Coco

It was meant to be simple. In and out.

There was a lot after in and before out. But it was like anything they had done before. Go in, shoot some fucked up monsters and the one responsible then come back out with only a few scrapes and grazes.

One thing Chris has always told you and the team, anything can go wrong. Yet you had stupidly and naively thought that nothing could go wrong with Chris. Because… it’s Chris. Chris Goddamn Redfield. He’s been through this since the late nineties. The man has seen more fucked up and inhumane shit than you could count on both of your hands and feet.

So, when the man’s voice had come over your radio, at first it had to be some sick joke. You couldn’t help but laugh at it at first. But the silence that had come afterwards had only made a thick, heavy brick sink into the bottom of your gut. Umber Eyes had asked for confirmation and had received it quickly by Chris.

“Alpha in. I’ve been… infected. New orders are to leave without me once I’ve planted the bomb and you’ve found Rose. No exceptions. Over.”

You had been informed beforehand that the virus acts quick. Too quick for anything to be done once you’ve been bitten and there’s no cure for it. And Chris has been infected. Your Captain. Your-

Goddamn you promised yourself you wouldn’t get too into this fucked up relationship. You grip the radio with enough strength you feel like you could crush it, bringing it to your mouth so quickly you almost clack it against your bared teeth. You exhale shakily, watching your warm breath form a cloud in the chilly air.

The forest surrounding the village is too quiet for your liking despite the absolute chaos going on downwards. The smell of the mold is drafted up to sting your nostrils, the wind chilling even through your heavy gear. A chilling shiver runs down your spin as you lick your cracked lips, trying to find the will to ask the question yourself.

“This is Beta. Are you positive? Over” You ask, even though you already heard the answer before.  

The radio is silent for way too long before it crackles and Chris’s gruff voice comes through, “Positive, over.”

“FUCK!”  

You find yourself screaming into the trees, pacing away from the sight of the village before coming back. Breathing comes in painful, cold inhales that don’t help the shaking your hands have begun to do. Your heart thumps within your chest, your eyes staring down at the village with pure resent. You can almost taste the bitterness on your tongue. Or maybe it’s the bile threatening to rise up form your stomach.

Umber Eyes comes over the radio. “We’ve located Rose.”

You lick your lips again, trying to wet them in this damn cold. You know where Chris was last. Despite being posted here as look out, the urge to rush down is becoming an itch that you can’t ignore. The thought of staying up here and doing nothing pains you more than anything. You fiddle with your assault rifle before checking the magazine. Full.

Without another thought, you jump down the ledge you’ve been spying on and head down to the village. A lump forms in your throat that you can’t swallow. You’re disobeying orders. Orders that were given to you by your Captain very clearly and strictly. Keep look out. Keep a bird’s eye view over the village in case anything happens that the rest of the team isn’t aware of- Fuck that! You can’t just leave Chris behind. He’s your Captain and- He’s your Captain!

You trek down the fresh snow, having to use your assault rifle as a makeshift cane to help you balance yourself here and there. The last thing you need is a face and gear full of snow to slow you down.

Keeping your wit, you venture into the outskirts of the village with your gun ready and steady. You move quickly, jogging down the roads that have bodies of the creatures piled up like a goddamn war zone. You’ve only seen them from afar and on video recordings from the team’s experiences. You’ve never been put in front of one of these things. Chris likes to keep you away and uses the excuse of, needing to have someone looking down on everything from above. And yes, it has been helpful in the past but recently, you can’t help but feel like he’s keeping you away from the danger on purpose.

And you’ll give him that. The reason why your flings here and there with Chris haven’t turned into something solid is because he’s afraid of the loss. He has said that bluntly to you once before. And you can’t really blame the man for pushing away. You’re aware of his track record with his former team members in the past. So having you and the others must be like a stab in the gut that he’s been given yet another team to go out and do the same shit over and over again. Kill and wipe out bioweapons that threaten humanity, yet they come back like fucking weeds that won’t go away no matter how many times you pull them out, poison them and stamp them into the ground.

It's one way to live, you’ll say. But it’s a living. It may be dirty work but it’s a good living. It’s good to know that keeping these creatures out of terrorist hands is making the world a little safer.

Yet, seeing these wolf-like creatures up close is like something out of a horror movie. Teeth and claws long and sharp, eyes a pale white that are now glazed over with death. You’ve seen death before, just not something so freakish. You’ve seen dead B.O.W’s but nothing that looked so… human?

Blood litters their bodies and you don’t know if it’s theirs or someone else’s. Many of them are riddled in bullet holes and you swallow thickly. They take a lot of bullets.

You keeping moving all while holding your lunch down. You’ve got to find the cave system that Chris had disappeared into. So, you follow the carnage you only know that your Captain could leave behind. And not before long, walking through a graveyard and following the trail of coloured smoke coming out of the ground, you find the cave. You lick your dry lips again as your radio goes off. The team are moving in, talking back and forth.

None of your team members know you’re venturing down here. You’re in this alone. This could cost your spot in the team and your job all together. You grip your gun tighter. Giving one more glance behind you, making sure you’re not being followed, you jump down into the cave system.

It’s dark and dreary down here. Flicking on your flashlight, you get a sense of your surroundings. The smell of mold is intoxicating that it makes your stomach roll with disgust. It smells damp and like wet rot. Like a house that’s been sitting for way too long.

You follow the same carnage of the creatures outside. You expect at least one of them to move or twitch or groan or something. As cliché as that sounds. But they all lay still, unmoving like the ground they now rest in. Chris made sure that what’s dead, stays dead.

Your radio crackles suddenly. “Bomb has been planted.”

Chris’s voice comes over hoarse and out of breath. Pained even. The virus must be spreading quick. Quicker than what they’ve led on to believe.

Without even thinking, you run quicker than you were before. You skip and hop over rock and debris, not watching where you place your footing. You need to get to Chris. That stupid bastard has probably gotten himself killed. Yet you know what’s happened which is a worse outcome than death. Infected. He’s infected and going to become a mindless thing.

No, you can’t think like that. Not-

The ground underneath the foot you’ve just placed forward tumbles beneath it. You fall forward, flailing your arms like some chicken as you roll and flip down a three metre dip in the cave. You land heavily with a grunt on the ground, your face full of the black dirt that covered this place. You think it’s dirt. It doesn’t taste like dirt as you spit it out with a hack and a harsh cough. It tastes disgusting and sour and you don’t want to know what you’ve just ingested.

You rise to your hands and knees, unstrapping your helmet and tactical goggles on your head. You throw them aside, the gear being covered in the thick black substance.

“What the…” you breathe.  

But then you look up, and you can’t help but gape upon what you see. A large black mass hangs above you, pulsing and swelling. And the smell is god awful. Your assault rifle goes flailing off somewhere. You rise to your feet, your eyes never leaving the mass in front of you. Taking a few steps forward, you feel your gut sink low within your chest. Maybe you should’ve stayed up in the nest. The things you’ve seen in the span of half an hour is more than you’ve seen in your entire lifetime.

A low, gruntle growl drags your attention to the shadows immediately. You stand frozen in place, a hand on your side arm that everyone in the squad have. Chris has personally given yours to you. The words he had uttered though are still burnt into your skull.

Leave the last bullet for yourself.

You just hope it doesn’t come to that. You watch as the shadows move, something lurks in the dark, something big and you can’t place your fight or flight response. Do you fight? Or do you run like your mamma taught you to when you were young.

Or freeze. Freeze like a deer in headlights as you see a pair of wolf yellow eyes come out to greet you.

You don’t realize at first, but it’s only because of the dog tags hanging out the creatures neck that you realize it’s Chris. Chris Redfield.

His eyes are wide, horrified as his bones crack and distort beneath his stretching skin. He falls to his knees, his gaze never leaving you.

He shakily breathes out, hissing his words. “What are you doing here!?”

Saving him? But how!? You’re not here to save him. You can’t. There’ no saving this. Has a child you had believed in God but seeing the things you’ve seen, you left God a long time ago. He isn’t here, men have played God too many times for you to believe in an Almighty. Control and creation, that is what He is about. Yet both do not go hand in hand for with creation comes free will and He punishes those who have such a thing. So, He makes them mindless machines, no longer human. That is how control is dealt. Make them with instinct, create them with lust and greed and wrath and He has something He can control.

And, so you can only watch mortified, unable to answer as Chris’s face shifts and morphs painfully. He snarls and hisses, drool pooling from his mouth as his old teeth are pushed out to be replaced by long fangs. His snout elongates until it’s a makeshift snout, his skin shifting and morphing, stretching over the bone. His shirt has ripped and his gear snaps as his body grows twice in size. He hunches over on his arms as they grow more bulky, thick black fur covering his skin.

You can’t utter a word as you watch your lov- your Captain morph into something he’s been fighting this entire time. Something he’s dedicated his entire life to destroying. Maybe he’s been fighting too long. Maybe his luck has finally run out for him because the thought alone his terrifying.

Chris’s yellow eyes lock onto you as he takes a step forward, his claws digging into the black, soft ground. His tongue licks at his bloody gums where his new fangs have come through, as if feeling and prodding at his new features. He looks… You would be stupid to not say that the pure strength that Chris vibrates isn’t, marvellous. Yet terrifying. Unpredictable. You stand between the beast and freedom now. His attention focused on you because he knows you. Knows your scent. Knows how you sound. Knows everything.

“Beee- daaaaa,” he tries to speak your name but it comes out more so in a long growl, something that rumbles your chest.

Finally, finally you get the will to speak. “Chris,” you swallow thickly, thinking of the options ahead for both of you. “We can get you back to the labs. Run tests. See if this is reversable.”

Chris shakes his head viciously, snarling as he does. He looks back to you, taking another step towards you as he growls deeply.

“Noooo,” he growls back, his speech still malformed from the large teeth within his mouth.

“Chris,” you speak softer as he takes yet another step towards you. You quickly realize he’s not more than a few feet from you now. Close enough that he could snap out and bite your hand if he wanted to. When had he gotten so close? You swallow thickly, taking your hand off your side arm to show your outstretched palms.

“Please,” you beg. “Come with me and this can be all a sweet dream.”

Chris shakes his head again, clawing at his snout as if there’s something there that he’s trying to shake off. You watch frozen. You should take this time to run off back to the squad. Or even radio in that you’ve found Chris. But what would everyone say? They’d be confused and outraged that you’ve left your post. You know they’d tell you to shoot him. Chris would tell you to shoot him!

Shoot!

“Leaaavvvveeee,” Chris growls deeply, his throat rumbling with the long drawn out word.

You lick your lips. As much as you want to go, you can’t. You can’t leave Chris here. He still has his mind. They haven’t taken him just yet. He still knows you. Still has the will to snap you away to safety. Empathy still shows as he fights off the instinct to kill. He still holds onto his humanity even though everything in his body vibrates to sink his claws into something warm and breathing.

You shake your head as you take a step forward. Stark yellow eyes latch onto your movements, watching your every move.

“I’m not leaving you behind in this sect pit,” you seethe quietly.

Reaching out a hand to Chris, you realize just how badly you’re shaking. You just hope that Chris doesn’t smell your fear if that’s even a thing. Those yellow eyes watch your outstretched hand, his whole body going ridged. Even on all fours, he stands a few feet higher than when he was human. His fur has come in thick, and it looks shaggy and ragged like wire. His bald snout is wet with sweat and drool and you inch carefully closer to try and touch him. To ease him into coming back to the nest with you.

But not everything goes like how it does in How to Train Your Dragon, because Chris snarls as he jumps forward, tackling you to the ground harshly into the black dirt. All the air from your lungs is pushed from your chest as a large, clawed hand holds you firmly to the ground.

You grab onto his large hand as you gasp for air, trying to refill your lungs. You wheeze, grinding your teeth together hard enough to crack as Chris opens his mouth right in front of your face. This is the end. This is the last thing you see. You can’t help but breath in his hot breath as you try and find air for yourself. Drool falls onto your face as his jaw surround your head. Everything freezes for way too long. Your nose can almost touch the back of his tongue, his fangs touching your ears. This is how you die. Loving a man too much that you ran to the depths of hell to try and save him.

You close your eyes, waiting for the end. Your only thought is how much of a stupid lovesick bitch you were.

Death doesn’t greet you though, nor does the sweet crunch of your skull between Chris’s teeth. It’s a warm, wet tongue that slides up your face that snaps you out of your haze. You breath heavily as you watch Chris sniff you, breathing in deeply as his nose crooks into your neck.

“Beeee- daaaaa,” Chris growls into your skin.

Shakily, you bring a hand to the side of his face. He flinches away but his yellow eyes look upon you, his pupils blown wide. The hand on your chest lifts a little, but only so he can drag you across the ground towards him. He towers over you now and he returns to sniffing at you again, inhaling as if he can’t get enough of you. His hand still holds you down, as if afraid you’ll now run off without him.

“I neeeed yoouu,” Chris rumbles out once more.

You blink, a little confused. What does he mean- You feel your face flush hot as you feel something thick and hot rub up against your inner thigh. You can’t see from where you’re pinned, but you’re not stupid.

“This isn’t really the time, Chris,” you whisper out, as if someone else is here and they’ll hear. “We should get back to the nest and see if we can get further help there. Run tests, get our best scientists to get you back to human.”

Chris shakes his head, drool flicking onto your face. “Nooooo,” he growls again, his face mere inches away from yours. His tongue rolls out and licks your mouth, hot, wet and sticky. “I neeeed youuu. Yoooouuuu, Beeeee- daaaaa. I neeeeeed yooouuu noooww.”

You swallow thickly, keeping your lips shut tightly as Chris rolls his tongue over your mouth again. His breath stinks and the last thing you want his that tongue on yours. But you can’t help the wet pooling between your legs in your pants. You’ve never heard Chris be this… needy. Did the infection amp everything up to a thousand? Did the adrenaline hike all his senses up past human?

You don’t know where fucking a B.O.W is on your Do-not List but you think it’d be pretty high up there.

“Will you come with me if you get this outta your system?” You ask, more on the verge of a snap.

Chris’s dilated pupils look to you with pure want. “Yesssssss,” he rumbles out.

“You owe me big one when we get you turned ba-“ You snap but you don’t get to finish your question as a hot tongue pushes its way between your lips.

You muffle your words as Chris laps at the inside of your mouth, tasting every inch of you as his grip on your chest tightens. You grip onto the hair on his arm, your eyes rolling back into your skull as his tongue dives in deeper down your throat. You gag a little and Chris is quick to retreat before diving in deeper again. You feel his fangs graze your cheek as his tongue laps down your throat, cutting off your air way. He seems to like the taste, not being able to get enough. You gag again, your body convulsing a little as your chest begins to hurt from lack of air. This time, Chris pulls on the way out, licking a strip up your face for good measure.

You inhale sharply, coughing and spluttering as all you can taste is Chris. Sour like the dirt underneath you.

Chris lets go of your chest only so he can run his claws down your pants. He rips them off with ease before you can even tell him you’ll happily remove them for him. Before you can protest about your torn pants, Chris’s tongue licks a hot strip between your legs, spreading your folds and making your clit twitch. You whine as he does it again, and again, and again, as if he can’t get enough of you. His eyes are closed as if he’s savouring the taste of you.

His tongue dips into you, wanting more of your warmth and wetness. He delves in deeper until his fangs are dangerously close to your body. You gasp and clench your teeth as your muffle a whine past your fisted hand as his thick tongue pushes up against your g-spot. You shiver as his tongue thrusts in and out in a frenzy, a slick wet pop echoing every time his tongue retreats out of your clenching hole.

You can’t help the noises that fall from your agape mouth. Your whole body shivers and twitches as his tongue pushes harder against that sensitive bundle of nerves inside of you. If he keeps this up, you don’t think you’ll last much longer. There may be a bomb somewhere but you’re only concern at the moment is how Chris’s tongue curls within you with every thrust.

You grip the ground as you arch your back, your mouth agape as your orgasm hits you. It builds intensely as Chris prods at your g-spot with each pass of his tongue, each time becoming more sensitive than the last. You shiver and gasp as your orgasm shudders in waves. And Chris doesn’t stop, drinking every last drop that you give him as if he’s drinking water.

He brings you to the verge of a painful sensitivity, making you whine and cringe at the feeling of your whole body becoming too much. You whine again as you try and shuffle away from him, to at least get a little time out before letting him get this rut out of his system.

But Chris growls at your movements, his clawed hands coming down and gripping your thighs. Hard enough that there’s going to be bruises there in a couple of hours time. He pulls you back to him and licks at your folds once more, getting one more taste. His stark yellow eyes look upon you, his pupils still blown wide.

He steps forward over you as he lets go of you. But before you can think of doing anything, he flips you onto your stomach. You get a mouthful of the sour black dirt and at this point you don’t think it’s dirt. It’s too soft and too powdery to be dirt. It stinks of fungus and… mold. You spit it out quickly, coughing and spluttering. You don’t want any of that shit in your system.

Your mild panic is soon replaced by another as Chris towers over you. His snout comes down beside your face, his hot breath huffing against your cheek.

“Beeeeee- daaaaaaa. Pleeeeaaaase,” Chris begs before licking a hot strip up your face. “Pleeeaaaase. I neeeeed youuu nooooow. I neeeeed-“ he growls deeply, licking at his lips as if he can still taste you.

“What do you need, dear?” You ask softly, hoping the fear coiling within your gut can’t be heard on your voice. You trust Chrus with your entire being. You love the poor man for God’s sake. Have you ever said such a thing out loud? Of course not.

But your fear stems of that you’ve got a B.O.W towering over your, fangs a hairs breath away from your face and the only thing on said B.O.W’s mind is to fuck. And it’s probably going to be a rough fuck with how Chris is huffing and growling in your ear. You just hope he doesn’t break you.

Chris ruts up against your ass, and you can feel how big he is. You thought his tongue was bad enough, you don’t know if you’ll fit all of him in. But you raise your ass in the air for him. You look underneath and you can see the thick, dark red cock twitching between Chris’s legs. Good lord is that a knot!?

You swallow thickly as you watch the tapered head slide between your saliva slick folds. Chris growls near your ear as he tries again to catch your hole. The head slides again, making your clit twitch. You reach back this time, guiding his cock into your cunt. And as soon as Chris catches, he thrusts in wildly. He knocks the breath straight out of you as his thick cock bottoms out to the knot in just two pumps of his hips.

You’re already slick and wet from Chris’s tongue but the stretch is wild. It burns and you bury your face into your arm on the ground as Chris picks up a quick pace. You don’t get time to adjust, and you’re left a panting, whining mess as the B.O.W takes what’s his.

“Beeeeee- daaaaa,” Chris growls.

You feel so full, every bit of Chris stretching your cunt out to fit him. You let him take you, letting him have his fill. You clench around him as you feel yourself on the edge of another orgasm. Each thrust pushes you away but Chris follows you, not wanting to let you get away. Not when you taste this sweet.

“Chris- fuck,” you moan as he presses a hand down onto the back of your head, pressing you further down into the mold so that you don’t slide away from him. All you can do is take it, listening to your own moans and groans coming from your panting mouth. Chris growls and huffs above you, his pace brutal and unwavering.

It feels like it goes on forever and you don’t know how much more you can take. The slick slap of his knot hits your cunt with every thrust, and you know what his end goal is. He’s going to try and stick that thick knot in you and stretch you even wider. He’s going to pump you full of his cum and nothing will seep out until he deems it right to let you go. You just hope to God you don’t birth out some fucked out babies with teeth and claws.

Yet, the thought of him filling you up until there’s nothing left to give sends a thrill down your spine. You clench around him suddenly, the thought making your clit throb.

“Come on, then,” you grin into the ground, enjoying this all a little too much. If only the team could see you. Being fucked by Chris like some wild animal. “Fill me up, Chris. I want you to fuck me like it’s your last day on earth.”

You can feel Chris shudder at that, his whole body shivering above you. You feel his position shift slightly and he thrusts harshly, pressing his knot against your cunt to see if it’ll fit. You groan as you feel the stretch, but it won’t budge. Chris pants above you as he thrusts in and out a few more times before trying again, and this time with a little budge the knot pops in. You groan deep within your chest, gripping handfuls of the ground as all you can feel is Chris. You’re so full you feel, content. s

Chris pulls out, your pussy tugging with it a little painfully. But the next time Chris thrusts in the knot goes in smoother until he’s fucking you with just the bulge. Your second orgasm hits you like a freight train. It feels like everything has amped up to a twenty and you squirm and shudder under Chris’s hold. He doesn’t let you go, his face lowering down to yours.

“Beeeee- daaaaa,” he growls deeply.

He pushes all of himelf inside you once more, stretching your cunt around his knot again but this time you can feel it swell withing you. And you thought you felt full before. You shudder out a gasp, your whole body vibrating.

Chris growls as he cums deep inside of you, painting your insides with him and only him. You feel the hot cum begin to dribble out and down your thighs with how much Chris is pumping into you. You pant loudly as you try and collect yourself the best you can with every inch of Chris’s thick cock inside of your stuffed pussy.

“Thaannk youuu,” Chris growls out quietly.

You’ve never been thanked for sex but there’s always a first. You just hope that Chris doesn’t regret this if you ever get him turned back, because you’ll have to agree to yourself. That was a thrill.

After Chris deems himself done, he pulls out with a pop and takes a step back away from you. You flop down into the ground with a huff as you let your body collect itself. How on earth are you going to explain your state to the rest of the squad as you come back with a lycan Chris in tow.

Hey, I left my post and found Chris and he had a lot of pent up adrenaline from the change so I let him fuck me. Why? Well maybe because me and Chris have been having a fling here and there before hand so it was no biggy because we’ve FUCKED before. No biggy. Right?

“Beeee- daaaaa,” Chris rumbles right beside your ear. “Weee neeeed to leave.”

You lift your head and look upon his now shifted, lycan-like face. You can still see Chris under all that fur. But Chris’s old face is much more handsome. You don’t think you can deal with having a tongue down your throat every time you want to kiss the man.

“Yes, yes,” you hiss. “Just, let give me one more minute.”

Chris huffs at that and rolls his eyes. It seems getting that shit outta his system he’s recollected himself and is able to think properly now. He looks upon you with his yellow eyes in worry. As if he’s broken you.

“I’m fine,” you assure. “You try getting fucked by a B.O.W.”

Chris tries to scoff but it comes out more like a bark.

You rise to your hands and knees and look around, wondering how the chances are if Chris took off his pants before he transformed. Because you really, really don’t know how you’re going to explain this. It almost feels like coming back home with a random stray dog you picked up off the street, hoping that your parents let you keep it. But this one is just your furry Captain that stares at you wondering the same thing.

How on earth are both of you getting to the helicopter and getting Rose to safety. Couldn’t of Chris gotten bit after we were done here? It would have made everything so much easier.

Maybe you can steal the pants of one of the B.O.W’s you passed before. They gotta have pants!

-

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.

-

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.

-

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.

-