ç'est une belle langue, but it is not especially common in the Commonwealth."

Shaun smiled. "Parce que ça nous appartient, maman."

"Maman?" Curie smiled back. "I did not teach you that word."

"You did," Shaun insisted, crawling into her lap to hug her. "Oui, maman, you did."

Curie ended the lesson early and gave him her pencil and notebook to draw pictures in. When the sole survivor returned that evening from their trade excursion, she presented them with the piece of art he had made, depicting the three travelers locked in battle with a mirelurk queen. The sole survivor looked over it with a smile, ran a thumb over the words he'd scribbled next to Curie's blazing laser rifle. "'Ma maman,'" they read with a grin, drawing her into a one-armed hug. "Congratulations, mom."

Paladin Danse: "I'm a liability to you," Danse argued with the sole survivor the next day, as they packed their things to hit the road again. "To both of you. You know what will happen if a Brotherhood patrol recognizes me."

"So wear this." The sole survivor tossed him a ratty shawl and a red bandanna. "Cover your face. Plenty of people do, in these parts."

"And if they recognize my voice?" Dance argued. "Only the greenest Initiates would be fooled by a disguise this thin."

"You're giving the Brotherhood too much credit." The sole survivor straightened up from organizing their pack. "Just let me do the talking and try not to worry."

"Easier said than done," Danse grumbled, picking up their wasteland fashion offerings with obvious distaste.

They were ready to go by noon, the sole survivor's pack slung over their shoulder and Shaun's hand firmly grasped in theirs. Danse brought up the rear as they crossed the bridge out of Sanctuary, and he tugged the bandanna around his neck up to cover his face once they reached the other side of the river.

When Shaun next turned back, distracted by some dry branches creaking together overhead, he giggled in surprise. "Why are you wearing that?" he asked, pointing to the bandanna.

"It's not safe," Danse grunted, lowering his laser rifle a little.

"But why does that help keep you safe?"

The sole survivor reached down to ruffle their son's hair. "It's a little hard to explain, Shaun. Some people out here don't like Danse. He's trying to hide his face from them, so they don't know it's him."

"But there's no one here," Shaun insisted, throwing his arms out to indicate the barren landscape and its silence.

"Well, you never know," Danse said, taking the bait. "Come here. Look at that tree. That big one, see it? I'd say it's wide enough to hide a man behind it. Maybe even a raider or two, if they're skinny."

"What about that one?" Shaun asked, pointing to a larger tree.

Danse nodded solemnly. "Three raiders. Easily."

He winked at the sole survivor, who was stifling their giggles. Shaun, who was staring open-mouthed at the trees, missed it. "Can I have one too, dad?" the boy asked, tugging Danse's sleeve.

"One of what?" Danse replied, unable to keep his voice from cracking.

"A bandanna." Shaun looked up at him with a smile. "We can hide together."

Danse, lost, looked helplessly to the sole survivor. Without a word, they pulled a navy blue bandanna from their pack and handed it over. Danse knelt down and carefully tied the cloth around Shaun's face. "There you go, soldier," he said when he was finished, and the words felt softer in his mouth than any of the other times he'd said them.

Mayor John Hancock: Though he was brave enough to risk a little affection after the kid was asleep, Hancock gave Shaun plenty of space during the waking hours. He wasn't blind to the way some people looked at him. Most kids stared.

Shaun wasn't any different in that aspect, but the fact that this red-coated, tricorn-bedecked ruin of a man was keeping his parent company proved too much for his curiosity. Once the stage of open-mouthed, morbid fascination had passed, Shaun's face grew more contemplative. He started to watch closely as Hancock did basic things. Eat. Sleep. Tie some cloth over a wound. Brush his teeth. He didn't seem embarrassed when Hancock made it obvious these attentions were noticed by waggling his brows or pulling funny faces in the middle of a meal- he just looked like he was filing the information away in his head. He wasn't immune to Hancock's infectious humor though, and he eventually started to giggle and make faces back. The sole survivor rolled their eyes at the pair of them, but Hancock egged them on until they, too, succumbed to the silliness.

When the trio paid their first visit to Goodneighbor and people on the street began to greet Hancock as "mayor," Shaun's eyes grew as wide as Port-A-Diner saucers. Hancock relished the attention, stopped in at every trading stall and tipped his hat to every vagabond they passed. Though Shaun kept a tight hold of his parent's hand, it was obvious he was a little lost between the attention that the sole survivor and the returning town leader were receiving. Things came to a head when a crowd gathered around the travelers and Shaun's grip on the sole survivor's hand was jostled loose. As would-be admirers moved in and separated them, Shaun's voice was thin and high under the boisterous conversations. "Ha-Han... dad!"

"Whoa." Hancock threw his arms out, pushed the crowd back. "Give us some space, folks. Yeah, you, back up or I'll sic Fahrenheit on you."

Shaun was clinging to his leg, and he relaxed a little as Hancock lifted him up to eye level with the adults. Hancock puffed with the effort. The kid was heavier than he looked. "Now this here," he said, grunting as he re-positioned the boy on his hip, "Is Shaun. He's with me."

"Is he yours, Hancock?" teased Rufus Rubins from somewhere in the crowd.

"As good as," Hancock replied proudly. He looked at Shaun and smiled. "It's okay, kid. I've got you."

When the boy smiled back at him shyly, Hancock plopped his tricorn onto the boy's head. "Ever thought about becoming a deputy mayor?" he asked. "Don't worry. It's a pretty easy job."

Robert Joseph MacCready: More than anything, MacCready wondered if he was being fair. He'd just gotten his own son back, and Duncan's renewed presence in his life was a constant reminder of just how much he'd missed. How long had it been, since he'd left his little boy with friends and trudged north, hoping against hope that he'd find a cure for the illness that wracked his little frame? How many pounds had he put on since he'd sent the miracle medicine home? How many inches had he grown, how many questions had he missed? He couldn't help but marvel at this little boy who was so big now, so much like Lucy and so much like him.

Shaun was older, Shaun was quieter, and Shaun was watching every time MacCready felt the need to pause, staring at his own little creation in awe. He knew it. He started consciously doing the same for Shaun, just so he wouldn't feel left out, and to his surprise, taking the extra time meant he noticed things he initially hadn't. The way he looked warily at the settlements they visited, searching for hiding spots to retreat to. The way his eyes gleamed in the light of his parent's Pip-Boy, entranced by the holotape games they collected. The way his cheeks dimpled when he smiled, the way he pronounced certain words, the way he tied his shoes and drew his letters and grabbed his guardians' hands when he was scared. Yes, Shaun was a miniature sole survivor in countless ways, but there was a little bit of MacCready in the way he approached the wasteland.

MacCready began to mix them up, Duncan and Shaun, and they laughed and corrected him and teased him to no end along with the sole survivor. It only made him smile wider. They were between Bunker Hill and Goodneighbor one day, playing "I spy" as they passed through the ruined city, when Duncan picked a rather obvious target for the guessing game. "I spy with my little eye... something that is... green."

"The water," the sole survivor guessed, pointing toward the Charles River. Duncan shook his head emphatically.

"It better not be a super mutant," MacCready said, only mildly concerned. The streets had been quiet for their entire trip.

"Dad's hat," Shaun guessed.

The sole survivor and MacCready stopped in their tracks. MacCready's hand went to his cap. Duncan nodded and giggled, and he squirmed with joy when his dad plopped the hat in question onto his head.

MacCready swept Shaun up into his arms. Shaun looked at him, wide-eyed, unused to the overt affection. "What?"

The sniper cocked an eyebrow at him. "Dad?"

"Yeah."

MacCready planted a scratchy kiss on the boy's cheek, reveling in the shriek of surprise it elicited. "Okay," he said with pride. "We do look alike."

"We do not."

Piper Wright: It was a promise that Piper had made once before, after her dad had been murdered and she'd been left the sole caretaker for her little sister. She and Nat had managed to navigate their new roles eventually, eked out a living in Diamond City and grown together as best they could. Piper had settled into something that wasn't quite sisterhood, parenthood, friendship or work partnership, and yet encompassed all of the above. The sole survivor had fit into that life alongside her fairly well, what with their transient inclinations, responsibilities to their associates, and being a lightning rod for Commonwealth intrigue, but Shaun presented a new challenge.

"Diamond City's the best place for him," Piper insisted to the sole survivor any chance she got. They were at Home Plate for now, but the wasteland wanderer had that look in their eye that suggested they were growing restless, unsure of their safety and the safety of their child. "There's a school, there's food, running water and a security force and oodles of people who dote on him just because he's a kid in the wasteland with manners, which is a rarity nowadays."

They always looked at her sadly. "A synth kid, Piper. People will notice eventually."

"So what? Nick's a synth, Diamond City got used to him!"

"We need to go soon, Piper, for his sake. It'll be okay."

"Stay, Blue."

The pair went around in circles like that whenever they got a spare moment, saying it every different way but getting nowhere. They were in the middle of one of these arguments when they were interrupted by Nat and Shaun, who blew into the little house with a gust of wind, rain, and flapping newspaper pages. The two kids had their arms locked at the elbows and were giggling wildly, but they stopped short when they saw the way their respective guardians were talking. "Is everything okay?" Nat asked warily.

"Yeah," Piper answered quickly, hiding her expression by removing her cap to scratch her head. The sole survivor had other ideas, and took this moment as an opportunity. They got down on one knee and took Shaun's hands in theirs. "Shaun, buddy, we need... I need to go on a trip. For a while. Do you want to come with me?"

Shaun's eyes flicked between them and Piper, uncertain. "Are mom and Nat coming, too?" he asked.

Nat's eyes widened and Piper's heart leapt into her throat. The sole survivor choked on their words, and tears welled up in the corners of their eyes. They looked up at Piper, their apology plain on their face. "She- we-"

Piper dove in, wrapped Shaun in a hug and twirled him up in her ratty coat. He laughed, surprised, and the reporter beamed down at him.

When the two had ceased their little dance, Piper turned back to the sole survivor and helped them up off the rug. "Come on, Blue," she said, giving them a kiss on the cheek. "We're being stupid. Let's talk this out like a family. Nat and Shaun deserve to know what's up."

Preston Garvey: Preston had thanked his lucky stars several times over the last few months that the sole survivor had risen to the challenge of becoming General of the Minutemen, but now he found himself continually second-guessing that decision. As they pursued the Institute across the Commonwealth, unearthed horrific truth after horrific truth, he'd grieved their spouse and child with them and thrown himself into the work of rebuilding the Minutemen to help them fill that void of loss. He hadn't expected, at the end of things, that the Institute would leave them something else to help fill the void - and now, looking at Shaun, Preston couldn't help but blame himself for centering the sole survivor and leaving them with responsibilities that got in the way of caring for the boy.

So Preston did what he could. When the General was in talks with traders to negotiate caravan protections at the Castle, he took Shaun walking along the shores of Dorchester Bay, hunting for mirelurk eggs. When the General was away from Sanctuary helping settlements, he tucked Shaun into bed at night and read him stories from a worn book of fables that Sturges had bought off of Trashcan Carla. When the General came home late looking like they'd crawled through a yao guai den on their stomach, he hung up their coat, pushed them into the shower, and made dinner with Codsworth while Shaun supervised and decided whether it needed more salt.

"I don't deserve you," the sole survivor said gratefully each time.

"You do," Preston always reassured them. "You both do."

Shaun was less quick to appreciate Preston's care, but slowly he warmed up to the General's right-hand man. He remembered the best spots for picking raspberries that they found together, he started to request tales about the Minutemen as his bedtime stories, and whenever Codsworth asked him about his day, he would shyly look to Preston before relating their adventures together. It was slow going, but each time the boy looked at his parent's partner, there was less and less hesitancy.

One night after a particularly long day on the road, Preston and Shaun were pinching together some ground mole rat potstickers for soup while the sole survivor washed up. Shaun had a case of the giggles and kept leaving floury fingerprints on his own face, which Preston kept trying and failing to wipe off with a kitchen towel. As Shaun fought off another of these attempts, amidst his happy laughter, he pushed the towel away and shrieked, "Dad, stooooop!"

Preston froze. In the bathroom, something clattered to the floor. Even Codsworth paused chopping vegetables to swivel his eye stalks toward the kitchen table. Shaun made a face. "What?"

Gently, Preston put his thumb over one of the flour spots on Shaun's face and rubbed it away. He tousled the boy's hair and chuckled. "Nothing. Nothing at all. Save the razorgrain flour for the dumplings, buddy, okay?"

Porter Gage: Even compared to everything else in Nuka-World, Porter Gage knew he was the rustiest piece of equipment in the park. Well, everyone in Nuka-World was an antique of some sort, hanging onto a bygone or kitted out in tattered costume from days gone by - hell, the Overboss was practically a pre-war collectible - but Gage felt stiff and dusty, even compared to them. He was old, for a raider. Raiders didn't get old. There was safety in being overlooked because of your age and lack of ambition, but it sure didn't make you interesting to the average kid.

Eventually though, that ability to be overlooked came out in Gage's favor, when it came to Shaun. Shaun was an oddity in the park. Anyone who was stuck firmly to the side of the Overboss was an oddity, but beyond that, Shaun was a kid. Raiders didn't get old, and they definitely didn't have kids if they could help it. Most of the gangs were respectful to the Overboss and their kiddo, but when they'd passed out of earshot, they talked. A liability. A loose end. Not even human, a few of them said.

Gage didn't say anything, but he did listen, and he did tell his partner what the situation was when Shaun was asleep for the night. When they had him pressed against the wall of Fizztop Grille's reception, he spun them ideas about what to do until they told him to shut up or rendered him speechless themselves. Honestly, that told him everything he needed to know. They were at a loss for what to do about the kid, too.

If he'd been a younger man, maybe Gage could've let things play themselves out. But he wasn't, so he took the boy under his wing. He gave him his best knife and his second-best pistol and taught him how to use both on the prop cutouts in Dry Rock Gulch. He taught him how to move silently through the overgrowth of Safari Adventure. He taught him the best places to check for supplies in abandoned towns, on one particularly memorable afternoon in Bradberton, when Shaun shot his first feral and only cried for a little bit afterward.

"It's alright, kid," Gage reassured him, rubbing his shoulder while Shaun tried to calm his hiccups. "They don't know themselves anymore. There's no going back. You did him a kindness."

"Doesn't feel like it," Shaun sniffled.

Suddenly, the boy turned into Gage's shoulder, hugged him awkwardly around the metal mess of his armor. "I'm not any good at this like you, dad. I'm sorry."

Gage closed his eyes for a moment. Against his better judgment, he unbuckled his armor, put his arm around Shaun and pulled him into his chest. "No one's good at first, kiddo. But I'll be here until you are. Promise."

BONUS!

Deacon: Though Deacon would never admit it, Shaun terrified Deacon. He'd wanted a kid at some point, obviously, but that version of himself seemed so far removed from who he was now. Different place, different face, different circumstances and perspectives. He wasn't sure he could go back to that mindset now.

Much like the sole survivor though, he didn't have a choice. Shaun was here, curiously peeking at the papers on Desdemona's workstation and getting shooed out of Carrington's clinic. At least Tinker Tom was self-aware enough to tone down his swearing and more dangerous experimentation, but Deacon and the sole survivor agreed that the sooner Shaun got out of HQ, the better.

"They're all intimidated by you," Deacon whispered conspiratorially to Shaun on the day they finally packed up their things. "You're the best Railroad agent here, and they all know it."

"Really?" Shaun whispered back. "I thought you were the best Railroad agent here."

"It goes you, me, Desdemona, then your parent," Deacon counted off on his fingers. He shouldered the pack Shaun had stuffed to the brim and groaned. "Oof, you've got a lot of stuff already. That's how I know you're the best agent. You're already hanging onto supplies in case of the worst. Smart."

The sole survivor pulled Shaun into a half-hug, caressing his head. "I still rank under Desdemona, huh?"

Deacon winked. "You're getting there. Come on, we'll go out the back door."

Once the three emerged, blinking, into the North End, Shaun took one of the sole survivor's hands and one of Deacon's. "Where are we going?" he asked.

The sole survivor squinted at the buildings around them. "North," they answered vaguely.

"To a deathclaw farm," Deacon said solemnly. "Where they hatch the little lizards and teach them how to be big, ferocious beasts."

"Deacon."

"Sorry. Just a rad chicken farm that's helped us out once or twice."

Shaun looked up at Deacon. "Are deathclaw farms real, dad?"

Deacon choked on his witty response and fell into a coughing fit. The sole survivor looked shocked too, but a smile came over their face and they slapped him on the back a few times until his lungs quieted down.

"Uh, eh-heh, no, buddy," Deacon answered, gripping the boy's hand a little more firmly. "But you know what they say: Be the change you want to see in the world. If you want to go all-in on deathclaw farming, I'm right there with you."

Desdemona: Every day after that, Desdemona expected to wake up and find the sole survivor and their son gone. She couldn't leave HQ now, what with the post-Institute clean-up filling all their safehouses and gumming up the usual escape routes, and PAM changing her mind every minute about what predictions were most likely. All of that combined with the general atmosphere of uncertainty around the Railroad's future - what does the Railroad do, when all of the synths that can be rescued have been rescued? - kept her to-do list full and her mind racing. In the past, her busy periods were an invitation for her unlikely partner to depart on their own adventures, check in with things around the Commonwealth that didn't immediately concern the Railroad, and she fully anticipated this from them now that they had a child to care for, too.

But Shaun and the sole survivor stayed. Deacon's finest recruit rolled up their sleeves and joined her at the war table, read her notes back to her and pointed out strategic opportunities, discrepancies, details she might have overlooked. Desdemona was surprised by how well they managed to mesh with her style of leadership. In the past, anyone who had tried to butt in on her planning usually wound up clashing with her, prioritizing in different ways or misunderstanding critical operations they just didn't know the ins and outs of. Somehow, the sole survivor avoided all of these pitfalls and slid right into the fray next to her.

Shaun was less helpful than his parent, prone to doodling on less-important papers and humming along with the songs on Diamond City Radio, but his quiet presence was company enough. While the sole survivor was still catching up on the sleep they'd lost burying the Institute, Shaun seemed content to remain at Desdemona's side late into the night, watching her work.

It was on one of these late evenings, after all of the agents except the night watch had gone to bed, that Shaun let out a yawn as wide as the Charles River and blinked sleepily up at the Railroad leader. "Mom, I'm tired."

Desdemona paused her dead drop status review and looked down at him with a surprised smile. "I've got to stay up, Shaun. This is important."

"But I'm tired."

"Okay." Desdemona put her pencil down and picked him up. He was heavy, but not so heavy that she wasn't able to carry him to the cots in the back and deposit him gently next to the sole survivor. The movement was enough to wake them, and they pulled the boy in close and wrapped him in some of their blanket. Desdemona tucked them in and went back to the glow of the lanterns with the sound of Shaun's words ringing in her ears.

Elder Arthur Maxson: The Squires on the Prydwen tried to adopt the new boy into their number, of course, but to the sole survivor's dismay, Shaun's odd remarks about "life on the surface" soon labeled him as an outcast. The boy turned even further inward, befriending an odd group of individuals: Scribe Haylen, Paladin Brandis, Senior Scribe Neriah, Emmett the cat. All of them were kind and patient with Shaun, but none of them were exactly peers.

"I don't suppose you could order the Squires to be nicer to him," the sole survivor remarked with a hint of bitterness during one of their visits to the Elder's quarters.

"Let him find his own way," Maxson replied kindly. "If I interfere, they will only resent him for it."

It felt harsher when he said it out loud, but the sole survivor respected his judgment. Still, Maxson couldn't help but recall his own difficult childhood spent searching for friendship, for anyone who might see him as a person instead of a future Elder. When he next had free time, he visited Proctor Quinlan's library of holotapes and came away with a stack of games and transcribed books.

Later that evening, the sole survivor walked into their quarters to find Maxson and Shaun on the bed with their Pip-Boy, Maxson cheering the boy on as he navigated his band of adventurers through a dungeon level in Grognak & the Ruby Ruins. "Go left," Maxson urged. "There's a treasure chest down that hallway."

"How do you know?" Shaun asked, screwing his mouth up in concentration as he input the commands.

"I've been playing this game since before you were alive. See, in the corner over there."

The sole survivor joined them on the bed. "Watch out for goblins."

"Oh, dad showed me how to fight them off already."

Maxson stiffened, and looked quickly over Shaun's head at the sole survivor. Their eyes widened meaningfully, and they tilted their head down toward their son. "Did he show you the goblin village yet?"

Shaun looked up at Maxson. "There's a goblin village?"

"There... there is." Maxson swallowed his misgivings for the moment and directed his attention back to the game. He put an arm around the boy and tilted the Pip-Boy so he could see a little better. "Let's get through this dungeon together first."

Nick Valentine: To Nick's surprise, Shaun warmed up to him fast. He wasn't put off by his missing parts, his glowing eyes or the occasional whirring noises that emanated from inside his chest cavity like most kids. In fact, he liked to press his ear up to Nick's shirt and listen, trying to figure out what the noise was. "It's like your heartbeat," he always said.

"What's it saying?" Nick would ask. Shaun would imitate whatever noise he was hearing, and they would both laugh.

"He grew up around synths," the sole survivor reminded Nick when they were alone. "Er... well, he's been around synths for as long as he's... you get my meaning."

Nick raised his cup of tea to them. "I do. I'm just so used to kids being wary. It's a nice change of pace. How's he doing in class?"

"Great in science and math, horrible at spelling. He could use some practice that isn't just me peering over his shoulder, you know how he hates doing schoolwork if he can't relate it to the real world. Is there any way you could...?"

Nick held up his metal hand. "You don't even need to ask. I'll get him to help Ellie take notes on some cases."

The sole survivor smiled. "How's Ellie's spelling?"

"Impeccable."

A few days later, the little family was ensconced in Nick's office with Ellie poring over a case that had come in from Vault 81 about a missing person. Ellie had given Shaun his own clipboard and pencil, and the pair were scribbling furiously while Nick went over everything that had been written in the letter from the vault's overseer, Gwen McNamara. "Says here that she might have gone to seek her fortune with one of the local caravans," Nick noted. "If she hitched a ride with one, she might have paid them to cover her tracks, but it'd still be worth paying a visit to Bunker Hill to see if they've seen her. Shaun, do you know how to spell 'investigate'?"

"I-N-V-E-S-T-A-G-A-T-E," Shaun answered confidently.

"It's 'I' after T, not 'A'," Ellie corrected him.

"Oh." Shaun deflated a bit. "Sorry, dad."

Ellie dropped her pencil and the sole survivor choked on the Nuka-Cola they were drinking. Nick lowered the letter, perplexed, but when he caught the shy look on Shaun's face, he couldn't contain a grin of pride. "It's okay, son," he said. "We'll keep practicing together, okay? We've got nothing but time."

Old Longfellow: "The island's no place for a child," Longfellow told the sole survivor when they first brought the boy to the docks of Far Harbor.

"You wanted one, once," they had retorted, grabbing him by the lapels of his coat and planting a kiss on his bearded face. "Were you planning to leave, once you'd had the baby?"

"That was different. Wasn't as bad then as it is now."

"Take us back to your cabin on your sand bar, old man. Shaun and I are survivors. And if it gets worse, we'll get on my boat and go back to the Commonwealth."

So Old Longfellow rowed them home to his shack under the pines, and he double- and triple-checked the fog condensers he'd bought off the scientists at Acadia. Shaun followed him around, taking in the little island's woods, beach, and craggy landscape with a pair of eyes wider than a mirelurk's shell. This relationship continued for well over a month: Daily excursions to check the traps and mechanical equipment that kept them all from dying, weekly trips into town to trade and stock up, and the occasional trudge down to the beach to see if anything interesting had washed up. Sometimes the sole survivor remained behind, skinning a radstag or shucking oysters, leaving the old man and the boy to their daily chores outside in the chilling sea breeze. On one of these occasions, Longfellow was making his way toward the wood pile he'd been stocking up and didn't realize that Shaun wasn't right behind him as usual. He might never have noticed, if he hadn't caught the quiet word on the wind at his back: "Dad."

Longfellow spun and found Shaun frozen, staring at the edge of the woods. Staring back was a radstag, glowing faintly from internal radiation, with only one head and pair of antlers.

It was a ways off, but Longfellow still moved to grab the boy and pull him out of harm's way. The movement startled the creature and it huffed before alighting into the trees, its tail flying a warning as it bounded off. Longfellow pulled Shaun close and sighed, trying to catch his breath again. "Stay close, boy."

"They all used to look like that," Shaun replied softly, watching the deer's retreat. "I never thought I'd see one without two."

"Rare as hen's teeth," Longfellow agreed. "Must be our lucky day."

X6-88: X6-88 knew that technically, his role with the director was a protection assignment, but excursions to the surface and a growing trust between them had blossomed into something else. He also knew that technically, Shaun was an assignment too, one that Father had bestowed upon the sole survivor just before his death. In the safety of their Institute quarters though, they could be something more to each other. They could talk about what it was to be a synth, to live apart from the world at large, and what within their little underground haven could be changed for the betterment of something beyond mankind.

He and the sole survivor were cautious at first to talk about these sorts of things around Shaun, but the synth boy soon proved bright enough to understand the dangers of self in this place, be they realization, expression, or actualization. "It's not fair," Shaun would say at dinner. "I want to become a scientist. I want to grow up. And I can't even talk about it anywhere else."

"We're working on it," the sole survivor always said. "Dr. Li and I have some ideas. You won't always be a child, Shaun."

X6 knew that they were doing their best, but they were hiding the fact that Dr. Li had pushed back on the project multiple times. She'd believed the synth child was a waste of time and effort from the beginning, and extending that effort would take more than just a few ideas from the sole survivor. He knew they would keep trying, but it would never be fast enough for a 10-year-old boy. And every step they took toward that goal would bring the scrutiny of the Directorate, some of whom were eager to find any reason to discredit the brand-new upstart that had passed them up to lead the Institute.

"We should leave," X6 suggested as he lay in bed next to the sole survivor after another night like this. "Before it's too late."

"We can't," they replied in a whisper. "They don't have the tech on the surface to help Shaun, and we have so much we could offer the rest of the world. If we leave, we'll never see this place again."

"It would be difficult, but we would be together."

"Just give me a little more time, X6. Please."

The Courser lay awake long after the director had gone to sleep, trying and failing to come up with a better plan. As such, he was still awake when Shaun stole into bed with them, rubbing tears from his face with his little hands. X6 settled the boy in between himself and the sole survivor and wiped the rest of the tears away with the sheet.

"I had a bad dream, dad," Shaun explained, sniffling. "I've been having them a lot."

X6 didn't have the heart to correct the child. "I know," he said instead. "I've been having them too. Dreams can't hurt you, Shaun. If they try, I'll protect you."

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