#paladin danse x male sole survivor fic

[sweetcocopowder]

Pitch Black Dahlias | PT. 1 | PT.2

Synopsis: The news had taken everyone by shock. The Minutemen had been the one to take down the Institute. It's evil being rid of the Commonwealth once and for all.

But that doesn't mean that Nate's work is over. There is a still a lot to. And that includes helping Danse with his current dilemma of finding out who he truly is. And the pre-war man thinks bringing Danse along on some Railroad jobs will help out.

Hopefully.

Word Count: 2.2K

Pairing: Paladin Danse x Nate (Male Sole Survivor)

Warnings: Slow Burn. Trauma. Eventual Smut.

The only times Danse has had the time to visit to Diamond City, it’s all been for Nate. He sees no need to come to this part of the Commonwealth by himself. Yes, he has travelled and scouted around Diamond City when he was stationed at the Cambridge Station. But even those little expeditions were dangerous at that point of time. Those memories still spark a pang of hurt deep within his chest.

He pushes it aside as he walks down the stairs to the Diamond City centre. He hasn’t seen Nate in two weeks. A whole two weeks since they infiltrated the Institute together with the Minutemen and destroyed the evil from the Commonwealth.

He was more than honoured to do so when Nate had asked him to be by his side. It had given him something to shoot at and fight for.

A part of him only hoped that it would have been the Brotherhood to participate in such a role. But Danse couldn’t argue with Nate when he was set in his ways. His mind was made up ages ago. The whole ordeal out of the Listening Post was probably what tipped him over the edge. It always something that Danse stills ponders on. Still thinking that that day was his last.

But he’s still here, alive, as a synth can get, and standing naked in Diamond City. Not naked per say, but he feels like it.

He’s come without his power armour at Nate’s request. He felt more at home inside of one. But the fact that Nate had asked him to come without one? It made him feel weary travelling from the Castle to Diamond City without it. But he trusts Nate’s judgement even if it might be questionable at times.

Like standing still while aiming down his scope as a super mutant suicider came barrelling his way. Danse was still his sponsor back then and hounded into Nate for being so stupid. He left it out of the report, but that doesn’t matter anymore. Nothing he did for the Brotherhood matters.

He pulls his bomber jacket closer around his chest, the late autumn breeze cold today. He ventures through the market to Nate’s residents at the Home Plate, ignoring the multiple people calling his way trying to upsell their products. He doesn’t need a haircut, or some ammo, or a… swatter? He eyes the red faced man before continuing on.

Anyways.

Danse gives three sharp knocks on the door and takes a step away. He eyes the empty power armour rack, wondering where Nate has kept his T-45. It wasn’t at the Castle, he just came from there. Maybe he’s left it up at the Red Rocket with his wide collection of power armours. He waits a few minutes before knocking again. He doesn’t want to intrude even though he knows Nate wouldn’t care. It’s more out of respect than anything.

“Danse.”

Slowly -at the sound of the very unique voice-, the ex-Paladin turns to meet the synth detective with a frown. Valentine narrows his gaze to him with a raised brow.

“Valentine,” he responds back blandly.

“Glad to see you out and about after everything,” the detective says with as much sarcasm as possible.

“Where’s Nate?” Danse gets to the point, his tone blunt and firm.

But Valentine doesn’t faulter to the demand. His stark yellow eyes flickers behind the former soldier before back at him. “He’s this way,” he says instead with a small wave of his hand.

Danse hesitates for a moment, glancing to the door before reluctantly following after Valentine. He’s well aware that his hate towards the synth is something that’s hypocritical. Yet there’s something so intertwined in Danse’s heart that he hasn’t been able to rid himself of yet. Could be the same reason why he was so ready to die by Nate’s hands. Dropped to his knees and begged that he needed to be the example, not the exception.

Yet Nate had still dragged him from his knees and pleaded. Showed him mercy that Danse didn’t deserve. The ex-Paladin doesn’t think he deserved it. He’s heard from others that Nate has a bleeding heart and Danse wouldn’t be the one to object to those claims. Sometimes it’s a dangerous thing. Getting them into more trouble at times.

The two don’t get far. Valentine stops just outside the chems store and points a skinny, metal finger upwards. Danse looks up without a word and doesn’t see it at first, but when he does he can’t help but stare.

There’s a small, makeshift balcony atop of Nate’s residents, one that overlooks the city. A grand view of the place. It’s a lovely little spot that Nate paid a pretty cap for. But there in his little red throne -a single seater couch- with his head lolled onto his chest, is Nate fast asleep. His hands are overlapped on his torso with his legs outstretched. He reminds Danse of one of those older settlers at Sanctuary that can be seen napping the day away. Every, single, day.

“How long has he been up there?” Danse asks casually. His shoulders have relaxed and his head is slightly cocked to the side like a dog.

“Around three hours now,” Valentine answers with a chuckle. “As far as I know from Piper they came back from the Railroad. They’ve been keeping him on his toes lately trying to help the synths you and him helped out.”

Danse swallows thickly. “It was all him.”

“Whatever you say, big guy,” Valentine speaks softly. “But at least give yourself some credit.”

There’s no response to that and the synth detective hums at that.

“Is that why I haven’t seen high or nigh of you lately? Didn’t want to deal with other synths?” Valentine asks, jabbing at this point.

Danse swallows thickly and changes the subject. “Why was Piper with him?”

Valentine lightly rolls his eyes and looks back up Nate. “She wanted a story. The aftermath of the Institute and what nots. Don’t know how good it’ll be with the Railroad wanting to stay hidden and all.”

“Does it matter anymore with the Institute gone?” Danse asks a genuine question.

It takes Valentine back a bit, the question actually making him wonder. “To some degree, yeah. There’s still synths out there that believe in what the Institute was doing.” The detective pauses for a moment, staring at the soldier. “You’d know that if you didn’t go off hiding away. Nate needs you right now more than ever.”

Danse swallows thickly, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down. “I’ll wake him,” is all he murmurs before walking off.

He brings the spare keys to Home Plate out of his jacket pocket and unlocks the door. He wouldn’t normally let himself in, despite Nate having told him in the past that this place is more welcome to call home than anywhere else. Like the Castle and Sanctuary.

“It’s ours,” he has said once. It sounds weird on his mind as it did hearing it the first time from Nate’s mouth.

Yet whenever Danse is at those settlements as well, he feels more of the need to keep on his toes and work. Make sure that everything is in order, checking the defence systems more moving onto the water supplies, then onto the generators. Keeping his mind and body preoccupied so that he doesn’t have to think of other pressing matters. Just like the Brotherhood had ironed into him.

But Home Plate, it’s probably the only place that Danse has ever felt relaxed. The noise that seeps in through the thin walls of the place reminds him all too well of the Prydwyn, an all too welcoming murmur of noise. Theres no checklists at Home Plate. Only the mundane need to keep the place tidy of dust and other critters that decide to make themselves home.

Danse is quick to take himself up the stairs to the balcony. He opens the door as quietly as he can, peering around the corner to where Nate still sleeps peacefully on the couch. The ex-Paladin can’t help but watch for a moment with his brown eyes. The usual frown that has somehow become a permanent thing on Nate’s face has now smoothed out.  

With a quick glance out below, Valentine is nowhere to be seen and the people of Diamond City pay them no mind. One other thing that was ironed into Danse was their concept on attraction. A Paladin had to be at his best at all times. And that meant to having someone you love dearly being on your mind. The quality and the care for a Paladin’s garrison was all that Danse was able to think about.

Yes, he had come to a point in his sponsorship with Nate that his brewing feelings could mean something much more. Seeing someone being able to hold their own and being able to lead. It had wanted Danse to know more about Nate and who he was before the war. What things were like back then.

Slowly, Danse kneels down to one knee next to Nate’s outstretched legs. He brings a hand up gently and caresses the sleeping man’s face who stirs. Nate inhales deeply as his dark blue eyes blink awake through a squinted, peeping gaze. He looks to Danse with a bleary expression before a warm smile comes to his lips. He leans into the rough hand on his face, cupping it with his own. He turns his face into Danse’s palm and gives it a light kiss, his movements still filled with the grogginess of sleep.

“I think I may still be dreaming,” Nates murmurs groggily.

Danse stands up and places a kiss to the other’s forehead. “Rise and shine.”

Nate groans loudly as he stretches his stiff joints in the couch. He looks out to the small city and blinks.

No matter how much the Brotherhood had said about attraction and love, Nate had always made it feels welcoming though. Something that Danse still finds himself having trouble pulling away from. These past two weeks have been hell sent. But he won’t admit that out loud where the world can hear.

Nate then looks to his pip-boy as he licks his lips. His face goes from placid to wide and frantic within less than a second.  

“I was out for over three hours!?” He exclaims as he suddenly sits up straight.

Danse responds quickly with, “Your body needed the rest after everything you’ve been putting yourself through.”

Nate stands up, running a hand through his hair as his peace is disrupted by his own mind and responsibilities once more. This is probably the first time in months that Nate has had some time to himself.

“We’re going to be late!” Nate exclaims. “Did you let me sleep that long?” He asks with no bite to his tone.

“I only just arrived here,” Danse states.

That seems to calm the other man down a bit, his tense shoulders sagging. “Okay then we would have been late anyways,” Nate says more to himself than to the ex-Paladin.

“Why did you want me here?” Danse asks.

Deep blue eyes focus back onto the soldier. “Did you pick up those care packages?” He asks.

Danse could make a comment. A bad comment that would most likely have Nate snapping at him. Because why did Nate have him go to a Railroad drop point to meet up with Deacon of all people to hand him this, box? A care package of some sorts. Deacon hadn’t said much, had just said good luck before moving on with a fat grin on his face. He had tipped his wig of hair like some man in a suit would tip their fedora. It was odd and only had Danse confused even further.

But knowing that this job had to do with the Railroad, he couldn’t help but let that old hatred towards them linger and simmer. He’s aware it’s wrong, they help others of his kind. Synths. Yet there it was, that distaste that comes to his tongue whenever he’s near them or mentioned.

So, he replies with a simple and bland, “Yes.”

Nate picks up on his though and looks to him with a raised brow. “You didn’t do anything stupid with Deacon, did you?” He asks with a hand on his hip.

Danse’s brows shoot up. He should be offended at Nate saying such a thing! “No! I wouldn’t harm one of your contacts even if they’re-“ he cuts himself short. “I wouldn’t,” he repeats himself, his voice more on the verge of a whine than anything else. He clears his throat, hoping to cover it up.  

He shuffles around inside of his bomber jacket and holds out the two care packages to Nate instead. Hoping to distract the man from his current inner panic.

Nate takes the packages with a thank you. He opens them both up without a word, looking inside to make sure that everything is intact. From where Danse stands, he can’t see anything but from the look on Nate’s face, everything is satisfactory.

“Alright!” Nate exclaims as he snaps the packages shut. He places them under his arm as he makes his way back into Home Plate. “I want you to join me for a delivery!”

“A delivery?” Danse can’t help but ask.

“A very, dangerous delivery,” Nate grins slyly before he disappears inside.

Danse can’t help but roll his eyes at the comment. Isn’t everything dangerous when it comes to the man? The way he does things is, questionable. Danse groans to himself, before heading inside after the other.

[watchyourdigits]

Falloutober Day One:

War Never Changes

I'm a little late to the party, but here's what I've got for day number one of Falloutober! The main fic for these two is Danse-centric, so I thought it'd be a fun challenge to rewrite the opening scene from Frankie's perspective this time. Enjoy~

Word count: 1.3k

Warnings: mild sexual language, canon typical violence

Ship: Paldadin Danse x male Sole Survivor

"What's the plan here?"

Frankie rolled his eyes behind his gas mask, barely suppressing a groan. His newly acquired commanding officer had been, up until that very moment, the one calling the shots.

Why would Danse, an otherwise by-the-book kind of man, hand him the reins without warning? The question served as an obvious test; it wasn't as if this so-called 'Paladin' had been anything but wary of him thus far.

Now, facing down an unknown number of super mutants, he was suddenly leaving Frankie to figure out the best course of action.

He wouldn't know subtlety if it smacked him clean across his stupid, perfect face.

Frankie peered above the bushes they were squatting behind to get a better look at the camp. He did a quick visual scan of the place before pulling his head back down behind cover.

"I see three, but there's definitely more."

He tried to explain that his preferred method of sneak-attack wouldn't be as effective with super mutants as it would with human enemies, but the Paladin cut him off.

Typical.

Frankie tapped his fingers against his thigh impatiently as he was, once again, chastised for his manner of dress.

"You'd see better if you weren't wearing that ridiculous thing."

That tone of his was enough to make Frankie grimace. Despite his disarming good looks, Danse was proving no different than the military officials he served before the whole world went to shit. Society was functionally nonexistent and all Danse could seem to think about was arbitrary uniform codes.

Maybe you should just, I dunno, show him your ugly fuckin' mug? Then he'd get it.

He knew that was never truly an option, but it was nonetheless entertaining to imagine Danse's reaction to the grand reveal that he'd been on the receiving end of an unsightly facial disfigurement.

Deathclaws and power armor... Bad combo. Should probably warn him about that...

Frankie opted to ignore him, a momentous exercise of restraint on his behalf, the likes of which the Paladin would probably never be able to appreciate.

"It's not my favorite idea, but how's about you provide covering fire and I'll go in guns blazing?" he said confidently.

"I suppose it's not the worst plan in the world," Danse replied, shrugging his hulking, metal-clad shoulders, drawing an unseen smirk from Frankie at the sight of it. "You point, I shoot."

It was all too obvious that Danse didn't think he'd succeed. Frankie wasn't one to take such a challenge lightly. Hell, if a deathclaw and the literal end of the world couldn't take him down, he was practically invincible, right?

Frankie gave a smug smile behind his mask, clapping Danse on the shoulder.

"Good man. I'll see you on the other side."

He gave a quick two-finger salute, knowing damn well it was sure to piss Danse off to no end since it wasn't the classic Brotherhood salute he'd been taught. Just before he slid down the side of the hill, he caught a glimpse of Danse's face as expression changed to that of a man questioning his life choices.

He sure is somethin'... Guess this shit ain't so different from how it used to be, though. Murderin' everythin' in sight, dealing with annoying military bullshit… Annoying commanding officers with big ole cow eyes. Tryin' not to think about how good said commanding officer would look on his knees…

Frankie shook his head, trying to reel himself back in. He could dwell on his perversions later. Right now, he had to prove he was all he claimed and then some.

God, if you can hear me, just know that I think you're a real sick sonuvabitch.

"Two-hundred years on ice and a fella still can't catch a fuckin' break," he mumbled to himself.

He loaded his shotgun as he approached the first mutie he saw guarding the entrance to the camp. He noticed Frankie far too late.

Before the lumbering abomination could open his mouth to alert the others in his company, a laser fired from the hillside hit him square in the chest. He stumbled a little and Frankie finished him off with two shots to the head, whistling low.

He's a phenomenal shot, I'll give him that. Good timing, too.

Frankie took great delight in the easy flow of the battle. The mutants were slow to react, giving him ample time to sort out his strategy as he went. He made his way through the camp, drawing out his enemies toward the chaos and systematically taking them down, ducking behind cover to reload as Danse provided covering fire from above.

When things finally settled and the last of the super mutants fell, he allowed himself a moment to relish in the silence that rang in his ears. Frankie pulled up his mask just enough to spit on the ground, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

The mask fell back into place as he reached the entrance of the camp, giving a thumbs up in Danse's general direction. The Paladin was down the hill and standing before him within seconds.

"Great work up there," Frankie commended. He understood better than most the value in having a trained set of eyes looking out. "Good to know you've got my back."

Danse began removing the helmet of his power armor. Frankie felt a tug in his gut, firmly aware of the way his jaw hung open like an idiot upon watching him run a hand through that thick, dark hair of his. His mind began to wander as Danse's mouth moved, Frankie only barely hearing the words he spoke.

"Same to you, soldier. It's been a while since I've seen potential like that."

Danse sounded genuine about it, too. For half a second, Frankie found himself delusional enough to believe that perhaps he was flirting. With a subordinate, no less.

Just keep it casual, for once in your goddamn life. No sudden advances.

"I told you I had military experience," Frankie replied jokingly, testing the waters. "Did you think I was lyin'?" he asked, leaning himself against one of the rotting wooden fences, paying no mind to the super mutant blood that now called it home.

"No. However, your secrecy leaves you with a lot to prove."

There it is. Damn… Audacious prick.

"Is that so?" Frankie drawled, huffing a little through his nose. "Remind me to tell Elder Maxson that he should give you a promotion."

Danse raised an eyebrow. Of course it was the one with the scar through it. Frankie felt heat traveling up his neck, choking him.

He wanted nothing more than to grab him by those stupid handles of his power armor, pull him down to his level, and-

"Why is that?" Danse asked curiously, cocking his head.

"Because I'll be the best damn thing that's happened to the Brotherhood yet," Frankie answered without missing a beat.

"That's a bold claim. I admire your ambition."

Danse sounded amused, much to Frankie's dismay.

He kept bringing the conversation to the brink of what could constitute flirting. It was maddening, especially as Frankie's body continued to relax, muscles melting under his skin as the adrenaline faded away.

"Bold? I've earned my ego, pal."

Frankie pushed off the fence and had to look away from Danse, growing increasingly concerned that his impulses might cause him to do something idiotic. Like give him a right hook. Or kiss him. Maybe both.

"Maybe one day you'll get it through that thick skull of yours..." Frankie continued bitterly, "I'm not your average wastelander."

He turned on his heel and stalked away into the camp to loot it for all it was worth. A good enough distraction as any, he figured.

The backhanded compliments, the unsolicited commentary on his attire, and the fact that Danse was the most delicious thing he'd laid his eyes on… Frankie knew he was in for a hell of a time working with the Brotherhood of Steel.

Despite all his tense irritation, there was the undeniable feeling of 'home' that came with working with Danse.

It was all so familiar, comforting in a sentimental way. And Frankie was a sentimental bastard, if there ever was one.

Yeah, nothin's changed a lick.

[iliumheightnights]

Paladin Danse's response to seeing your network of interconnected settlements, all with heavily-armed defenses and the growth of a new civilization, all without Brotherhood assistance?

I got youuuuu! Ended up turning into a full fic!

[dalishkadan]

some goodness with paladin danse <.<

[avaleon]

Thank you for cheering me on and all the feedback. I'm proud of this and happy others enjoyed it. Thank you for posting it here too 😍

We have a completed long fic! I REPEAT WE HAVE A COMPLETED LONG FIC It is awesome and amazing and you all need to read it. (All 15 of us. We counted. LMAO) Please go read this and give @avaleahblog some comments. Tagging @fancyladssnacks because I know your thirst is real.

[nautseverywhere]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Fallout 4 Rating: Explicit Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Paladin Danse/Male Sole Survivor, Paladin Danse/Sole Survivor Characters: Paladin Danse, Male Sole Survivor, Piper Wright Additional Tags: Fluff and Smut, Romance, Danse still being so self depreciating about being who he is, and male sole survivor having none of it Summary:

Danse had never felt so happy, he told Christian on a daily basis how he felt. How he felt so fulfilled and loved after cold, lonely years in the Brotherhood. How he never realised how alone he was until Christian declared his feelings that cold rainy day in Diamond City

It was good….it was their new home.

[sweetcocopowder]

Day Twenty Eight: Handcuffs

Synopsis: Nate will only join the Brotherhood if Danse convinces him in other ways

Word Count: 4.2K

Pairing: Paladin Danse / Nate (Male Sole Survivor)

Warnings: Handcuffs. Handjob. Anal Sex. Coming untouched.

Notes: This fic is greatly inspired by another fic I read on ao3 a good while back. I do not claim this as an original idea at all. I wanted to have my go at this and tweak it a bit. But as I said, not my original idea and heavily inspired.

The tension in the room could be cut with the knife. The two men stare at each other from either side of the table, neither of them moving.

The Paladin, free of his armour, is a hulking mass that the other man knows he can’t charge head on. Nate, the one known as the survivor doesn’t budge from where he is. His dark blue eyes flicker down to the hand cuffs on the table before returning back to the Paladin. Danse’s gaze follows down, eyes widening with the sudden realization before lunging forward.

But Nate is quick, quicker than the bull charging. He jumps forward, grabbing onto the handcuffs before Danse. But that doesn’t stop the Paladin. He climbs over the table before he can even think of formality and tackles Nate to the ground.

“I didn’t do anything wrong!” Nate bellows out.

He tries to push Danse off of him, but both men lose their footing. The Paladin lands on Nate heavily, pushing all the air from his lungs in one faithful swoop. The survivor wheezes as he wiggles and struggles against Danse. He’s an ex’ military man himself, but his mass is nothing compared to the man atop of him. So, using momentum, he brings his knees in under Danse’s torso and throws the other man off.

The Paladin shouts as he flies through the air for a split second before he lands on his shoulder heavily. Nate takes this moment to squirm away. He gets to his feet, but unfortunately for him he doesn’t get far. He lands on his face as a firm hand is wrapped around his ankle. He kicks and tries to shake it off, but the Paladin holds on.

“Come on, Danse!” Nate shouts. “I’ll get out of your hair! You’ll never see me again!”

The Paladin growls like some dog as he gets his knees under him. The sound makes Nate’s gut flip in a way that he shouldn’t be feeling. Not under these circumstances.  

“That’s not the point!” Danse  

He is so glad that they’re the only ones in the Cambridge Station, because Nate doesn’t think he’d be able to live the look down Rhys would shy his way. Having his Paladin on the floor like this, grappling at him to prevent him from running away.

Nate kicks Danse’s hand away and he’s finally able to get back to his feet. Come on, just down the hall and to the left and he’s got the front door all to himself. He’s still got the handcuffs so if Danse comes near him he’ll handcuff him to something solid. He would love to join the Brotherhood, he really would. The familiarity of it all seems so welcoming. Yet, he has to head to Diamond City. He’s already wasted enough time he. Maybe another time if Danse is still hanging around he’ll come back.

But all that hope is short lived as a firm grip on his leather chest piece grabs him from behind. Nate spins around, unlatching the handcuffs and going for Danse’s wrist. Yet, it doesn’t go that far as Nate’s effort from before. With much more nimble fingers than Nate would have expected, Danse prevents the handcuffs from snapping around his wrist. Instead, he grabs the handcuffs from the survivor and pushes him into the nearest room.

Nate falls over himself and into the cold floor of a jail cell. He flips himself onto his back to try and face Danse, to kick him away like some toddler. But the man is quicker than looks. He grabs Nate’s wrists and pulls the man across the floor as if he weighs nothing. The sound that comes from his throat sounds more on the lines of a chook being kicked than anything close to being human.

It’s not until the click of the handcuffs and the bite of the metal in his skin does he register what Danse has just done. He tries to lower his arms down from above his head but the handcuffs only clank loudly against the lower metal bar of the jail cell. Dark blue eyes widen like saucepans as panic settles into Nate’s gut. Along with something that has him crossing his thigh over his crotch.

“Danse!” Nate shouts. “Let me go! All I said is that I don’t want to join the Brotherhood! Just yet! Lemme think about it!” He yanks on the handcuffs, the metal clashing against the bars loudly. “Come on. Scouts honour. You guys still do that these days? Yes?” He blabbers on.  

The Paladin sighs and he kneels down next to Nate, coming down to his level. His hair is dishevelled and falls over his forehead. Nate licks his lips. If only they had met under different circumstances. Maybe then he wouldn’t be handcuffed on his back in front of this man. He’s too handsome for the wasteland. Or the Brotherhood for that matter.

“I just need you to listen,” Danse pleads.

Nate’s lips thin. “Go on.”

Danse breathes out. “You’re a soldier. Even if it isn’t from this time, you’ve got that in your blood. You know how to handle yourself out there. I saw that determination that many brothers and sisters of the Brotherhood wish they had.” He pauses a moment to rake his hair from his face. “I’m just asking you to give us a chance. We can help you further on your look for your son.”

Nate sucks in a breath. He hadn’t thought of that. His mind was so set on his contacts in Diamond City that using the Brotherhood to look for his son could get him further.

“I can offer you caps,” Danse says more firmly, as if he didn’t want it to come to the prospect of money. “I don’t have much else.���

The survivor’s brows furrow deeply. Trying to keep him around with money. He could use the caps, he doesn’t fully understand the value of them in this time but he isn’t stupid. But…

“I don’t want your caps,” Nate snaps.

Danse sighs. “I need the extra man, and I want to be your sponsor. What is it you want in return?”

Nate feels his cheeks suddenly flush red. His gaze flicks up and down Danse’s body, swallowing thickly at the thought. No, he shouldn’t. That would be unethical. Would Danse even…

The silence goes on a for a little too long and the Paladin lets out a ragged sigh. He stands to his full height and Nate’s heart flips at the sudden thought of being left alone here.

“I’ll let you think for a moment, but-“

Nate cuts him off with a loud, “Wait!”

A little too loud and desperate for his own liking that he cringes inwards. He feels so exposed right now. Danse looks down at him with a raised, scarred brow. And that look alone sends a shiver down Nate’s spine. He’s literally belly up, feeling like he’s about to be properly and thoroughly gutted for what he’s about to ask.

From the first time Nate had laid eyes on him, the want had been there. He had spent so long helping Preston out with his milk runs to lessen the salt in his wounds before heading out to Diamond City that he had almost lost track of time. Preston is a kind man and all, but he’s a big softie. And not what Nate went for when he wanted his needs met in his time in the military.

Nora knew of Nate’s antics. It almost became a game at one point before they properly settled down. A game of how high up Nate could go in the ranks to lay in his bed before he was caught or improperly discharged. Never happened though. Was never caught. And the thrill he got off it was enough to keep him going. But like Nora had done, she had brought him down to earth after a close call.

But, why not bring the game up again. And the title of Paladin seems to be a high enough rank to set the bar. He wonders if Danse has thought of him in the same lighting.

He spreads his legs a tad, arching his back up slightly to make a show of himself. “How about you show me what you’ve got, and I’ll consider joining. If you’re good,” he speaks deeply with a sly grin upon his lips.

Danse’s brows furrow and he looks at Nate with utter confusion. “What?” The Paladin mutters out.

Nate blinks. He can’t be… No. He can’t be this dense. Can he? All that brawn and no brains? Or can’t pick up a que for the life of him. No wonder Haylen seems to be drowning in a tide of her own making.

But Danse isn’t dense. He’s just, worried he’s reading the cues wrong. Is Nate truly, asking him what he thinks he’s asking? He knows for a fact that others in the Brotherhood seek out intimacy with others in the fold on a regular basis, but having it offered his way.

It isn’t uncommon. Haylen has tried in the past and he’s just played the dumb card, and it seems to be working so far.

He isn’t blind to the way that Nate has been looking at him. As if he’s a piece of eye candy. And he didn’t want to fall for that. He’s a Paladin. He’s got a reputation. Yet he did send out Rhys and Haylen so he could talk to Nate alone so that he could join the Brotherhood. And he isn’t stupid to see that Nate is a handsome man. There’s a reason he’s so needy to have Nate by his side. Yes, he wants his skill set but there may be a niggling crush that started a few weeks back.

His eyes drag down Nate’s body again, noticing the bulge in the vault suit. He swallows thickly. Nate squirms where he is, suddenly becoming flustered and nervous. Danse’s silence is taken as a negative thing.

The Paladin steps closer to Nate so that he’s standing in front of him. Nate stills at Danse’s towering form, looking blankly up at him. Curious as to what he’s going to do or say.

Danse’s next words come as a bit of surprise to the survivor. “So how would a good time look to you?”

Nate’s eyes widen a tad. So, the Paladin knows how to have a little fun? Doesn’t have a rod shoved up his ass at all times. A sly grin comes across Nate’s face as he looks Danse up and down again.

“I do wonder if things have changed much in the two hundred years I’ve been on ice. Does the Brotherhood-“

Nate is rudely cut off when Danse kicks his legs apart with a boot. The survivor breathes in deeply when Danse kneels down, ass on heels, in between his open legs. The Paladin looks to him with a raised scarred brow, tapping a finger to Nate’s lower thigh.

“You must stop talking about the Brotherhood as if we’re some virgin Marys.” Danse hums. “I don’t think that much has changed in the two hundred years on ice.”

Nate rolls his eyes. “And yet somehow Christianity survived.”

Danse chuckles lightly which is a sound that Nate rolls in. But it’s short lived when the Paladin reaches forward and grabs his knife out of its sheathe on Nate’s chest. The survivor gawks and gawks even further when Danse cuts away at his vault suit around his hips.

“WOAH THERE BESSY!” Nate screams, trying his best sit up but doesn’t get far with the handcuffs. All he does is flap around like a wet fish. Danse scowls as he holds the man down by the hips, his grip deathly. “You’re ruining my vault suit! It’s the only thing I have to wear!” Nate shouts even though its futile as Danse continues to cut away at the blue fabric from his crotch.

It becomes very clear that all this rough handling has gotten to Nate. Gotten him all excited down there that he’s already half hard. Nate bites his lips, watching Danse’s large hands use his own knife on him. He can’t even blame it on the cryo-freeze for his fucked up way of thinking. He was like this before.

“You won’t need this,” Danse comments as he twirls the knife in hand. “I have a Brotherhood uniform you’ll be put in.”

Nate can’t help but look at him wide eyed before laughing softly to himself, finding it all humorous. “You seem confident in your abilities of a good lay,” he chortles.

Danse can’t help the smile that forms on his rugged features. A shiver runs down Nate’s spine, curiosity now peaked.

“So, you ripped everyone’s clothes off as foreplay?” Nate asks as he lets his legs fall open wider.

Finally, a flush of red tips at the Paladin’s ears and for a second, he looks at Nate with wide eyes. But he composes himself all the quicker. He wonders if Danse’s heart is just as loud as Nate’s in his ears. He ignores the survivors jab, and instead setting the knife down and away from harming either of them. He begins undoing the collar of his uniform, undoing the small buckle that holds it all together. Nate watches hungrily as Danse unzips himself from the confides of the orange material revealing the muscle the wasteland has gifted him.

Hauling himself around in the power armour all hours of every day has been a blessing in disguise. His large pecs are covered in thick hair and it runs all the way down his stomach. Nate’s eyes follow Danse’s hands as he shrugs his uniform off his broad shoulders. The tightness of the uniform wasn’t lying. There is a Greek statue underneath. It’s too bad his hands are cuffed at the moment because he wants to touch Danse so badly right now.

“I’ve got gun oil in my satchel,” Nate utters out before Danse can lay any hands on him. “I would grab it but.” He makes a show of clanging his handcuffs against the bars.

“I know,” Danse says as he rummages into the satchel. He comes out with a small bottle that Nate was saving for his rifle, but it’s needed for better uses right now.

“You could let me go,” Nate comments.

The Paladin looks to him with a cocky expression. “I know,” he repeats himself.

Nate only huffs at that, but his annoyance is cut short when an oiled hand wraps around his cock. He hisses through his teeth, having finally being touched after all this talking. He pants lightly as Danse works him to a full erection, his gaze focused solely on the task at hand. He twists his wrist and even thumbs at the head of Nate’s cock, working up to a quickening pace.

Nate collects himself the best he can, his next words shaky, “A hand job isn’t going to get me all that convinced to follow you to the Brotherhood.”

“Were you discharged?” Danse suddenly asks, his dark eyes flicking up to Nate. He keeps his pace on the survivor, unwavering.

“No,” Nate bites back a groan. “I was given leave on my own accord.”

Danse hums at that. As if not believing it himself. Yet it’s true. Nate is just one lucky bastard he’ll give himself that. His entire time in the military was one lucky shot after another. Maybe he just has that on his side, luck.

“Was your time serving a negative one?” Danse asks. “Does that notion to your hesitance to let me sponsor you?”

Nate’s close and he really wishes the Paladin would shut up with these questions so that he can concentrate. He pulls on the handcuffs, letting the metal cut into his skin.

“No. Maybe.” Nate squeezes his eyes shut. “Wasn’t the most pleasant time on the battlefield but who would love getting shot at, aye?”

Danse hums again and Nate swears to God if he does that again he’s going to snap.

“Is this your go to sex talk?” Nate asks through a groan. “Talk of war and shit?”

“Do you ever shut up?” Danse snaps.

That makes the survivor snap his mouth shut. But his silence does not last long as a slicked finger enters his ass without warning. His back arches off the ground slightly at first, but he becomes the full on bridge of London when a second is quickly added and nudges at his prostate. Nate gasps loudly, whining and keening as Danse prods and fucks his two fingers into him all while in pace with jerking the survivor off.

Nate recovers the best he can, panting as he straightens himself up. Danse’s hands follow him through his squirming though, not letting up once.

“You’re the one asking all the question, Danse,” Nate whines out.

The Paladin only raises a scarred brow at that. Nate gives up and slams the back of his head against the floor. His hips rut up, twitching and fluttering upwards. He’s close. If Danse just-

Everything stops and Nate finds himself whining out before he can stop himself. He looks at Danse wide eyed who in return, has a prideful grin on his features. Something rare to see on the Paladin.

“Danse, now this is just torture,” Nate grimaces, his cock throbbing.

“A big thing in the Brotherhood to be taught, is patience,” Danse decides a lesson now is the best time.

The survivor slams his head against the floor again with a loud groan. Maybe he should’ve tried to get out of here earlier. Trusted his gut to not get caught up in the handsome man in a big power suit. He’s got a type, sue him.

But Nate comes back to reality when he feels the head of Danse’s cock brush against his ass. He shivers as he looks up again. He exhales shakily, flinching ever so slightly back as Danse towers over him. He hooks Nate’s hips onto his own and folds the man up slightly. Nate swallows thickly, allowing himself to be manoeuvred around.

Danse’s cock sits next to his and he can’t help but stare. The Gods have favourites and Danse is one of them. He has at least two inches on top of Nate and an upwards curve that the survivor lacks.

“Staring is something we beat out of the Initiates very early on,” Danse comments, causing Nate’s gaze to quickly flick up to meet his. “We can start now if you want?”

“You haven’t shown me a good time yet, Danse. I’m not joining just yet,” Nate bites back with a cocky grin. “All you’ve done is jerk me around and show off your cock.”

Danse’s ears flush a bright red, but he keeps his composure. “Like I said, patience is a key factor within the Brotherhood.”

Nate grimaces as the Paladin shifts slightly, his cock moving against his own. He’s so sensitive every single touch makes him flinch and hic.

“I haven’t even joined up yet,” Nate huffs, slowly losing the fight.

“I’m a good sense of character.”

The survivor finally snaps, his voice much weaker than he intends it to be. “Danse! I swear to God if you don’t fuck me right now or do something I’m going to break my thumbs out of these cuffs! Please! Danse, just- please…”

Somehow, the Paladin’s ears fluff an even brighter red. “We’ll have to work on your manners as well,” he comments.

“I’ll work on that later,” Nate whines, his head becoming light. God he’s hitting a delirious state and Danse hasn’t even stuck his cock in yet.

“Later?”

“DANSE!”

With a soft chuckle, Danse grabs the base of his cock and lines it up to Nate’s entrance. The survivor holds his breath as he feels the head enter with only a little resistance. He clenches his hands into fists as Danse pulls out slightly to thrust in a little further. The further he pushes in, the less air Nate is able to suck in. He breathes shallowly, half of his exhales being pure moans as Danse thrusts in further inch by inch. With a little more gun oil that makes Nate flinch a little, the Paladin is able to bottom out.

There’s a feeble sting but the way that Danse fills him out is enough to make Nate wordless. He can’t even form words as Danse fucks into him from this angle, almost folded in half and unable to touch the man above him. He’s never had anyone as big as Danse and it makes Nate wonder if he should’ve gone out of his way to do so. Cause the Paladin’s cock hits stuff that haven’t been touched before.

He keens and twitches with each pass over his prostate. It feels like sparks lighting up his insides with each thrust. Danse keeps his hand beside Nate’s head as he used his body to him in his place with his head bowed between his shoulders. Nate’s cock goes untouched though and it’s driving him inside. His tip touches his stomach but its not enough. He needs more.

“D- ah- ah-Danse,” Nate stutters out. “Pleas- ah! Touch me-e- nghah- hah- please…”

Dark brown eyes meet his own and Nate shivers violently. He’s so close that he physically shakes. He wants to touch Danse but these goddamn handcuffs, he tugs on them again to hear the loud clang, an awful reminder.

“I want you to come just by me, and only me,” Danse orders, his drive unstopping.

The noise that comes from Nate’s mouth is something that is unmasculine. He shakes his head, forcing himself to look up at the ceiling again.

“Come on, Nate.”

Danse grabs his face, squishing his cheeks and making him look back to the Paladin. Nate huffs loudly, unable to make any words.

“I’ve seen you fight,” Danse continues. “Follow orders. You can do this for me just as well as outside these doors.”

Nates face is let go and Danse shifts him higher so that his knees are pressing against his chest. The new angle has Danse driving right into that delicious bundle of nerves with each pass. Nate tries to hide his face into his shoulder the best he can, each moan and pant muffled into his vault suit.

“Da- Danse.”

“Come for me, and the Brotherhood will just be like this if you let me sponsor you.”

“Yes. Yes,” Nate rambles out without even realizing.

Danse’s words jostle around Nate’s numb mind, and as much as the survivor wants to let this moment last a little bit longer, he can’t. He can’t. He cries out loudly as he comes onto his stomach, hot and sticky. His whole body spasms in the Paladin’s hold and he feels like he’s just been shot with electricity. He clenches down around Danse who stutters in his movements. And that seems to send him over the edge as well. He can’t retreat out of Nate fast enough before he’s coming inside of him.

Seems like the Paladin was trying to hold off as long as possible as well.

Nate shakes and pants loudly where he is. His mind is numb, and he keeps his eyes squeezed shut. He whines when Danse pulls out, as if missing him already. He doesn’t even register Danse putting him back down onto the floor until the Paladin is standing above him. With wide, dark blue eyes he watches the Paladin walk off and out of the room.

He blinks and licks his lips. No way. No way he just got fucked to high heaven, had probably the best orgasms in a long time and has just been left cuffed to a two-hundred-year-old jail cell.

Nate clears his throat before shouting, “DANSE!?”

He doesn’t get a response back and he feels his gut sink. He’s still shaking, as if coming down from some drug high. So much for joining the Brotherhood! That double crossing fu-

Danse comes back into the room with a soft, “Sorry.”

He holds a Brotherhood of Steel uniform in hand and sets it down beside Nate. He’s done up his own uniform, hiding away that Greek statue structure.

“Are you joining?” Danse asks with his big brown eyes staring directly into Nate’s like some lost pup. If Nate gets to see those browns every time after sex, than sign him up. But one can’t blame him for being a tease.

“I don’t know, I wasn’t fully convinced there,” Nate grins sheepishly. “Might have to go another round or two.”

Danse makes an act to stand up and leave again.

“NO!” Nate shouts suddenly. “I’M JOKING! DANSE! DON’T YOU LEAVE ME HERE YOU-“

He stops when Danse raised a scarred brow his way.

“I’ll join.” Nate stumbles out. “I’ll join your merry crew and let you sponsor me,” he blurts out.

That earns him a soft smile from the Paladin. “Wasn’t that hard now was it?”

Nate scoffs, trying to sink into the floor the best he can. “Do you have the key?” He grumbles out.

At this, Danse’s smile falls from his face and his brows furrow. “I thought you had the key.”

-

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[sweetcocopowder]

A Damsel in Distress - Paladin Danse x Nate / Male Sole Survivor

Synopsis: A distress signal comes over the Cambridge Police Station radio that has Danse racing out of there quicker than he can think.

Word Count: 3.1K

Genre: Angst

Warnings: Angst. Gore.

Notes: This is me dipping my toes into the fallout 4 universe. so give me some leeway, i wanted to challenge myself by writing this. enjoy :)

The crackling of the radio doesn’t grab the attention of the Paladin at first. His mind too focused on repairing a loose hinge in the right elbow of his power armour that had been bugging him for days. Whenever he’s out of the hulking metal, he always feels vulnerable. Not small per say or weak. A Paladin must know that they can handle themselves in and out of the armour. Yet he’s so use to wearing it almost twenty four hours a day that it’s become second nature within it.

The radio crackles again, louder this time with a voice mixed in underneath all the intense white noise. Paladin Danse stops short, wrench still in hand and looks over to the orange box. It’s not often that distress signals have been picked up. The station that they use is only for people of the Brotherhood or familiar with them.

Scribe Haylen has already wondered over to the radio, adjusting the dial. The whole police station falls into silence as Haylen tries her best to tune into the signal. Even Rhys is watching from afar at the table. But soon he moves back to whatever he was doing, head bowed between his shoulders.  

“…. -bridge Police Station,” finally a voice is clear over the radio and Danse can’t help the feeling of his stomach sinking low into his stomach. “I need assistance. Surrounded by raiders! I’m holding myself in the- shit where am I?” A few passing moments of ragged breathing, filled with phlegm and other liquids in the throat, “Some Regional Office and I’ve-” a groan admits itself through the radio followed by a shaky exhale. “Got myself pretty shot up this time.”

Danse may have only met the man a month ago, but he knows Nate’s voice when he hears it. Right elbow joint be damned, he’s jumping into his power armour before he knows it. Haylen is already on her feet and packing her things up.

A large metal hand on her back is quick to stop her in her tracks. “I need you and Rhys to stay here while I go out and retrieve the Initiate,” Danse speaks firmly.

“I think that’s unwise, Paladin,” Haylen speaks up, standing to attention.

But Danse doesn’t budge no matter how dedicated she is to be leaving with him. “I don’t want this base of operations to be compromised or unattended in case of an attack. I intrust Knight Rhys to overlook this base until my return. There will be no further argument.”

Haylen’s shoulders faulter a little. “What about medical supplies?”

“Where is the location of his whereabouts?” Danse asks, getting to the point quickly.

Scribe Haylen shrugs her pack off her shoulders and grabs out a device from within. She holds it out to the Paladin with some urgency.

“I sent him to BADTFL Regional Office to retrieve the haptic drive. Trek east and you’ll run into it within the hour,” Haylen says. “This-“ she flicks a switch on the device and a slow beep admits from it, “-will lead you right to the signal he’s emitting.”

The Paladin takes the device and looks it over with a bleak expression. It’s almost small within the hands of the T-60, hard to hold onto. But he grasps onto it, unwilling to let go all the same.

“I value your help greatly, Scribe,” Danse thanks in his own way. “I will retrieve him and will be back in just over two hours. If I am not here with Nate when the third hour rolls over, then I give you permission to act.”

And with that, he flips his helmet on and loads his cell rifle before travelling east. He knows going into this alone is stupid and selfish. But he can’t allow his small patrol to be dispersed because of his own need to make sure that Nate is alright. This thing that has decided to make itself at home inside of the Paladin’s chest that makes him feel unable to breathe.

With each block he passes, he can’t help but let his worry grow deeper and deeper. The tightness in his chest becoming a little too much for his own liking. He shouldn’t be feeling this way. No. He shouldn’t be letting himself feel this way. He can’t let himself get close to anyone again. This is purely for the Brotherhood. And nothing more.

But every time the pulse of the signal becomes stronger, becomes quicker he can’t help but let himself feel. The steady beep of the device almost ricochets inside of the Paladin’s brain. He can feel a headache coming along.

He is also well aware that it was Haylen’s needs that has gotten Nate in this predicament, but it is no fault of hers. Nate has shown himself capable many times before. Completing mission after mission for both Haylen and Rhys and reporting back each time with success. A few scrapes and bruises is all that he has been wounded with but nothing this serious. He hasn’t doubted Nate for a moment, seeing on more than one occasion that he can handle himself if not more. He’s been by his side with the synths and Danse saw a soldier, not a scared man that will hide and cower. Not like any of other’s he’s come across within the Commonwealth. Nate’s different.

-

Arriving at the Regional Office, it’s a little too silent for the Paladin’s liking. The distress signal beeps at a quickened pace in one hand as Danse holds his rifle in the other. There’s no one out the front and with no time to delay, he barges through the front door with his gun locked and loaded. Scoping the front entrance, he’s met with a front desk and rummage. No life can be seen.

Walking further in, the only sound being his heavy footsteps and the quickening pulse of the distress signal, he becomes unnerved. He keeps his gun out at the ready, holding it a little awkwardly but he can’t complain at this given moment. His eyes dart back and forth, waiting for something to happen.

Three raiders are dead on the floor in the next room. All pocketed with bullet wounds that seep red into the old wooden floorboards. A switchblade sticks out of the neck of one, his face contorted into permanent horror that has Danse staring a little too long. He continues forward, noting of the busted turret that dangles from its wires on the ceiling.

A muffled argument strikes the Paladin’s attention and, he slows his movements the best he can inside his T-60. He looks into an office like room where three raiders are. He switches the distress tracker off before they become alerted of his presence.

“It’s us three against him!” The only woman shouts harshly into the face of the other two.

The scrawnier raider of the bunch slides down the table with a shaky groan. He holds his side, his hand coated with fresh blood. His grimy face is pale and Danse can tell from here that he isn’t going to last much longer.

“Two against one,” the injured man groans out.

The woman scowls deeply, her yellow teeth like dog fangs that bare something dangerous. She pulls a pipe pistol from her belt and shoots the injured man in the temple without a thought. His body convulses before falling to the side and becoming horrifyingly still. She then turns to the remaining raider, waving the gun in his face.

“Are you with me to kill that son of a bitch?” She snarls.

He pushes the gun from his face forcefully, almost tearing it from her hand. “Of course!”

Why Raiders do what they do, Danse will never truly understand. Was that man not a part of her crew? Not even a second thought to end his life instead of to try and save it. Less mouths to feed. He’s heard that come from a Raider’s mouth before and it makes Danse sick. Never in his life in the Brotherhood has he seen someone put someone down like a dog so inhumanly.

The Paladin places the device in the dip of his chest plating and takes his rifle’s safety off. As soon as the woman turns her back to head into the other room, Danse charges. He crosses the room before the two raiders are even able to turn around at the charging bull coming their way. Something blinds him as he acts, something he hasn’t felt in quite some time.

Danse shoulder barges the man, throwing him across the room into a filing cabinet. The woman stumbles backwards into the wall, eyes as wide as saucepans. She pulls her pistol but Danse is quicker. It takes five rounds for her to fall. She slides down against the wall, her yellow teeth bared as if they were ready to bite.  

The last raider struggles to rise to his feet. He tries to crawl away, his breath ragged and shallow. Paladin Danse steps over to him with a frown deep set on his face. He can hear the slow drag of each breath, blood clotting and rising in the back of his throat. A punctured lung.

But despite being on the verge of death, the raider jumps forward with the last bit of strength he has. He dives for the pistol still gripped in the woman’s grasp. But as before, Danse is the quicker draw.  

-

The room the raiders were heading to leads down a ramp that opens to a cell. An old prison that Danse has no time to wonder what use to happen here in Nate’s time. It’s dark and there’s not much light getting in through the leaf clotted windows. He turns on his head lamp, lighting his way towards the stairs on the other side of the cell. As Danse passes the steel bars in his search for Nate, the sound of a hammer to a gun cocking catches his attention.

Danse looks into the cell, his head lamp lighting up the shadows. In the corner, something that he didn’t see before is quick to catch his attention. In his blue vault suit and mismatched armour pieces of leather and combat, is the man Danse was looking for.

“Nate?” Danse calls out.

A pained, hearty chuckle comes from the corner that is none other than the vault dweller’s. Quicker and a bit more drastic than he should have, Danse opens up the cell door and stomps inside.

The entire right side of the vault suit is coloured red where Nate holds onto a leaking wound. His usually tanned face is pale as a ghost, sweat dripping and beading down his temple. Yet, even though he trembling from the lack of blood he still has a cocky smile upon his lips.

Bandages and other first aid equipment is spewed around him in a shitty attempt to bound his own wound. At the sight, Danse is quick to exit his power armour. The fat metal digits of the power armour are not going to be able to flirt around the finer details of bandaging up Nate. He doesn’t even think about how foreign it is to be outside of his power armour. His mind his appointed to Nate curled up in the corner of the cell.

“Report to me, Initiate,” Danse says, needing the vault dweller to talk to him.

He gathers up the medical supplies and even reaches forward to search into the pouches on Nate’s webbing belt. Nate groans at the sudden movement and watches Danse with hazy dark blue eyes. The Paladin stops for a moment and looks at the blood weeping from between his fingers. He can’t let himself become panicked in this moment.

“I said report to me,” Danse speaks more firmly. “That’s an order.”

Before Nate can utter a word, Danse moves his hand away to assess the damage. A bullet is still lodged in his side, the wound a deep hole in his side. No exit wound.

“Got shot,” Nate bites back through gritted teeth. Short and blunt, but at least he’s talking.  

Danse glances a glare his way as he begins to twists a bandage in his fingers. “How?” He asks.

Anything to keep Nate aware. He needs to keep him talking.

“I hoped it would be you to come,” Nate speaks with a thick slur. “My knight in shining armour.”

Danse doesn’t warn Nate as he digs the bandage deep into his bullet wound. The vault dweller barks out in pain, grabbing out onto Danse’s shoulder to try and keep himself grounded. Danse pushes him back, his head hitting the wall with a light thud. Nate breathes in heavily and grinds his heels into the ground as Danse pushes more bandages inside the wound to stop the bleeding for now. All until he can get Nate back to the station.

“Now is not the time for jokes and quips,” Danse adds before he rips off the remaining of the bandage with his teeth.

Cleanliness is something that cannot be thought of at this given moment. He needs Nate out of here before he becomes another victim of the harsh reality of the commonwealth. He just needs to get him to the station where Haylen can patch him up properly.

“The turret got me,” Nate grits out through his teeth. “Didn’t see it until the last minute.”

“And you got this far afterwards?” Danse asks.

Nate grins at that. “Also got pretty beat up. Didn’t expect a…” he wonders off for a moment, his breathing becoming shallow before he perks up again, “didn’t expect a baseball bat to hurt that badly.” He quirks even in his near death state.

The Paladin doesn’t say anything else to that as he wraps the remaining bandage around Nate’s torso. He pulls it tight, keeping pressure on the wound. Nate flinches at every movement, squeezing his eyes shut with his jaw set tightly. Danse looks over his handy work and deems it able to last the trip back. Not perfect, but good enough.

“Can you stand?” Danse asks.

Nate looks at him bleakly through squinted eyes. His trembling isn’t as bad as it was before, but he looks as if holding his head up is a mission.

“I’ll take that as a no,” the Paladin answers to himself.

He gathers Nate’s things back into his pouches and quickly realizes the man is out of stimpacks. Stupid mistake. Coming out here with barely anything on him. Does he think himself invisible!?

Danse stands up and walks back over to his power armour. Without a word, he enters it and heavy metal sets back into place. He now feels more at home inside of the T-60, now coming to the realization that his back was unprotected the entire time he was patching Nate up. Stupid move. But it’s much safer inside 110 pounds of pure steel and machinery. He can protect himself and most importantly, Nate.

He walks over to Nate and as careful as he can, picks him up like some husband taking his wife away to his honeymoon. Nate groans and hisses in pain as the movement pulls and tugs on his side and all the other bruised and bashed places he’s been struck over. The bullet probably not feeling all to comfortable either still wedged in between muscle. Nate holds onto one of the bars on the Paladin’s chest piece with his head dipped between his shoulders.

Danse moves in a hurry out of the building all while trying to not jostle Nate around too much. He just has to make the trip back to the police station.

-

“A true damsel in distress,” are the first words that come from Rhys’s mouth as Paladin Danse walks through the doors.  

Haylen ignores the Knight. She keeps her distance until the Paladin has set Nate down onto a table that she has place into the middle of the side room specifically for him. Danse takes three steps back as Haylen instantly gets to work. She has the basic medical training but has had to learn more from being around the Knight and the Paladin.

“Rhys a need some purified water,” Scribe Haylen instructs without taking her eyes off of Nate.

“What?”

“Now!” She snaps in a tone that both of them rarely seen.

Rhys grumbles as he goes into the back room, leaving them for now. Haylen steadily takes the bandaging off of Nate’s torso, not knowing the full extent of his wounds.

Danse takes his helmet off, the locks hissing and releasing as he does. “As far as I’ve taken note, there is a bullet still in his side and he’s taken multiple hits with a blunt object,” he informs to her.

“Thank you, Paladin,” she says, her voice monotoned with her mind deep on the task at hand.

Nate groans as he moves his hand to his waist, his blood slicked fingers unclipping one of his pouches. He slips out a small device, something that Danse doesn’t recognise at first. But when he holds it out to Haylen, she stops cold.

The Haptic Drive is held between his bloody fingers.

Haylen takes it off him with her mouth a gape. He still got the damn device. Even after all that happen to him.

“Told you I’d get it,” Nate grins as he peers through one narrow eye.

“You stupid man,” Haylen mumbles as she takes it from him.

She sets it aside before returning back to patching Nate up. His priority over the bullet in his side worries Danse for a moment. But he’s seen this happen within the Brotherhood so many times over he can’t truly count them all. Despite being a man out of time, a man from the past. Nate fits into the Commonwealth a little too well.

It could be his military past. Or is pure need to get his son back. But whatever drives him is something that Danse rarely sees within the Commonwealth again. He is aware that Nate’s ranking is unofficial at this moment, but he truly wishes that other members of the Brotherhood could see Nate. Maybe he could inspire people within the Brotherhood. To keep fighting and to keep moving forward.

Danse could deny it a little bit longer for his own sake. Keep himself chin high in work and patrols. But he’ll give himself the benefit of the doubt that Nate’s actions have given Danse a new drive forward. Something he hasn’t felt in a long, long time.

-

:)

[sweetcocopowder]

Three Christmas Nights | Paladin Danse / Nate (Male Sole Survivor)

Synopsis: Nate enjoys three Christmas's in the wasteland, all different, all held in different places. Yet his mind is always on one person despite his best efforts. And he wonders if said man can love someone has damaged as him.

Word Count: 7.5K

Genre: Sad, sappy yet heartfelt

Warnings: Depressive thoughts. Self loathing. Guilt. Pining. Alcoholism.

Note: I wish you all a Merry Christmas. There might not be any more posts other than my other Danse/Nate series for this yet. Only cause I've got the chapters ready from ao3. But other than that, happy holidays and a blessed new year.

The first Christmas Nate had spent in the Wasteland, a man out of time and place, it was high in the sky aboard the Prydwyn. Only newly under Paladin Danse’s wing and fresh into the Brotherhood, it felt more like home than anything else in this bazaar place. It was military, and Nate knew military. Knows guns. Knows the smells. Knows the way of command. So, despite finding Elder Maxson a little straight forward and with a few outlandish ideas of his own, Danse is what had him keeping around.

Being honest, Nate had hung up his dog tags along ago. Kept them hidden in the bedroom closet so he wouldn’t have to look at them. Nora adored them though. Found no shame in it, only pride that he had gone and fought for his country. Even though it had gotten them nowhere in the end.

Yet, the U.S military had survived and was transformed into the Brotherhood of Steel, changing and morphing into a being of its own over the past two centuries. With its own morals and beliefs, even though some have Nate cringing on the inside. He had learnt long ago to keep his dislikes on the inside and to shut up within military standards. It has cost him getting beaten and bruised through multiple training session with no sleep or water.

He had just hoped that Elder Maxson wouldn’t punish him too harshly if he stepped out of line. He stuck by the Paladin the most, hoping that hiding by his massive form he could keep in the good books. The Paladin had already written him off as an efficient man, willing to help and keep in order. He just hoped he could keep to that with all the chaos pinballing around in his head. So much had to be done in such a little time.

Which is why he was surprised that in such a strict and tight chain of command aboard the Prydwyn, Christmas was celebrated on the main deck. Nate had watched from the upper decks at first, wondering just how long this would go on for. Ingrim was nowhere to be found, and Knights and Initiates had taken over the power armour deck. Drinks were passed around, stuff that had been freshly brewed from a settlement close by that indulges itself in a small still. Supplies both the Brotherhood and Diamond City. The alcohol is meant to be used for wounds and supplied to Keagen. But they had gotten something a little extra, something infused with berries and other spices that the Wasteland still had to offer.

When the party had gone on for longer than an hour, Nate had become more so impressed. No sign of Elder Maxson or Lancer. With curiosity peaked, he had ventured down with a skip in his step to seek out either of the men. He wasn’t a tattle tale, god no. He just wanted to find out why. It wasn’t like Maxson, from what Nate had figured out with this man, he had thought that there wouldn’t be time for a party with the “Threat of the Institute still about.”

Who Nate had found instead in the canteen had been Paladin Danse, standing off to the side in his power armour watching everyone like a hawk. When he had spotted Nate, he had stood up straighter and his eyebrows had perked up. Something akin to a dog seeing their owner, but the survivor would never say such a thing out loud. He probably be told to run laps around the Boston Airport. Twice.

“I thought you’d be against all of this,” Nate had spoken up first, looping his fingers into the front of his belt.

He had swapped out his vault blue suit to an orange Brotherhood uniform by the Paladin’s command. He had said it would be the proper means of things to be wearing the orange instead of keeping to the old blue. Nate would have to admit, the Brotherhood uniform is much comfier than that tight vault suit. It liked to ride up in places that weren’t meant to be ridden up in.

Paladin Danse had shaken his head ever so slightly. “I convinced Elder Maxson it would be good for morale, in exchange I watch over this little get together,” he had said. “In case anyone decides to get too rough, I’ll step in. I’ve taken responsibility.”

Which had taken Nate completely off guard. Maybe he had taken the Paladin for a complete stick in the mud. A man that takes everything by the books and to the T. It had left him speechless for a good few seconds, having to collect himself with a small, shocked scoff.

“Well then,” Nate had started with a smirk. “I guess I can’t offer you a drink?”

And the offer had gone right over the Paladin’s head. “If I am to be on watch, I need to be sober and ready for anything.”

Nate had nodded with his bottom lip pouted out. Somehow, a man that likes to keep up morale against his Elder’s wishes but a man that won’t step out of line for said morale. What a gentleman.

“Enjoy your post, Paladin,” Nate had bid his fair well to enjoy the party at its fullest then, or the liquor for the most part.

Thus, Nate had drank himself drunk that night on the Prydwyn. He doesn’t remember much, just that the alcohol tasted like sour grapes and rotten apples. But he had drank it anyways, the need to get drunk the driving focus of the night. He didn’t want to think how far out of time he was. He didn’t want to think of how everything around him had changed so drastically. He didn’t want to think that his wife was dead. He didn’t want to think that everyone and everything he knew was gone. That his son was still missing. And that he had somehow ended back up with a gun in his hand and inside a rank with a purpose to kill.

The talking had gotten very loud at one point and the amount of alcohol slushing around in his gut wasn’t ideal. With a womble in his step, he had ventured down to the bottom decks of the Prydwyn with no recollection of how he had gotten there. All he remembered is curling up against one of the storage containers and calling it a night with the taste of rotten apples on his tongue.

He doesn’t remember how he had gotten back into his cot, yet he had woken up there. Tucked in like what his mum use to do for him when he was six. Not even his friends in college had taken him back to his dorm when they found him passed out drunk out in the middle of the football field. All they had done was take pictures and said pictures would be passed around for the next few weeks to have a good laugh at.

But, waking up hung over, filled to the brim with emotions and tucked into bed, it was the glass of water on the table next to the cot that had sent him over the edge. He hadn’t cried when he saw his wife dead in the vault. He hadn’t cried when he had seen his home in ruins. He hadn’t cried when he had to venture across the Commonwealth by foot to seek out his son. Hadn’t cried when he was almost eaten alive by a Deathclaw. But it was the thought that, maybe it isn’t all that bad here, that had the tears rolling down his face. That some bastard here actually cared.

He had cried under his blankets that morning like he did when he was six years old.

The second Christmas Nate had spent in this wasteland, a General of the Minuteman and now known as the sole survivor, was spent on the ground within the safety of the Castle walls. The Minutemen had grown vastly and graciously over the year with Nate’s help. Many settlements had joined the course to help other communities and keep themselves afloat in this dangerous wasteland. Sticking together and making sure your neighbour isn’t going to slit your throat was Nate’s biggest leading factor to take his role seriously for Preston.

He will have to admit, the mayor of Good Neighbour had inspired Nate a lot. Hancock had helped him find his way and set his foot back on the good little path with his own morales, even if the ghoul didn’t realize it. Nate can still remember his speech he had given his community, his people. It had made the survivor want to know the ghoul better. Find out what made the ghoul tick.

He had found out a lot more than jet and mentats.

But this snowy Christmas, he had spent it surrounded by people he had grown fond of, proud of even. Preston had stuck close by him that night, talked about his General in such a light that it had made Nate blush. He would have asked the handsome man to his bed, but guilt had sprung just as quickly to his chest along with many other mixed emotions he couldn’t of named for the life of him. He didn’t want to hurt the poor man’s heart by asking him for a one night stand with a man that would leave him in the morning. Preston is too good for Nate’s own selfishness for a little pleasure and leisure. Nate’s mind had wondered to the Prydwyn on the horizon and one resident upon her decks.

Would there be another get together this year? On the main deck with that rotten apple alcohol. Or maybe it tastes better this year and they’ve gotten their recipe right in the year that they’ve been using their stills. Would Danse be overlooking that party? Making sure no kid falls down the stairs drunk. Make sure that no one lets the mole rats out.

Maybe he never even convinced Maxson this year to let the kids have a get together for morale. Or maybe he did. Flashing those big brown eyes of his, he can almost get away with anything. He lacks charisma, but it’s his caring that makes up for it. Maybe those eyes of his hold some spell that he unknowingly casts over everyone that looks upon them. That one gets so lost in them that all you have to do is agree and nod and go along with Danse so that he doesn’t realize you haven’t been listening the entire time.

Or maybe that’s just Nate getting caught up in the trance that Danse has over him. Maybe he should hop and skip over to the Prydwyn, see what he’s up to this fine night.

He had gone to stand, gone to grab his gun to make the trip over to the airport. Had the determination of a mule to get through the snow and the raiders to get to the Prydwyn. But the only place he had gotten, was the cold Castle floor.

This time, he had woken up where he had fallen. The morning light had blinded him, his head already pounding with the fall and the left-over alcohol in his system. No glass of water. No soft cot to wake up to. No one had moved him, they all but lay a thin blanket over him and called it a night. Did no one ask why he had a gun in hand? Why he smelt stronger of whiskey than when he had left the party? Why he was dressed up in his General’s uniform to go somewhere than to sleep in his own bed?

His head had pounded too much to be caring about that so early in the day. With the little strength he had left, he had crawled back to his warm bed and fallen asleep to the sounds of the busy Castle around him. The lapping of the icy waves outside had lulled him to a deep sleep. One that took him to the late evening where a haze of a storm had begun to brew.

Preston had commented he had slept like the dead, woken by no one. Reminded Nate of his grandpa that died in his sleep for some reason in that moment. Such a morbid thing to think, yet it had come by so quickly that he didn’t have time to stop it.

He had died at the age of sixty-eight, just before Nate had been drafted for the war.  

The third Christmas Nate had spent in the Wasteland, now the known saviour of the Commonwealth, was celebrated up north in Sanctuary Hills with Danse by his side. No longer Paladin, the man had turned to the Minutemen for help a few months after finding out his true nature. A synth.

What a true kick in the teeth. To be raised and taught everything within the Brotherhood. To have your own morales be in line with the Brotherhood. To have such trust and admiration for your brothers and sisters, to only have it all taken away underneath his feet within a few seconds.

The data that Nate had pulled from the Institute had names and genetical signatures of every synth that they had let out into the wasteland. And Danse had been an identical match to M7-97.

Nate could recall the feeling of dread when Maxson had told him the news and all in the same breath, ordered him to execute Danse himself. That’s when he had seen the Brotherhood had a lost cause. That’s when he had taken Maxson’s orders with a sneer curling at his lips and left the Prydwyn with Haylen calling after him.

She didn’t have to convince him. He had already made up his mind that he was going to find Danse and protect him with all his might. Danse had done so much for Nate and to think that Maxson wanted him to be the one to put a bullet between those brown eyes. It made him sick. Sicker than that rotten apple liquor.

Nate had found him, pacing back and forth down inside Listening Post Bravo. Before the survivor could get a word out, Danse had called himself everything he had said ill about synths. All that hatred and loathing towards a race was now aimed at himself and his very being. Everything he was made to be, everything he thought he was, was now just made to be destroyed and thrown out like the inhumane trash he was. He saw himself as nothing, so quickly. It has scared Nate solid.

He hadn’t brought a gun with him. Had travelled all that way to Danse, all that way to across the wasteland to show he wasn’t there to kill. But Danse had a gun, off to the side already loaded. Nate had stared at it for far too long as Danse had rambled on. How he had to be the example not the exception.

“SHUT UP!”

It was out before he could stop it.

Danse had stared at him with those brown eyes of his. And that time, Nate didn’t see that solid determination he once held onto for support. That stern, stone cold look that still looked out into the world with care and admiration. All he saw was tears, brimming to those brown eyes that Danse was holding back with great effort. All he saw was a kid. Somewhere when Nate had been staring at the gun, Danse had gotten down on his knees only making the man look small. Small and defenceless.

Nate stills sees that image in his head from day to day. But that had been six months ago now.

Tonight, it’s all about how lively Sanctuary Hills is. It’s about the celebration of the destruction of the Institute. It’s about a new age for the Commonwealth that no one thought was even possible. Enough food has been prepared in advance that three Castles could survive on for weeks.

Snow had not yet arrived in the Commonwealth yet. A late one for Christmas this year but a chill in there air could be felt nevertheless. Everyone wears a scarf or an old beanie. Nate is just hoping to rely on the alcohol to stay warm tonight.

Dinner is served underneath the large, dead tree at the end of Nate’s old street. The branches are strung and lit up with old Christmas lights and ornaments that the children have made. It was Codsworth that had helped to put it all up. More than thrilled to help out around the place and to see the old block look festive once again. It had made Nate warm inside to see the old bot have at least some sort of nostalgia from the past.

So, Nate now stands in the middle of a vast group of people. All strangers to him but they all know him as well as if he sent them Christmas cards every year. A lot of handshakes. A lot of fake laughing. A lot of trying to remember names. And a lot of pats on the back that make him feel oddly numb. All this praise and all this, hope that Nate has given these people is… it doesn’t feel real. He’s spent over two years in the wastelands now and his hair has grown out to his shoulders, his beard freshly trimmed for the occasion. He looks like a different man than when he came out of the vault. A man that’s been shaped by the horrors of the wasteland.

He wears his General’s uniform, lacking the coat in favour of a scarf. He wanted to be as casual as possible but still people treat him like he’s some saint. Someone to be formal around and praise and… everything that Nate doesn’t feel like he is.

He had spotted Valentine and Piper around five minutes ago, but they had kept to the side lines. And Nate doesn’t blame them. The amount of people surrounding Nate is insane. He thought he saw Deacon before, but he doesn’t know if it was him or not in some disguise.

Yet, despite knowing that there’s people here that he’s travelled with, people he’s gone through thick and thin with his mind is only on one person. His dark blue eyes scan the crowd for one man in particular. Danse. He hasn’t seen him since earlier this evening. And he doesn’t know if Nate is avoiding Danse or if Danse is avoiding Nate. His mind is a jumble at the moment and there’s so many people shaking his hand!

The sound of glass being struck with a spoon quiets everyone. Nate looks up from smiling at a woman with his best fake smile and spots Hancock standing a top the dinner table. He minds the food being served out on it, being placed ready for people to sit down and dine. He holds a glass in his hand with a silver spoon in the other. He waits for the crowd to simmer down, a large grin on his face as his black eyes scan over everyone.

“Now,” Hancock’s raspy voice begins as he throws the silver spoon over his shoulder. “Tonight is a grand night! One filled with laughter, more than I have heard in a long time. I haven’t seen this many smiling faces since… ever! And it’s all because of one personal and his little Minutemen! Always there within a minute’s notice! Took down the Institute in less than a minute I think as well!”

A chorus of chuckles and snorts light up the night. Hancock chortles lightly to himself with a hand covering his mouth.

“Nate is who we owe it to! A man out of time! A man from the past! A man with an ambition to destroy the Institute for his son! To make the Commonwealth a safer place for the people! He is now of the people! One of us!”

Despite the praise and Hancock raising his glass to him, the thought alone of his son creates a deeper hole than what is there originally. All glasses are raised and cheers are exclaimed into the starry night sky. It’s a beautiful night. One that Nate barely notices as everyone sits down to dine. All around the tables that stretch around the tree.

He needs a drink. Desperately.

Nick Valentine sits across from him with Piper beside the detective. There’s food in front of them of all different varieties but Nate doesn’t touch a lick of it. Piper chatters of her work, on how she’s been reporting less synth activity that’s Institute related, on how the residents of Diamond City aren’t in constant fear and on how she might be out of the job now with no Institute. It’s all good news. Something that Nate would love to hear but, his mind wonders somewhere else. His eyes land upon the person he’s been looking for all night.

“There will always be danger in the Commonwealth, Piper,” the detective speaks up, “No doubt about that. We may have chopped the head off the snake but there’s still the body to deal with.”

Piper thinks on that for a moment before her face screws up. She gestures a hand towards Valentine, “That, doesn’t make any sense, Nick.”

“Ah well, you understand what I’m trying to say. There will always be some bad in this world no matter where you look,” Valentine states.

Piper hums on that. “Yeah, let’s not think too hard on that. It’s Christmas after all and a celebration at that!”

Nate only hears half of the conversation. His attention is on Danse, who sits far down the other side of the table. He can just see him peaking out from behind the tree trunk. He rarely sees him out of the power armour these days and let alone in civilian clothes. He wears a blue button up shirt that hugs his shoulders tightly. It looks good on him.

He’s currently stuck in a conversation with Curie. What an odd sight to see. It’s like so many worlds are crashing together tonight. So many people Nate has met coming together in one place and it’s, jarring. Nate can’t keep up.

Danse smiles softly at Curie as the other synth flails her arms about, most likely explaining something or going on one of her rambles. But it has Danse captivated all the same. Nate almost finds himself a little jealous. Jealous that he can’t see Danse’s smile up close. He barely smiles as is.

Nate wonders what the two synths are conversing about. Would Curie be going on a ramble about Christmas itself, explaining how it was celebrated before the war? Or would she be talking to Danse about his own worry about his identity. Would that be something Danse would be willing to talk about with a stranger? He’s never met Curie upon tonight. They seem to be getting along well though despite it all.

Curie lets out a loud chuckle that can be heard over the crowd. Nate’s heart swells at how mundane all of this is. No one is worrying about the horrors that lie outside of the safety of Sanctuary hills. What did Danse say that earned that reaction? He can be blunt at times but some of the things that come out of his mouth does earn a-

“Earth to Nate?”

A snap of fingers in front of his face as the survivor sitting up straight, his eyes bulging out of their sockets. He looks to the two in front of him, wondering just how long he’s been staring for. How long have they been trying to get his attention?

“You staring at big boy or the pretty lady over there?” Valentine asks as he gestures over his shoulder, a cigarette in hand.

Piper tsks. “It’ll be the big boy.”

“What!?” Nate exclaims as if he’s been caught with his hand inside the cookie jar.

The reporter raises her brows at that. “When are you going to make a move on him, Nate? I’m not all for the soldier type but I can’t help but feel sorry for him. Pining over you that can’t charm a brick wall.”

The survivor stares at Piper with wide eyes, his mouth slightly agape. He doesn’t know how to answer. Hasn’t even realize that anyone around him has taken any notice to his own pining.

“I’ve seen how you follow him around like a lost pup sometimes. And he does the same, following you around, wondering where you are,” Piper goes on.

“I-“ Nate stutters. “A brick wall? Come on, Piper I’m better than that.”

Piper laughs at that, throwing her head back and laughing. “The last time I saw you try and charm some poor woman it landed us in a feral ghoul pit.”

Nate sits up straight at that. “She was impossible! You saw how she was!”

Piper only laughs harder at that. Nate sulks to himself with his chin in his palm. He glances to Valentine who’s fully turned in his seat to get a good look at Danse. He’s only met the ex-Paladin once or twice. Both times weren’t all that pleasant with Danse’s dislike towards synths. But now there’s a sort of sympathy towards Danse that Nate has noticed. The gruff, closed off wall that Valentine had put up has been lowered in case Danse ever wants to… talk.

Nate huffs as hair falls in front of his face. He spies a bottle of vodka near him and his fingers instinctively inch towards it. He shouldn’t really but he knows he’s too sober right now. It’s a bad habit but it’s a habit that lessons the pain. His fingers grip around the neck of the bottle and he sits up straighter, looking around for a glass.

Valentine places a glass in front of him. Nate looks to him silently, slowly grabbing it to pour himself a shot of vodka. It’ll warm him up. And make his racing thoughts become a haze.  

“Look,” Piper chirps up again. “I’m not saying it’s bad. You don’t need to get so caught up in liking men if that’s the issue.”

Nate is midway through taking his shot when Piper speaks and said vodka is shot back up into the glass. He chokes loudly, covering his mouth as he can feel vodka burning the insides of his air ways. Not the place that alcohol should be. Some people around him glance at him, asking if he’s okay. Valentine assures them with a raises hand and kind words.

“Piper,” Valentine clears his throat. “I don’t think that’s the issue here.”

Nate clears his throat, his inside still stinging in the worst ways possible. He pours himself a shot to help with the pain. And it burns on the way down.

The survivor gestures the glass towards Piper before pouring himself another drink. “You ever fall in love with someone that’s just as broken as yourself?”

The questions take both Valentine and Piper off guard. The reporter glances towards Valentine but his concerned attention is kept on Nate. He’s silent for a moment, flicking cigarette ash to the floor before leaning closer to the table.

“I can’t say that I have,” Nick answers slowly.

Nate takes back another shot with a flick of his head. “What if you both get hurt?” He asks even though he’s not expecting an answer.

He doesn’t know it himself and he should know the answer to everything. Because he’s the General to the Minutemen. He’s a fucking Paladin in the Brotherhood of Steel. He’s an agent of the Railroad. Could have been the leader of the Institute.

He’s never told anyone that. And the thought of telling anyone makes his body lock up. His mouth clamp up tight. Who would he even tell!?

Another shot burns down his throat.

“What if you both heal?”

Valentine’s question hits a nerve within Nate. One that makes him look to Danse behind the detective with a sombre, tipsy expression. Could Nate help Danse? Could Danse help Nate?

A hand covers and squeezes his own, bringing his attention back to Piper. She looks to him with a new found sadness, like some kicked pup. The conversation quickly took a dreary tone all because of Nate’s lonesome pining and dreadful aura. He meets Piper’s gaze and he wonders what she sees. Does she see a hero? A legend that is as grand as all the stories told around the campfire? Or does she see a man. A simple man trying to figure out what the fuck is going on. A man from the past that’s trying to figure out where he belongs. A tired man that just needs some rest.

He breathes slowly, his body suddenly feeling very weighed down.

“It’s a celebration,” Piper says softly. “You should celebrate. Ask Danse for a-“ she chuckles at herself. “Ask him for a dance or something romantic instead of drinking yourself into a puddle. The future is brighter because of you and Danse is alive and sitting over there.”

As if on que, the harsh, bark of a laugh catches Nate’s ears. Danse’s rare laugh that he doesn’t hear often. He swears he feels his heart skip a beat. A genuine laugh. He looks over once again, past the two to see Preston has now joined in on the conversation with Curie and Danse. He hovers over Danse’s shoulder with a wide smile across his lips. It looks good on the young man. He’s needed this more than anyone. A break. A laugh.

Maybe Nate should stop being a sulk and actually enjoy the party. Maybe he should-

“Tiger,” Valentine ushers. “It’s only one night. What’s the harm in asking. It’s almost making me sad seeing you like this. Hey, I’ll go over there and ask him if you don’t any time soon. It’s killing me.”,

Nate licks his lips and suddenly stands, his hand still gripped around the neck of the vodka bottle. He feels so many eyes turn to him and he instinctively shrinks away, visibly wincing.

“Just uh-“ He can’t think licking his lips again. “I just need a moment is all. I’m sorry.”

With that, he wonders away from the party with the bottle still in hand. He doesn’t know where he’s headed. He just needs to get away from the noise. The chatter. The poking and the prodding. He knows he should just man up and ask Danse to do something instead of avoiding him. Who is he to ask him to live when he just ignores him like this!?

He runs a hand over his face before taking a swig straight of the bottle. He hisses as it burns but it feels good all the same. It’s what he needs. He needs the haze it brings over his mind. He just, doesn’t want to think. Not right now. Not when there’s everyone reminding him of all the good deeds he’s done.

Did he do them out of the kindness of his heart? Or because they’d put him one step closer to his son? Was it all for personal gain?

No. No it wasn’t.

Maybe. Maybe it was. Maybe he saved Danse from himself so that Nate wouldn’t have to live without a man that knows the struggle of war. He will admit that the man hasn’t seen true war, not like Anchorage but he’s seen it. Knows the loss and bloodshed of it. Maybe that’s why Nate clings to him like a life support. Cause he’s seen it all. Or maybe it’s the way that Danse cares and always puts others before himself. Is willing to lay his life down for a greater good. And he had.

He had laid down and waited for the bullet thinking it was for the greater good. Yet, despite his own self loathing here he is tonight laughing and conversating with people that Nate would have never imagined if he had remained with the Brotherhood. Maybe it was for the greater good that Danse’s true nature was shown to him.

Now is that selfish of Nate to think? That’s it’s better that Danse knows and struggles with his own identity instead of being blinded by an outlandish code so he would feel some comfortability in life. Danse has to start anew. Start from the ground up because everything he knew was ripped away to never be seen or grasped again. All because Nate walked into his life. Would they have found a way into the Institute if it wasn’t for Nate’s bull like drive? Maybe they’d still be twiddling their thumbs.

Nate lands on his knees heavily as he sinks low in front of his old closet. He doesn’t remember entering his old house. He doesn’t even remember turning down the street.

He rummages around, searching for one thing. One thing he had buried in here to never look at again and-

Slowly, Nate pulls out his old, rusted dog tags. The once shiny metal is now dull, the edges being eaten by rust, but his name and number can still be read clear as day. He hasn’t seen these in such a long time. He doesn’t even know why he’s pulled these out now. Come searching for them. Maybe for some solid proof that he was here. That his past life wasn’t all some sick and twisted dream that the Institute made up for him.

He sits back against the nearest wall as he holds his dog tags in one hand and the bottle in the other. Breathing in heavily, he listens to the murmur of people outside. He spies out the window, seeing the Christmas lights lighting up the settlement. It would bring a smile to his face, but it only makes him think of how the neighbour use to look like during Christmas.

Nate takes another, long swill of his bottle.

He doesn’t know how long he sits there, but he knows that he passes out shortly after the bottle is drained empty of it’s sickly liquid. Nate clutches his tags close to his chest as he lays on his side, his dreams filled with a time long before.

He’s half between worlds when he hears the heavy fall of boots come down the hallway. He pries his eyes open, looking through his eyelashes as he peers into the dark, paint peeled room of his own. The room spins and he feels like he’s sinking into the floor where he lays, his cheek smooshed into the old crusty carpet. He doesn’t see who’s come into the room until a glass of water is place right in front of his nose.

A glass of water.

Nate swallows thickly, his eyes opening fully now as he looks up to meet the sight of Danse kneeling in front of him. It’s as if he suddenly sobers up, finding the will to sit up straight which is a big mistake in itself. His head swims and he quickly grabs at his head with a groan.

“Easy there,” Danse’s voice is soft, almost too soft.

A large hand cups Nate’s head to hold him still as the cup of water is brought to his lips. Nate almost refuses at first but the look on Danse’s face has him sipping down the water.

So, it was Danse who carried him to his cot in the Prydwyn. Would he have done this if Nate had been awake? Would he have cradled his face like this to make sure he sobered up on water? The thought makes his gut swim and he doesn’t know if it’s the man in front of him or his stomach mixing and churning with vodka and water.

The glass leaves Nate’s lips along with the hand on his face. He almost finds himself whining for it to stay but he stops short.

“I would ask you why you left but I don’t think a sad drunk agrees with loud and cheerful crowds,” Danse comments bluntly but there’s a tinge of light heartedness to it that Nate hears.

He wouldn’t of been able to point it out when they had first met. Everything that came from Danse’s mouth was blunt and short. But Nate had listened. Picked up the quirks of each sentence that passed from the ex-Paladin’s lips to figure out what he actually means. Find the hidden emotion that he tries oh so desperately to hide.

“A sad drunk?” Nate asks with a tilt of his head.

“Affirmative,” Danse quirks.

“Huh,” Nate scoffs. “I didn’t want to bring down the party, so I decided to start one on my own. Can’t you see I’m having a blast?”

Danse does the dramatic honour of looking around the room as if someone else is going to pop out. But when he sees no one else, he looks back to the survivor with a tilt of his head.

“A very lively party,” he says with as much sarcasm as he can muster. Which isn’t a lot. It sounds more like an insult than anything else.

Nate snorts through his nose.

“I came by to make sure you’re alright,” Danse says as he stands up straight. Nate’s chest squeezes at the sudden realization that he could be left again. “I should be getting back to the party. I’ll tell everyone you’re oka-”

“Stay.”

It’s out of Nate’s mouth before he can even think. He quickly clears his throat.

“Only if you wanna stick by a two-hundred-year-old man. I’ve been told I look good for my age,” he softly chuckles at his own joke.

Danse looks down at him silently with a small rising smirk on his lips. The few passing seconds feel like an eternity to Nate as he stares up at the other man with pleading eyes. It must work, that puppy dog eyed look Nate has perfected so well, or may he does just look like a sad drunk because Danse sits down right next to him with his back to the wall.

“You could go back out there,” Danse comments. “You’re the reason why everyone is here today.”

Nate looks to the other sadly. He looks a little too long at how the red and green lights from outside flicker and dance across the other’s face, making his dark brown eyes all that softer.

He licks his lips, looking away. “Why? Everyone has at least thanked me five times for my good deeds. You’d think I’m some kind of angel that has come from the heavens!”

“You shouldn’t put yourself in such a hole,” Danse says firmly. “I’ve seen men do less than you have be raised to Paladin. All they did past that is gloat on how grand and great they are to the lower ranks and roll in the praises they get. I don’t understand why you see yourself as something as low as the bottom of a bottle when you’ve made a future for the next generation of children.”

Nate swallows thickly, his chest squeezing tightly. He says his mind out loud before he even knows it. Before he can put a lid on it to stop the chaos from escaping.

“I put myself in this hole ‘cause I couldn’t even save my own kid,” He spits it, snaps it even to make Danse shut up. To stop making him sound like such a hero. And Danse does. He falls silent, watching Nate intently.

“I found him. I found my son in the Institute. But-” Nate’s voice hics. God he’s going to cry. “I was sixty years too fucking late. He was older than me. Had more grey hairs than me! God the way he spoke to me it was- I-“

Nate swallows his own words. He can’t say it. He shouldn’t say it. Not out loud. How would someone react hearing Nate say that he fucking hated his own son after searching high and low for him. After everything he had been through had been for nothing. He had found a way into the one place that didn’t have a front door and had only found his son running the place that had caused so much pain in the Commonwealth.

“I left him there, Danse.”

He doesn’t want to look at the other man. Doesn’t want to see what horror struck expression that has come across his face. But he looks. He looks and only sees… pity. A sadness and concern that Nate has seen so many times from the nurses when he was in the army.

“That wasn’t your son,” Danse suddenly says. “You didn’t raise him. Didn’t know him. That man was a stranger that had your son’s face.”

Nate swallows thickly, holding back the choke of a sob rising within his throat. Shaun died with Nora in that god forsaken vault. And out stepped Nate. A man from the past that had no idea what was going on nor what year he was in. Maybe he should have died with the rest. Maybe Nora would have had a better out look on a world such as this.

Nate finds himself staring at Danse. He doesn’t know how to respond. He’s never thought to put it into that perspective. Those dark brown eyes put him into one of those trances he can’t look away from.

“Ridding the Commonwealth of the disease festering underneath it’s skin, you saved everyone. You may have lost your family, but you’ve found one. You have one here with the people out there celebrating an old tradition that has probably not been celebrated like this in a long time. You’ve made people smile again, Nate,” Danse speaks softly yet his voice stills holds that same soldier like sternness to it that won’t ever go away.

“You’ve made me smile again.”

Yet, the way Danse speaks that last line it takes the survivor’s breath away. And just like that, the smile that Nate loves so much spreads across the other man’s face. It crinkles at his eyes and shows his little fangs he has.

The next thing that Nate does, he’d call himself stupid for it. He leans forward towards Danse, hesitating only a moment when his lips are a hair’s breath away from the ex-Paladin’s to see if he’ll pull away, to see if it’ll push Nate away for his stupidity. But when he doesn’t move, looking to Nate through his lashes and his mouth now lightly parted as if waiting, Nate moves forward that extra bit to kiss Danse’s soft lips. Only light like, a small peck that lasts a little too long before Nate can have a taste. He pulls away and looks into those brown eyes that stare directly back.

“I’m sorry there wasn’t any mistletoe, I jumped the gun,” Nate says as he leans away.

But Danse grabs him by the front of the shirt, almost rough like to drag him back into a much rougher kiss. One that Danse leads like he’s done this before, kissing and tasting Nate’s lips as if he can’t get enough of him. The survivor melts into Danse’s touch as the ex-Paladin places a hand on his waist to steady him.

Maybe everything will be alright. Maybe this Christmas will be a merry one after all. The warmth of Danse is enough to lull him into a mindless wake. He lets Danse kiss him the way he wants, lets him taste him as much as he wants. If only Danse could feel just how much Nate has wanted this for so long. His chest aches painfully even though he now has it within his grasp.

It’s better than alcohol. His mind melts and he forgets everything for the moment. All his worries. Everything he’s been through. Because he knows, in his heart he knows that there are arms he can lean on. That there will be someone there to catch him if he falls. Someone that will watch over him when he’s in a hole of his own making. To offer him water when he’s in need. And there has been arms to lean on for a good while now. Ever since he heard the distress call over his pip-boy.

Nate hums as Danse ventures down his jaw to his neck, holding onto the ex-Paladin and not letting go. He breathes heavily, his eyes a daze as he stares out the window. Snow falls softly and he doesn’t register it at first but, he chuckles softly at seeing the flakes. He doesn’t have to think too much about it though as Danse engulfs his mouth in another feverish kiss. He wonders instead how long the ex-Paladin has been wanting this. Yearning for it. How much he’s ached for Nate.

He’d love to find out. And they have the rest of the night to do so. He holds onto Danse and doesn’t let go. Doesn’t think he even wants to. He’s got Danse and that’s the best Christmas gift he could ever ask for.

-

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[sweetcocopowder]

Pitch Black Dahlias Pt. 2 | Pt. 3 | Pt. 4

Synopsis: Danger comes into the picture and Nate wants to finish the job

Word Count: 1K

Pairing: Paladin Danse / Male Sole Survivor (Nate)

Notes: Like I said in a previous post, I'm posting more frequently on ao3 and there's already six chapters to this fic on there. So if you want quicker updates, head over there ahha

The SuperMart comes into view in all its run-down glory. Nate lets out a long, loud exhale that has Danse chuckling softly under his breath. The trek had been a long one that had taken almost the entire day. The sun sets low in the sky and cast an orange shimmer across the wasteland sky. It gives a soft warmth to Nate’s dark eyes that only someone like Danse would notice.

“Let’s get in and out, it’s later than I expected,” Nate comments as he moves quick. He takes large strides across the court yard in the Lexington, the grass a green grey that crunches under foot.

An old factory shadows over the buildings on the block and hides half of the setting sun. Beams of light shine off the metal structure that reflect onto the copper green statue in the centre of the courtyard. The sun blinds Danse and he can’t get a good look at the factory unless he’s squinting and shielding his eyes and-

Danse stops in the centre of the yard next to the statue. He peers over at the factory with a deep-set frown. He squints his eyes a little further to spy what he thought he saw. If only the sun wasn’t in his face, he’d be able to spot the moving mass a little better.

“What are you looking at?” Nate asks, coming up behind the former Paladin.

As if answering the survivor, a loud, quaking roar vibrates the air. Danse recognises it immediately, his blood running cold through his synthetic veins. Now that his eyes have adjusted a little to the blinding light, he can make out what he’s looking at. The huge, massing muscle of the creature swings the fire hydrate into the factory with a powerful crash that leaves the ground shaking underfoot. The raiders that have taken refuge within the factory shoot and throw everything they have at the thick wall of mutated skin and teeth. But some gunfire falls silent as the creature grips the fighting raiders within its thick fingered grasp.

“Behemoth,” Danse utters out.

He suddenly feels very exposed, out in the open like with only a few guns. The Behemoth is only a block away from them up on the hill. The sun had blinded them both so that they wouldn’t spot the creature moving in the shadow of the factory. Was Danse so in his own head he hadn’t noticed it!? Hadn’t heard the chaos that the creature leaves in it’s wake.

“We need to go,” Danse fumbles out as he grabs onto Nate’s upper arm.

He begins dragging him away from the SuperMart that has Nate digging in his heels. The survivor yanks his arm from Danse’s tight grip and takes a few steps away from him. Fury ignites like a gas fire inside of Danse just as quickly as it evaporates. He stares wide eyed at Nate, the only emotion he feels now being one of confusion. He can’t understand why Nate can’t see what he sees. They’re out gunned and out matched! Can’t he see the danger right in front of them in bold super mutant green!?

If they turn their back on the Behemoth for even a second, let it out of their sight for a mere moment they’re both dead. Danse can’t have that. Not when Nate has fought so hard for both of them to be here.

“The SuperMart is right there,” Nate confronts firmly. “I’m not just up and leaving without finishing the job.”

Danse swallows thickly. He wouldn’t normally high tail it like a cowering dog, but he’s seen firsthand what a Behemoth can do to a simple man without the right equipment or artillery. Danse’s heart beats within his chest. The mere thought of seeing Nate underfoot of the Behemoth sends a violent shiver down his spine. He doesn’t think he could live with that. He steps towards Nate again with an outstretched hand, but he stops himself short.

Nate’s dark blue eyes stare at him with such an intensity that Danse forgets for a moment where they are. He also forgets what Nate was. A soldier. From a time before Danse could even imagine of. Where things were green and lively with the constant threat of nuclear annihilation on the horizon. And it had come. That threat had turned to punches being thrown and Nate had seen it all.

Nate reaches for Danse’s outstretched hand, interlocking their fingers together. A million expression must have washed over Danse’s normally stoic features ‘cause he notices the survivor’s own expression soften. The ground shakes underneath them and the Behemoth roars loudly, a deep sound that vibrates the air. Danse wants to look, be blinded by the sun once more but- yet the way that the sun catches Nate’s eyes. He can see the colour they truly are when Nate is staring directly into the light. Such a deep blue that even the sun has trouble lighting them up.

“Do you trust me to do this job, Danse?” Nate asks, his voice soft yet firm at the same time.

Only two word falls from Danse’s mouth. He doesn’t hesitate nor does he think of any other answer, almost forgetting about all the worries he was fretting over just mere moments before. He would be lying if he didn’t say it.

“Of course.”

A wide smile spreads across Nate’s handsome features. He looks over Danse’s shoulders to the Behemoth, hoping just like the ex-Paladin, that once it’s finished with the raiders it doesn’t wonder over here. They need to deliver the package and go.

Nate lets go of Danse’s hand, but he keeps it outstretched as he takes a few steps backwards. He speaks firmly next, one that reminds Danse on just how Nate has survived this long in the wasteland. A man out of time.

“Follow me. We’ve got a package to deliver, and we’ll be gone before that big bastard even knew we were here.”

And Danse follows with his gun cocked in hand, the ground shaking once again as the Behemoth brings its fire hydrate down into a screaming raider. The former Paladin doesn’t even glance a look over his shoulder. His eyes are on Nate and only Nate.

-

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[sweetcocopowder]

Pitch Black Dahlias | Pt. 1 | Pt. 2 | Pt. 3

Synopsis: Danse follows Nate and learns only a bit of where they're headed.

Word Count: 1.4K

Pairing: Paladin Danse / Nate (Sole Survivor)

Warnings: Crisis.

Notes: I know its been a long ass wait on this fic but I wanted to get kinktober out of the way first. And i also know the banner is dog shit, it's been a while

“Put this on.”

Danse only just manages to catch the hulking item. It being thrown down from over the side of the open second floor above. He fumbles with it before holding it out in front of him to look it over. A heavy piece of combat chest armour. Something like what Nate wears but he holds the Minutemen insignia with pride on his. He use to have the Brotherhood insignia on his. Use to.

But after the whole mess with Danse and Maxson, he noticed the change shortly after. The scratch marks can still be seen on the chest piece under the rifle and lightning bolt.

Despite Nate still holding the rank of Paladin, Danse doesn’t hear much of what he does with the Brotherhood. He sees Haylen every now and again, but she doesn’t speak much about the Brotherhood either. Maybe it’s for the best to not hear about the going ons with the Brotherhood. It’ll be easier for him to keep his mind at ease.

Danse doesn’t question about the armour piece though. Everyone needs protection in the wastelands and if Nate deems it necessary, then he won’t argue.

He shrugs off his bomber jackets as he asks, “Where are we headed?”

Nate stops what he’s doing and peers over the ledge of the floor. His eyes narrow as he watches Danse clip the chest piece over the top of his Brotherhood uniform. He still hasn’t taken it off since everything, even wore it during the raid two weeks ago.

“You got nothing else to wear?” Nate asks light heartedly, gesturing towards the jumpsuit.

Danse pauses in his movements, only realizing fully that yes, he is still wearing the Brotherhood uniform. He would change but…

“I’ve got nothing else,” Danse answers solemnly.

Nate hums at that, his mind wondering off like it normally does. “We’ll find you something else,” he says more to himself as he continues rummaging around in his utility trunk.

Danse frowns at that, revisiting the urge to tug at the jumpsuit’s collar. “It’s the best thing to protect me from my power armour. It’s the only reasonable thing to keep on despite it now being a stolen item from the Brotherhood.”

Nate doesn’t look up as he replies with, “Fancy way of saying you like the uniform, Danse.”

The former Paladin opens his mouth to interject but, he cuts himself short. He isn’t going to fuel Nate. So instead he throws his bomber jacket back on with a small grumble under his breath.

Finally, Nate stands up as he places his combat shotgun on his back alongside a modded combat rifle. On his hip is a small snub nose pistol that is more there for looks. Danse has never seen Nate use that thing and doesn’t understand why he carries it around with him. It’s small and useless to most creatures out in the wasteland. And any human would laugh at it despite it still being able to kill them.

“Where are we headed that needs such an artillery?” Danse asks.

Nate jumps down the stairs two at a time with a smile on his face. He slaps Danse on the chest with a cheeky, “The SuperMart!” before stepping away.

He stops midway to turn around on the spot, looking Danse up and down with a curious look about his features. He steps forward and tightens the straps on Danse’s combat armour, making sure its nice and snug against him. Stepping back with a whistle coming from his lips, Nate looks upon his handy work with a smug smile. He turns on the spot again without a word and leaves Hot Plate.

Danse rolls his eyes but follows suit.  

When he first met Nate, he was only the means to help him with their communication problem. But after the first few days, he had seen the potential in the vault dweller. He doesn’t regret anything about sponsoring Nate under his wing, not even a little. Was probably the best damn thing the Brotherhood could have in their grasp. And so forth with Danse. Having Nate by his side, he felt like for the first time in a good while that he didn’t have to keep watch over his shoulder at all times. Didn’t have that feeling that someone would stab him in the back or try and dig a knife in between his power armour. He found himself not worrying because he knew Nate was there to protect him.

He doesn’t regret it one bit. He’s the reason why he’s still breathing today.

Nate had told him that he was using the Brotherhood from the get go to find his son. And he had also told Danse that he was ready to ditch and leave the Brotherhood after meeting Maxson for the first time. The Prydwyn had only won him over for the first few minutes, but the novelty had worn off very quickly for him. It had brought back memories of his time in the war that he didn’t want to venture back on.

But it had been Danse that had Nate sticking around. It was always Danse. He had gone against Maxson’s orders for Danse. Had chosen the Minutemen over the Brotherhood for Danse.

The ex-Paladin doesn’t know much of what went down in those moments Nate was in the Institute by himself. But when that day came that Nate had asked him to trek through sewer waste to destroy the Institute, Danse hadn’t hesitated to join him. The man had seen things, and has still not spoken on them. Danse wouldn’t push him either. He knows any good soldier will come forth on their own terms or when it’s been eating at them for far too long.

But on a much brighter side, the Minutemen are now seen as heroes within the Commonwealth. Nate has helped many a communities to better themselves and to achieve stability. The Brotherhood could have offered that, but in a much different way. Protection for food. But the Brotherhood is something that Danse shouldn’t be thinking too much of now. He needs to keep his mind forward, not backwards.

And maybe that might start with getting rid of this uniform…

“The SuperMart?” Danse asks, or more or less grumbles as he closes the door behind him. Forward. Not backwards. He needs to keep his mind on the now.

Nate nods as he leads the way over to one of the vendors. Danse follows closely, not fully understanding why they’re heading that far out.

“Yes,” Nate nods. “We’re taking this package to someone that needs our help there,” he says as he slaps it into the former Paladin’s chest.

Danse takes it with a grunt, holding onto it tightly. Nate doesn’t see the frown on his face as he’s already speaking to the vendor, exchanging caps for ammo and other whatnots. The vendor keeps eyeing Danse with bleary eyes, looking him up and down. Maybe she just doesn’t take kindly to the Brotherhood uniform he still clads.

Only another minute goes by before Nate is bidding his farewells. Danse is just glad to finally get out of Diamond City. There’re too many people for his liking here. Too much gossip. That’s the one thing he hated within the Brotherhood. Gossip and rumours. It always started unnecessary drama within the ranks and unwanted grudges. And with some of the knights only keeping to the Prydwyn they loved gossip.

Danse suddenly straightens up, realizing where his mind is wondering. Forward. He needs to move forward. Yet it’s so hard when the wound is still so fresh and his entire life was within the Brotherhood. All he knew was the Brotherhood. Is it all he was programmed to do? Take orders and serve without a second thought? Nothing but a machine that’s been programmed for-

Now his thoughts run down a much dangerous path that he physically shakes away.

“After we’ve finished here,” Nate’s voice cuts through Danse’s mind like a lighthouse through fog, “I’d like to travel back to the Castle to check up on things there. I’ve heard word on a few raiders getting a little too close recently. Don’t wanna stay on this job for too long is all.”

When Danse doesn’t reply at first, Nate looks over his shoulder. Danse stares at the ground yet his lost gaze is far from here. Nate clears his throat.

“Sound good?”

Danse swallows thickly as his dark brown eyes dark up to meet Nate. “Affirmative,” he replies formally.

Nate smiles with a flash of worry passing over his features. “We can detour and pick up a power armour I have nearby?” He asks, trying to cheer up the former Paladin.

Danse hadn’t outrightly said how exposed he feels without his second skin, but Nate has picked up the notions. How different he acts once out of his power armour. How on defence he is. It’s as if he was born within the confines of a suit of power armour, raised in it. Probably was. How many years has Danse walked in metal?

The ex-Paladin shakes his head. “No need. You asked for me to be without it. I wouldn’t like to go back on your word now,” he replies softly.

Nate nods as he turns back forward. He senses the sudden wall that Danse has placed up and doesn’t want to poke it. Not yet. He just hopes that this job will be for the best for Danse.  

-

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[sweetcocopowder]

Pitch Black Dahlias Pt. 5 | Pt. 6 | Pt. 7

Synopsis: the Behemoth rampages on and both Nate and Danse have to fight to survive

Word Count: 1.7K

Pairing: Paladin Danse / Nate (Male Sole Survivor)

Warning: Blood. Gore. Injury. Violence

The Behemoth looks upon its prize with dull, hazy eyes that don’t seem to see much of anything. Too small for its head that it has to bring Nate right up close to its stinking breath to see what this blue thing is.

Nate squirms and wriggles out an arm, snarling like a cornered mutt. He doesn’t think, his body on autopilot as his fingers finds the trigger to his little snub nose. He holds the gun to the Behemoth's face, such a small weapon compared to the big beast. But that doesn’t matter in the slightest. Not when Nate grins like a mad man as he aims right at the Behemoth's beady eye, and shoots.

Not once. Not twice. But he unloads the entire snub nose into the Behemoths eye and face.

Three bullets explode the creatures eye into a messy pulp of fluids and gunk that slap warmly across Nate’s face. The Behemoth throws Nate away like a bad chew toy, sending the man flying through the air. He shouts wildly as he soars through the air, flapping his arms around in circles.

Expecting the hard, harsh ground the last thing he expects to land on is something soft and bulky that groans and makes pained noises under him. Nate grits his teeth as he opens his eyes to meet Danse’s dark browns underneath him. The man’s face is screwed up into a scowl, but he holds onto Nate tightly to not let the man go.  

He goddamn caught him. Crazy man. God, he wants to kiss him right now. But that might not be the best thing when he can feel warm blood dripping from his chin.

“You alright!?” Nate exclaims out as he tries to sit up off of Danse, but the ex-Paladin doesn’t let him up.

Danse coughs, wheezing out a harsh, “Affirmative.”

Suddenly, Danse grips onto Nate tighter and rolls them off to the side just in time as a stumpy green foot comes crashing down where they once were. And then Danse is rolling them back towards the foot as the Behemoth brings its fire hydrant down into the ground with a thundering crash that breaks the road where the two men once were.

Both men stare wide eyes at the spot in the ground for a split second before Danse is pushing a bloody Nate off of him. Both of them scatter, Nate ducks in underneath the Behemoth’s legs and reloads his shotgun with practiced fingers.

He spins around and shoots twice into the calf muscle of the Behemoth. The first shot only does a little damage but the second gets through the beast’s thick skin. He aims for a third shot, but the Behemoth is quicker, kicking out like some damn mule. Nate barely dodges as he feels the Behemoth’s foot graze against his shoulder pads, jolting him backwards a step. He breathes in through his nose as he aims again, this time into the back of the knee of the Behemoth. In the soft squishy part.

The creature snarls loudly but its gargled noises are cut short as round after round of laser fire hits it square in its already bleeding face. It rears its head back, backing away from Danse who has somehow gotten up onto the roof of a nearby building to be at eye level with the beast. Danse doesn’t let up until he has to reload his gun, his face flat and stoic as he concentrates on the task at hand. The Behemoth backs up Nate's way, a large shadow in the late dusk of the evening.

It swings its fire hydrant with a loud roar, slamming it into the ground and around its head like a helicopter. The Behemoth strikes the statue in the centre of the courtyard, the loud metallic ting that sounds out deafens the ears that it has Nate wincing with a hiss. The statue, over 200 years old doesn’t budge though. It has a fresh new dent in it, but she still stands strong.

“Huh,” Nate huffs out as he takes only a short moment to stare at it.

The Behemoth, not caring for the statue’s sturdiness, takes another swing at Nate in its fury. The fire hydrate comes crashing down where he was, and then drags it through the smashed pavement. This time, Nate isn’t as quick as he’d like to be. The fire hydrate catches Nates legs and send him spiralling to the ground. Fresh pain blooms up his spine from his hips, pain shooting down his legs to his toes. He rolls a fair way, his combat armour clattering with each crash on the hard ground. He’s glad he wore it today. He had a gut feeling. But everything still hurts. He scowls as he tries to move his feet under him but all he receives is a stab of pain up his back. Oh, he’s definitely put something out of place.

He rolls over onto his back with a hand slipped into one of his packs on his waist. He grips onto a grenade he’s stashed away as he eyeballs one of the shopping carts tied onto the Behemoth’s back. If he could just throw it high enough he could-

“Danse!” Nate shouts out as he clammers to his sore feet. He stumbles and limps, his hips searing with hot pain with each step he drags across the ground.

The Behemoth roars in response as if its name is Danse and not, ugly motherfucker from one of San Diego’s dumpsters. It charges at Nate and the survivor curses loudly under his breath he knows he’s not quick enough. He’s limping across the goddamn courtyard and the fucker is crossing those few feet very fast.

“Danse!” He shouts out again as he turns to face the Behemoth with his shotgun held in one hand, grenade in the other. He gets ready to die shooting, die facing the enemy instead of being shot in the back.

But this time, the Behemoth doesn’t respond to Nate’s call. A plethora of laser fire engulfs the remaining sight of the Behemoth, staggering it in its charge. It’s roars in pure frustration, covering its face as it thrashes around its fire hydrant as if swatting away bees.

“Danse!” Nate cries out again for a third time as he looks up in the direction of the gun fire.

Danse, the soldier he is, reloads his gun with such an efficiency he doesn’t need to look at his hands. He looks down at Nate instead, all his focus on the man below. God Nate really wants to kiss him once all this is over.

“Catch!” is all the survivor shouts before throwing up the grenade. Danse’s face widens as he catches the hot potato with one hand.

“Throw it in the shopping basket!” Nate shouts out, pointing up at the Behemoth. He answers before Danse can even ask what on earth he wants him to do with it.

With a nod of his head, Danse ventures towards the edge of the roof he’s on towards the Behemoth. The creature doesn’t see him, swiping and clawing at its aching face. It turns back towards Danse and Nate, as if sensing where they are. It sends a shiver down Nate’s back, seeing this abomination up close truly makes him wonder some days on how he wondered in this time era. He truly didn’t have the smallest clue on what stepping in that cryopod had installed for him. This was the last thing he ever imagined when he woke up. All of this is.

Danse throws the grenade perfectly into the shopping cart that dangles next to the Behemoth’s face. It’s as if everything holds still for a moment, the few seconds before the grenade goes off. Nate stares wide eyed, waiting, watching as the Behemoth’s singular beady eye locks onto him. This is the longest few seconds he’s ever had to wait out.

But then, just as Nate thinks it’s a dud, the grenade explodes with an ear-piercing crack right in the Behemoth’s face. Nate flinches backwards but he doesn’t want to take his eyes off of the beast. Blood sprays warmly across his face and chest but he has to see if the Behemoth is done for. He has to see the cloud of dust and debris waft away to reveal the jawless face of the tall green beast. He has to see the Behemoth stagger where it stands, tongue flicking out like some parasite trying to feel where its teeth were. He has to see which way the Behemoth falls as so he can run the opposite direction.

And it falls his way.

Nate cries out a hoarse, “TIMBERRR!”  as he jumps out of the way just in time, he legs aching as he moves too quickly. The Behemoth lands heavily behind him with a loud thud and a crash. The ground shakes violently and a cloud of dust kicks up that chokes Nate of the fresh, wasteland air. He blinks a few times, trying to wipe the dust from his lashes and face as he turns around on his butt. He looks upon the unmoving Behemoth, a toothy grin itching its way onto his face very quickly despite his hips and back hurting like all hell.

“Holy shit,” he huffs out.

At this point, he just hopes the synths took the back way out of the SuperMart. They had hidden in there for days on end as the ghouls had made their home in there once more. The smell of rotten 200-year-old food must of attracted them. That or being run out of the factory up on the hill. Either either, they just took down a fucking Behemoth!

Danse comes into view, stepping around the dead Behemoth with his gun at his side. Like some dude from those action movies Nate would watch, stepping out of the smoke looking all stoic and uncaring of the chaos they just wrecked and havocked. Walking towards the damsel in distress with their gun on their hip and dirt covering their face, making them look even more rugged and handsome. Nate chuckles to himself as Danse holds out a hand to him.

“Let’s get out of here soldier,” Danse says firmly. “It’s getting late.”

Nate takes his hand, letting the bigger man haul him to his feet. The survivor grabs him by the face and drags him down for a long, deep kiss. Oh yeah, just like one of those heroes from the movies. Even got the lines down packed and he had to top it off with a kiss. If only someone had a camera to capture the moment.

-

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[sweetcocopowder]

Pitch Black Dahlias Pt. 4 | Pt. 5 | Pt. 6

Synopsis: Danse thinks to himself

Word Count: 1.1K

Pairing: Paladin Danse / Nate (Sole Survivor)

Warnings: Thoughts of suicide. Negative thoughts. Its... been awhile since I read over this chapter so please keep in mind if there's anything else, holler

Danse can’t help but feel betrayed but, why should he? Why should he? His true nature was revealed to him months ago and yet whenever he meets another synth, he still feels his skin crawl. Maybe he should have begged Nate to shoot him in that bunker. Begged a little bit more. Maybe even grabbed the gun himself to finish the job.

He paces back and forth near the entrance of the SuperMart biting his lip, listening to the Behemoth’s chaos outside. His anxiety is through the roof that he can’t see through the boarded windows. He should step outside, see just how close that monster is. Last thing he wants to do despite his outburst is leave Nate behind.

Everything should have died with the Institute, him included. No good came out of the Institute yet… He stops himself there. His thoughts wonder to Nick Valentine. He’s helped so many people within the Commonwealth. Has helped Nate so much and vice a versa. He knows he should feel something more, feel ecstatic to help his own kind but the only thing that Danse feels is a lingering, old self loathing that spits in the face of anyone like himself.

Every step of the way once in the Commonwealth, the Railroad has been there to undo what the Brotherhood did. Helping synths and helping them hide amongst others. Help them like Nate is doing now. Should Danse not be helping them? He’s the one that helped destroy their home. Destroy the only thing they know.

Nate has already figured that out. To help the synths that he couldn’t in the moment of chaos. So, here he is in his own time away from the Minutemen and the Brotherhood to make sure a few synths are safe and sound on their venture forth into the wasteland.

Danse swallows thickly and looks behind him into the SuperMart. It’s oddly quiet. He blinks away some dust caught in his eye, resisting the urge to rub it away.

Did Nate bring him along to… help him? To try and help ease his mind about synths? About himself? About how Nate doesn’t view him as any less? Or maybe that’s Danse’s own thoughts and insecurities saying all this. Every single moment and every single word out of Maxson’s mouth were all so negative about synths and others alike. Yet, Danse had been there at his side. Had been.

Put so much faith in him that he had risen through the ranks to Paladin. Led his own team. Inspired many brothers and sisters that even Haylen still believes in him. After everything. She sees a man that she has bled for and she sees a man that she’d still gladly follow.

Why!? Had Haylen seen something else in Maxson’s words that Danse was so blind to see. Was Danse so blind that he didn’t see the betrayal right in front of him!?

He runs a hand over his face with a quiet groan, dragging his fingers through his hair. He’s a mess. Inside and out. He doesn’t know where to go. He’s been clinging to Nate to distract himself for the passing time but, everything that’s been bottled up is coming undone. Quickly.

A cough has Danse spinning around on his heels, gun brought halfway up to shoot. Nate stands with his hands in front of his chest, eyes wide with concern. He looks Danse over once before he smiles softly. The ex-Paladin relaxes, letting his gun fall back at his side with an exhale escaping his lips.

“I’m sorry,” Nate says first.

Danse shakes his head. “There’s nothing to be apologising about. I’m still...” he hesitates for a moment, drifting off into thought. “Working through a few things is all.”

Nate huffs something akin to amusement. “I know. I just thought this could help in some way. I don’t know which way but... I know the Institute is hated amongst many but, these synths need my help.”

The bigger man stares at the ground, unknowing of what to say. He’s never been best at words, let alone put his mind into a feeble sentence. He’s a soldier. Stern and firm. Blunt and direct. Taking orders without a second thought. And where did it get him? At the other end of Maxson’s gun.

“We should head out,” Danse stiffens, turning back around to stride over to the entrance.

Nate is quick to come to his side. And as Danse reaches out to open the door, the other slams it shut in front of him. Those damn dark blue eyes stare at Danse with their intensity that it takes his breath away.

“Are you okay?” Nate asks.

Is he okay? Is he? Danse adverts his eyes away from those deep blues. He could say he’s physically okay but mentally, it feels like his mind is on fire. A constant battle between who he is use to be and who he wants to be for Nate.

A calloused hand cups his face, making him look back at the other man. By whatever God there is Danse just wants to sleep right now. He feels so tired and worn all of a sudden. He just wants to be held by Nate and to never be let go. Such rough hands that feel so gentle and soft against Danse’s already scarred skin.

“I’ll be fine, Nate,” Danse murmurs out, his voice barely above a whisper. He tries to keep his voice strong, but it comes out more as a plea for help.

Nate smiles warmly, borderline sympathetic. “I can drop you off at Diamond City before heading to the Castle,” he offers.

Danse shakes his head once. “No. You’ll need me by your side,” he speaks with his Paladin tone that always has Nate chuckling softly.

I need you.

Maybe Danse will have the guts in the future to actually say those words. Say them with such confidence that it almost wouldn’t sound selfish. One day.

Nate nods as he opens the door, “Well I guess you’ll be happy to get your power armour back then.”

Danse shakes his head once again as Nate steps outside to open the door for him. It’s been oddly quiet. The sun has gone down completely but the sky is still a soft, dusky grey. Cold air hits Danse’s cheeks as he takes a step out of the SuperMart.

“I don’t rely on it as much as you thi-“

The ex-Paladin doesn’t get to finish his statement. He doesn’t get to finish his train of thought. He doesn’t even get to shout Nate’s name as thick, green fingers wrap around the survivor quicker than any of them can react.

-

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[sweetcocopowder]

Pitch Black Dahlias Pt. 3 | Pt. 4 | Pt. 5

Synopsis: Danse realizes why they're here

Word Count: 1.6K

Pairing: Paladin Danse / Nate (Sole Survivor)

Warnings: Ghouls. Shooty shooty bang bang. Crisis

The Behemoth’s destruction can be still heard from within the confines of the old SuperMart walls. The residents that live within the building move around frantically, having been riled up from the chaos outside. The telltale moan of a ghoul has the ex-Paladin gripping his laser gun tightly. Nate takes point, loading his shotgun with ease.

The SuperMart is a mess. Shelves are knocked over and items are scattered everywhere. Dust can be seen thick in the air, and it doesn’t look like anyone’s been in here in quite some time. Anyone living. Danse has to hold back a sneeze as the dust tickles his nose with two fingers over his nose.

As if hearing the small noise emitted from Danse, a ghoul charges out of nowhere, snarling and biting the air like some savage dog. Danse raises his gun to shoot the offending intruder, but Nate is quicker. The shotgun pellets explode the ghoul’s head to a messy pulp of gore and blood that paints the ceiling above. Danse’s stomach rolls but he keeps it down, showing no emotion. Just like he was taught.

Nate doesn’t bat an eye, moving forward through the aisle as more groans and moans become audible the further they trek in. Danse stays close behind the survivor, his eyes darting back and forth as to make sure no ghouls come rushing at them from their blind spots.

The SuperMart shakes from the Behemoth’s rampage outside, dust and grime unsettling and falling from the ceiling above. It smells wet and musty despite these places smell old and crusty. The glass within the windows rattle loudly, the moans of the ghouls silencing momentarily to only become louder. The Behemoth is agitating them. And so, they’re taking their anger out to bite the closest moving thing. Which is Danse’s shoulder.

The ex-Paladin cries out in alarm as he swings around, his elbow cracking against the ghoul’s jaw. He doesn’t hear Nate call out to him over the ghoul’s loud gargled scream. He stumbles backwards, his left shoulder caining where the teeth of the ghoul had sunk its teeth deep within his skin. His jacket had taken most of the bite and he doesn’t think it actually pierced through two layers of clothes. It’s going to bruise like a bitch though.  

The ghoul snarls as it jumps for Danse once again, as if wanting to make sure it doesn’t miss this time. The butt of Danse’s gun crashes into the ghoul’s face stopping it short of its late afternoon craving. The ghoul cries out as it loses its footing, crashing into the shelving and taking everything with it to the floor. Danse doesn’t hesitates, baring his teeth as he pulls the trigger until the ghoul is a burning pile of ash. His love for feral ghouls are still the same.

It’s not the hand on his arm that drags him out of it. It’s the Behemoth’s roar that sounds way too close for Danse’s comfort that has him standing up straight. He regrets that shortly after, a jolt of fresh pain washing over his shoulder. He’s turned around to face Nate who holds a stimpak in hand, his arm already reared back to stab. Danse cries out a shout, flailing his hands hand with a loud “Woah!”

Nate scowls at him, brows furrows so deeply they could touch. “Don’t be stupid!” He snaps loudly.

A ghoul’s cry of acknowledgement answers to Nate’s outburst. The sound of shuffling feet doesn’t go unnoticed as Danse looks to Nate. He tears back his jacket to reveal his unscathed shoulder.

“It’s only a bruise, soldier,” Danse quickly informs. “No need to waste a stimpak on me.”

Nate lowers the stimpak, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down as he swallows. “Good. Thought I was going to have to put you down. Don’t want you turning on us, turning into a zombie!” Nate laughs, turning the moment into a joke.

One that Danse doesn’t get. “A zombie?” He asks.

Nate sighs as he places the stimpak back into his pack. “I’ll have to see if I can find any old ass comic for you. Show you the supernatural side of the imagination,” he says more to himself as if he’s writing down something in a notepad.

Danse doesn’t respond to that as they venture further into the SuperMart. The next few ghouls are easier to kill than the last. The smell inside the old building begins to become intoxicating the further they go in. It stings the nose, as if clinging to his sinuses and throat. It makes his eyes water that he tries his best not to wipe. Who knows what bacteria the ghoul has laid all over his jacket. Danse does his best to cover his face though but it’s very hard holding a small boxes and a gun. He just hopes this is worth it.

Nate suddenly dips into a room on the right-hand side of the SuperMart, calling out a loud, “Hello!” as he does.

When no answer comes, he treks into the next room, repeating the same. A little worry dwells inside of Danse’s gut as silence yet again is Nate’s reply. He frantically rushes to the next room which looks more like a storage room and calls out again.

This time round, a loud clatter responds. Nate disappears into the room which has Danse hurrying to follow. He looks around the SuperMart one last time, hating how the ground shakes with such a violence that has the windows shaking in their frames more so than before. They sound like they’re about to break. The Behemoth is getting closer despite them hoping for the best outcome. Danse stares at the front of the SuperMart as if the creature will stomp through the walls and ceiling at any second. But when nothing happens and only the telltale roar of the Behemoth shakes the dust from the ceiling again, does he let go of a breath that he didn’t know he was holding.

“Danse, I need that package!” Nate calls from inside the room.

The ex-Paladin darts his gaze away and he steps into the storage room with a formal, “Affirmative.”

But he stops short. The stark white of the Institute uniforms has Danse’s trigger finger twitching. He grips onto the care packages tighter as he meets the gaze of two synths. Still dressed and clad in Institute uniforms like they’re proud to wear it. One is a young adult woman, the other a middle-aged man with bright green eyes that stare at Danse with… hope. They kneel in front of Nate who holds the woman’s hands in his.

“You’ve come to help?” The green-eyed synth asks both of them, his cheerful gaze flickering between both men.

The two synths looks like they’ve been through hell. Their skin scratched up and bruises to hell while their clothes are somehow still a bright white.

“Yes,” Nate answers in favour of Danse’s silence. “We’ve got a package that will set you on your way. Show you how to survive. From the Railroad”

Nate holds out his hand to Danse. But the ex-Paladin doesn’t move. He can’t help let his nose lift up in disgust at the mere thought of helping synths from the Institute of all places. Is this what the Railroad has been doing!? Helping these Institute synths?

“Danse,” Nate speaks firmly as he stands up from his knees. “The packages please.”

“This is who we’re helping?” Danse hisses finally, snapping towards the survivor.

The two synths hopeful faces fall quickly. Nate frowns deeply, grinding his teeth together. The tension in the air becomes thick and Danse breathes heavily, eyes flicking back between Nate and the synths.

“You have no right to say that,” Nate speaks firmly.

Danse gawks, taking the smallest of a step backwards. “We destroyed the Institute yet you’re still helping them? They ruined so much of the Commonwealth!”

Nate scowls but doesn’t step towards Danse, afraid he might high tail it out of here with the package. “The synths within had no choice over where they lived! They were created and made by scientists that wanted power. The synths didn’t!” Nate speaks firmly, arguing his case. He knew this would happen. He knew this argument would happen. He just hopes it’ll put some goddamn sense into Danse. “The many synths I met down there only wanted to escape and have a life! That’s what the Railroad offers, a second choice! A second choice I lent my hand to you.”

Danse falls silent, his gaze moving down to the synths kneeling on the floor. Like him. The thought is still yet so foreign and so fresh in his mind. Like him. They were birthed from the same machine. From the same place. Made from the same man that wanted to feel like God for a split second.

Would he feel differently if he remembered just a mere moment from his time within the Institute. The first face he had seen when he had awoken? All he’s ever known is the Brotherhood. And nothing but. All other memories wiped. Or maybe they weren’t even there.

Like him. Kneeling on the floor, receiving a second chance from Nate.

Danse meets those dark blue eyes once more and only sees something akin to dourness. The ex-Paladin heaves a heavy breath, and hands over the package without another word. Nate takes them gently, staring down at them with a sigh.

“Thank you, Danse,” Nate speaks softly.

The synth swallows thickly as he grips onto his laser gun with both hands. “Next time you want to bring me on one of these trips, warn me beforehand.” He says grimly before leaving the storage room.

His footsteps are heavy in the SuperMart and pound in his aching head. He needs space to breath. He needs a moment alone. He needs to think! 

-

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[watchyourdigits]

Falloutober Day Two:

Neon

I'm slowly catching up on these lol

This isn't a re-write like day one was, but I'm keeping with the theme of it being Frankie-centric. It's one of those in-between moments. The inspiration is Danse's fascination with Frankie's Pip Boy, which was only briefly mentioned in the main fic. Enjoy~

Word Count: 1.9k

Warnings: mild sexual language, canon typical violence

Ship: Paladin Danse x male Sole Survivor

Frankie wasn't oblivious to the way Danse would watch as he entered coordinates into his Pip Boy. He'd frequently catch him staring, even more so as time went on.

At first he didn't seem to trust the device on Frankie's wrist. It was understandable, a natural reaction to that which one didn't fully comprehend. Lately, Danse seemed more fascinated by it than anything. The shift in opinion only came after Frankie had shown him that it was a useful navigational tool.

Danse didn't realize Frankie was aware of his observations of him. The gas mask served him well in that sense. Frankie would make a point to subtly turn his arm so he could watch from afar whenever Danse would shoot curious looks his way.

He never got too close. This bothered Frankie more than he cared to admit. He was more than willing to show him how the Pip Boy worked, but Danse was never keen on asking, and Frankie was too proud to offer.

The more they worked together, the more Frankie became accustomed to who Danse was as a person, odd habits and all. In fact, he actually found himself growing fond of the Paladin. It certainly helped that he'd been laying off on the critical nitpicking.

Danse was meticulous in everything he did and Frankie would be lying if he, too, didn't give his fair share of stolen glances whenever he'd find him working on his power armor during the quieter moments that preceded sleep.

Frankie wanted to ask him more about it; he hadn't been in the division that had utilized power armor during the Great War. It had fascinated him, though only up until he'd nearly been killed in Concord his first day in the Commonwealth.

Frankie didn't think he'd ever forget the claustrophobia of the deathclaw's massive foot pressing down on his chest, nearly caving his ribs in as it ripped the helmet clean off. If he ever did, all he had to do was look in the mirror to be reminded of it.

Still, seeing Danse work sparked the flame of his curiosity again.

There was a particularly bad storm raging outside on the day Frankie finally approached him on a whim. They were hunkered down in a series of interconnected buildings they'd cleared of ferals. Danse boarded up the doors with scrap Frankie had collected, both in agreement to wait out the torrential downpour.

Frankie had cleansed himself of the battle and was about to fetch Danse for him to take his turn scrubbing off in the privacy of the upper levels. It wasn't quite a shower, but neither of them were strangers to having to make do.

The power armor stood under the high ceilings of what used to be a dining room. Danse's uniform was unzipped halfway, pulled down to his hips, where he'd tied it loosely to keep it from getting in the way. Beside that, he only wore a stained undershirt that left little to the imagination.

Talk about violating uniform code. Holy fuck. He's built like a goddamned Plummer bull. Bet he bucks real good, too…

Frankie leaned against the doorway for a minute or two, ogling Danse's broad back as he tinkered with the metal plating.

"Those things have a Geiger counter built in, right?" Frankie blurted.

His mouth was great at taking the reins whenever before his mind could think better of it. It was both a blessing and a curse, given that damn near half the shit he said left him wondering why the hell he'd even said it in the first place.

This was one of those times because, right up until he'd spoken, he probably had the chance to sneak back upstairs for some time to himself.

Danse turned slightly, looking up at him. He hadn't been startled or even at all surprised that he was there. Maybe it had been too late anyway, or so he told himself. Some solace was better than none.

Frankie peeled himself off the door frame and sauntered further into the room, pulling over a chair and straddling it as he continued to watch, closer now. Danse didn't continue his work. He instead focused on Frankie's movements.

"Affirmative," he finally replied, only once Frankie had settled.

Frankie watched as he pulled a rag from where he'd tucked it into the knotted arms of his uniform. Danse wiped his hands off, his expression unchanged at the decision to sit by him.

"If you ever need the current radiation levels, you can always inquire."

Frankie snorted, lifting his arm to show off the device strapped to his wrist.

"Naw, I've got a Geiger too."

Danse's jaw twitched, his eyes flickering to the Pip Boy, then back to Frankie's covered face.

"A navigational system and a Geiger counter? What else could that model possibly be capable of?"

It was almost a real question, but there was a hint of disapproval, too, with a little sarcasm to tie the sentiment together neatly.

If he understood the technology, maybe he wouldn't be so weird about it…

Frankie decided to take the risk. He wanted to know more about the power armor, but that could wait.

"Shoot, a hell of a lot actually… You want me to show ya?"

Danse's eyes lit up, enough that Frankie could tell he had him reeled in, his innate thirst for knowledge winning out over his concerns.

If there was one thing he appreciated about Danse, it was his inability to mask how he was truly feeling.

"I… do have a few questions about its functionality…" Danse said hesitantly, almost as if he didn't want to admit to his curiosity. "If you don't mind taking the time, of course."

"My-oh-my, aren't you a gentleman," Frankie crooned, causing Danse to flush a little around the part of his neck that was visible above his shirt.

Damn, if it's that easy to make him go redder'n a tomato… We might have some problems soon.

Danse's particular brand of bashfulness was causing his stomach to flip, twisting itself up in knots, yet Frankie was more focused on the release of another kind of tension he didn't even realize he'd been holding.

"Just kiddin' around," Frankie said, taking back his normal tone of voice. "It ain't no trouble to me… Hey, can I be truthful with ya for a sec?"

"Always, soldier."

"Well, if I'm bein' honest, I've been waitin' for you to ask. You stare a lot."

The redness at Danse's collar crept rapidly upward. He stood slowly as if he were processing how to handle that. He stretched out his back and rubbed his neck uncomfortably.

Frankie felt a little guilty for what he'd done to the poor bastard so he stood as well, dragging his chair back over to the table it called home. He gestured for Danse to sit and took a seat beside him.

He scooted the chair closer to the Paladin, placing his arm on the table between them for him to analyze.

"This is the main screen. It's got-"

"How does it display your health like that? Or is that for show?" Danse asked, frowning at the indicators on the screen as he cut Frankie off.

Frankie knew the Pip Boy system inside and out. He didn't have to look at it much at all to point to the various blips on the screen. This left him free to watch Danse's face, savoring the various expressions he donned as he leaned in to get a better look at the screen. The neon green glow cast reflected in his dark eyes in a way that was damn near hypnotic.

"When you first put it on each day, it takes a small blood sample. It feels like a pinprick. The rest of the time, it just records basic vitals. Blood pressure, heart rate, things like that…"

Danse narrowed his eyes at the screen. He brought his hand up to interact with it, almost as if on instinct. Frankie sucked in a quiet, anticipatory breath. Danse hesitated, hand now hovering over Frankie's arm.

Though Frankie knew he couldn't possibly see him through the mask, when Danse turned his gaze on him, he felt like he was being stared straight through.

Exposed, vulnerable, willing… Those were among what few words crossed the invisible barrier into Frankie's conscious thoughts.

"Do you mind if I…?" Danse asked gently.

He's asking for permission, you idiot. Answer him. Tell him he can do whatever he wants to you while he's at it. Maybe he'll even let you-

Frankie shook his head. He swallowed hard, saliva chasing salacious comments down the back of his throat.

If it were anyone else, he would've made a move by now. Why he was so preoccupied with not burning this bridge in particular was beyond him. Nothing mattered anymore, right?

"Naw. Go to town."

Smooth. Real smooth, Frankie.

Danse was none the wiser to the double-entendre. He pursed his lips in concentration as he turned his attention back to the Pip Boy. He tapped at a few things on the screen before frowning once more, his exquisitely large hands blocking Frankie's view of what he'd done.

"Interesting… It says you're of exceptional health, yet your heart rate is concerningly high for someone of your fitness level. Ninety-three, and steadily increasing… Are you feeling alright?"

Of course he'd check out the fuckin' vitals first instead of Atomic Command.

Frankie coughed, clearing his throat again. He nodded and looked away from Danse, feeling something resembling shame for the first time in his life.

"You're a quick learner, ain't ya?"

He didn't need Danse to make him aware of the rate at which his heart was hammering away at his ribcage.

Danse stared at him expectantly as he awaited a proper answer, his brow furrowed.

"Never been better," he lied hoarsely, his mouth suddenly dryer than a desert in mid-July.

His thoughts ran at a mile a minute, not unlike his heart. The Pip Boy gave a single beep as a warning popped up, letting them both know he'd stabilized somewhere around a hundred and two.

Do they still have deserts nowadays, or did the apocalypse screw up all the climates? Can't be, I'm sweatin' like hell itself… Christ alive, I need to get laid. Maybe MacCready would be down for-

"Your resting heart rate is about double what it should be. We need to get you to a doctor immediately," Danse insisted.

"The senor's messed up again. Damn this two-hundred-somethin'-year-old tech. Totally unreliable, just like you said."

Frankie jerked his arm away in a way that would've been obvious to most people. Not to Danse, though, who didn't appear to think anything of it.

"You should go wash up," Frankie suggested in the beat of silence that followed.

He glared down at his Pip Boy as if it could somehow save him from the situation it had gotten him into.

Talk about wearin' your heart on your sleeve.

"I don't think that's necessary. I was in my po-"

Frankie interrupted a bit more harshly than intended.

"Listen, the smell of ghoul guts ain't most folks' idea of sexy."

It took Danse approximately a century to leave the room, making sure to pack away his tools first. All the while, Frankie tried to figure out if the Pip Boy was capable of either turning him invisible or self destructing, maybe even both. He didn't exactly care about the particulars, just so long as he didn't have to feel Danse staring at his back.

Great, now he thinks you're physically unwell AND mentally unstable.

Fortunately, Danse didn't say anything as he trudged his way up the creaking stairs. It wasn't until his heavy footsteps faded away that Frankie took a deep, shaky inhale, finally able to breathe again.

[drdawnbreaker]

Why do i sense something bad is going to happen with this delivery... also DEACON!?!? Wtf with the hair 💀💀 idiot!! I love the softness with nate and danse and also im LIVING with the interaction Nick and Danse has. I wished we got more of this side to all the characters in game. More words spoken to one another when switching out companions.

IMA EAT PART TWO UP I CAN FEEL IT!!

Pitch Black Dahlias | PT. 1 | PT.2

Synopsis: The news had taken everyone by shock. The Minutemen had been the one to take down the Institute. It's evil being rid of the Commonwealth once and for all.

But that doesn't mean that Nate's work is over. There is a still a lot to. And that includes helping Danse with his current dilemma of finding out who he truly is. And the pre-war man thinks bringing Danse along on some Railroad jobs will help out.

Hopefully.

Word Count: 2.2K

Pairing: Paladin Danse x Nate (Male Sole Survivor)

Warnings: Slow Burn. Trauma. Eventual Smut.

The only times Danse has had the time to visit to Diamond City, it’s all been for Nate. He sees no need to come to this part of the Commonwealth by himself. Yes, he has travelled and scouted around Diamond City when he was stationed at the Cambridge Station. But even those little expeditions were dangerous at that point of time. Those memories still spark a pang of hurt deep within his chest.

He pushes it aside as he walks down the stairs to the Diamond City centre. He hasn’t seen Nate in two weeks. A whole two weeks since they infiltrated the Institute together with the Minutemen and destroyed the evil from the Commonwealth.

He was more than honoured to do so when Nate had asked him to be by his side. It had given him something to shoot at and fight for.

A part of him only hoped that it would have been the Brotherhood to participate in such a role. But Danse couldn’t argue with Nate when he was set in his ways. His mind was made up ages ago. The whole ordeal out of the Listening Post was probably what tipped him over the edge. It always something that Danse stills ponders on. Still thinking that that day was his last.

But he’s still here, alive, as a synth can get, and standing naked in Diamond City. Not naked per say, but he feels like it.

He’s come without his power armour at Nate’s request. He felt more at home inside of one. But the fact that Nate had asked him to come without one? It made him feel weary travelling from the Castle to Diamond City without it. But he trusts Nate’s judgement even if it might be questionable at times.

Like standing still while aiming down his scope as a super mutant suicider came barrelling his way. Danse was still his sponsor back then and hounded into Nate for being so stupid. He left it out of the report, but that doesn’t matter anymore. Nothing he did for the Brotherhood matters.

He pulls his bomber jacket closer around his chest, the late autumn breeze cold today. He ventures through the market to Nate’s residents at the Home Plate, ignoring the multiple people calling his way trying to upsell their products. He doesn’t need a haircut, or some ammo, or a… swatter? He eyes the red faced man before continuing on.

Anyways.

Danse gives three sharp knocks on the door and takes a step away. He eyes the empty power armour rack, wondering where Nate has kept his T-45. It wasn’t at the Castle, he just came from there. Maybe he’s left it up at the Red Rocket with his wide collection of power armours. He waits a few minutes before knocking again. He doesn’t want to intrude even though he knows Nate wouldn’t care. It’s more out of respect than anything.

“Danse.”

Slowly -at the sound of the very unique voice-, the ex-Paladin turns to meet the synth detective with a frown. Valentine narrows his gaze to him with a raised brow.

“Valentine,” he responds back blandly.

“Glad to see you out and about after everything,” the detective says with as much sarcasm as possible.

“Where’s Nate?” Danse gets to the point, his tone blunt and firm.

But Valentine doesn’t faulter to the demand. His stark yellow eyes flickers behind the former soldier before back at him. “He’s this way,” he says instead with a small wave of his hand.

Danse hesitates for a moment, glancing to the door before reluctantly following after Valentine. He’s well aware that his hate towards the synth is something that’s hypocritical. Yet there’s something so intertwined in Danse’s heart that he hasn’t been able to rid himself of yet. Could be the same reason why he was so ready to die by Nate’s hands. Dropped to his knees and begged that he needed to be the example, not the exception.

Yet Nate had still dragged him from his knees and pleaded. Showed him mercy that Danse didn’t deserve. The ex-Paladin doesn’t think he deserved it. He’s heard from others that Nate has a bleeding heart and Danse wouldn’t be the one to object to those claims. Sometimes it’s a dangerous thing. Getting them into more trouble at times.

The two don’t get far. Valentine stops just outside the chems store and points a skinny, metal finger upwards. Danse looks up without a word and doesn’t see it at first, but when he does he can’t help but stare.

There’s a small, makeshift balcony atop of Nate’s residents, one that overlooks the city. A grand view of the place. It’s a lovely little spot that Nate paid a pretty cap for. But there in his little red throne -a single seater couch- with his head lolled onto his chest, is Nate fast asleep. His hands are overlapped on his torso with his legs outstretched. He reminds Danse of one of those older settlers at Sanctuary that can be seen napping the day away. Every, single, day.

“How long has he been up there?” Danse asks casually. His shoulders have relaxed and his head is slightly cocked to the side like a dog.

“Around three hours now,” Valentine answers with a chuckle. “As far as I know from Piper they came back from the Railroad. They’ve been keeping him on his toes lately trying to help the synths you and him helped out.”

Danse swallows thickly. “It was all him.”

“Whatever you say, big guy,” Valentine speaks softly. “But at least give yourself some credit.”

There’s no response to that and the synth detective hums at that.

“Is that why I haven’t seen high or nigh of you lately? Didn’t want to deal with other synths?” Valentine asks, jabbing at this point.

Danse swallows thickly and changes the subject. “Why was Piper with him?”

Valentine lightly rolls his eyes and looks back up Nate. “She wanted a story. The aftermath of the Institute and what nots. Don’t know how good it’ll be with the Railroad wanting to stay hidden and all.”

“Does it matter anymore with the Institute gone?” Danse asks a genuine question.

It takes Valentine back a bit, the question actually making him wonder. “To some degree, yeah. There’s still synths out there that believe in what the Institute was doing.” The detective pauses for a moment, staring at the soldier. “You’d know that if you didn’t go off hiding away. Nate needs you right now more than ever.”

Danse swallows thickly, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down. “I’ll wake him,” is all he murmurs before walking off.

He brings the spare keys to Home Plate out of his jacket pocket and unlocks the door. He wouldn’t normally let himself in, despite Nate having told him in the past that this place is more welcome to call home than anywhere else. Like the Castle and Sanctuary.

“It’s ours,” he has said once. It sounds weird on his mind as it did hearing it the first time from Nate’s mouth.

Yet whenever Danse is at those settlements as well, he feels more of the need to keep on his toes and work. Make sure that everything is in order, checking the defence systems more moving onto the water supplies, then onto the generators. Keeping his mind and body preoccupied so that he doesn’t have to think of other pressing matters. Just like the Brotherhood had ironed into him.

But Home Plate, it’s probably the only place that Danse has ever felt relaxed. The noise that seeps in through the thin walls of the place reminds him all too well of the Prydwyn, an all too welcoming murmur of noise. Theres no checklists at Home Plate. Only the mundane need to keep the place tidy of dust and other critters that decide to make themselves home.

Danse is quick to take himself up the stairs to the balcony. He opens the door as quietly as he can, peering around the corner to where Nate still sleeps peacefully on the couch. The ex-Paladin can’t help but watch for a moment with his brown eyes. The usual frown that has somehow become a permanent thing on Nate’s face has now smoothed out.  

With a quick glance out below, Valentine is nowhere to be seen and the people of Diamond City pay them no mind. One other thing that was ironed into Danse was their concept on attraction. A Paladin had to be at his best at all times. And that meant to having someone you love dearly being on your mind. The quality and the care for a Paladin’s garrison was all that Danse was able to think about.

Yes, he had come to a point in his sponsorship with Nate that his brewing feelings could mean something much more. Seeing someone being able to hold their own and being able to lead. It had wanted Danse to know more about Nate and who he was before the war. What things were like back then.

Slowly, Danse kneels down to one knee next to Nate’s outstretched legs. He brings a hand up gently and caresses the sleeping man’s face who stirs. Nate inhales deeply as his dark blue eyes blink awake through a squinted, peeping gaze. He looks to Danse with a bleary expression before a warm smile comes to his lips. He leans into the rough hand on his face, cupping it with his own. He turns his face into Danse’s palm and gives it a light kiss, his movements still filled with the grogginess of sleep.

“I think I may still be dreaming,” Nates murmurs groggily.

Danse stands up and places a kiss to the other’s forehead. “Rise and shine.”

Nate groans loudly as he stretches his stiff joints in the couch. He looks out to the small city and blinks.

No matter how much the Brotherhood had said about attraction and love, Nate had always made it feels welcoming though. Something that Danse still finds himself having trouble pulling away from. These past two weeks have been hell sent. But he won’t admit that out loud where the world can hear.

Nate then looks to his pip-boy as he licks his lips. His face goes from placid to wide and frantic within less than a second.  

“I was out for over three hours!?” He exclaims as he suddenly sits up straight.

Danse responds quickly with, “Your body needed the rest after everything you’ve been putting yourself through.”

Nate stands up, running a hand through his hair as his peace is disrupted by his own mind and responsibilities once more. This is probably the first time in months that Nate has had some time to himself.

“We’re going to be late!” Nate exclaims. “Did you let me sleep that long?” He asks with no bite to his tone.

“I only just arrived here,” Danse states.

That seems to calm the other man down a bit, his tense shoulders sagging. “Okay then we would have been late anyways,” Nate says more to himself than to the ex-Paladin.

“Why did you want me here?” Danse asks.

Deep blue eyes focus back onto the soldier. “Did you pick up those care packages?” He asks.

Danse could make a comment. A bad comment that would most likely have Nate snapping at him. Because why did Nate have him go to a Railroad drop point to meet up with Deacon of all people to hand him this, box? A care package of some sorts. Deacon hadn’t said much, had just said good luck before moving on with a fat grin on his face. He had tipped his wig of hair like some man in a suit would tip their fedora. It was odd and only had Danse confused even further.

But knowing that this job had to do with the Railroad, he couldn’t help but let that old hatred towards them linger and simmer. He’s aware it’s wrong, they help others of his kind. Synths. Yet there it was, that distaste that comes to his tongue whenever he’s near them or mentioned.

So, he replies with a simple and bland, “Yes.”

Nate picks up on his though and looks to him with a raised brow. “You didn’t do anything stupid with Deacon, did you?” He asks with a hand on his hip.

Danse’s brows shoot up. He should be offended at Nate saying such a thing! “No! I wouldn’t harm one of your contacts even if they’re-“ he cuts himself short. “I wouldn’t,” he repeats himself, his voice more on the verge of a whine than anything else. He clears his throat, hoping to cover it up.  

He shuffles around inside of his bomber jacket and holds out the two care packages to Nate instead. Hoping to distract the man from his current inner panic.

Nate takes the packages with a thank you. He opens them both up without a word, looking inside to make sure that everything is intact. From where Danse stands, he can’t see anything but from the look on Nate’s face, everything is satisfactory.

“Alright!” Nate exclaims as he snaps the packages shut. He places them under his arm as he makes his way back into Home Plate. “I want you to join me for a delivery!”

“A delivery?” Danse can’t help but ask.

“A very, dangerous delivery,” Nate grins slyly before he disappears inside.

Danse can’t help but roll his eyes at the comment. Isn’t everything dangerous when it comes to the man? The way he does things is, questionable. Danse groans to himself, before heading inside after the other.