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commonwealthoccurences · 10 months

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Back To Eden - Ch6

Summary: Sole is a journalist and independent investigator who worked with the famous Detective Nick Valentine before the bombs dropped. They stumble out of Vault 111 with hazy memories of a case gone awry, a sense of desperate yearning, and the bitter experience of already having had to fight for their life to survive against the odds. What's a little nuclear wasteland to a (newly) seasoned investigator?

See masterlist for warnings.

Fic-long tags: Hurt comfort, angst, pining, flashback scenes, noir detective show meets post-apocalyptic chaos, Preston Garvey is a sweetheart, Sole is doing their best and living out of pure spite, slow burn (Nick/Sole), etc etc.

For the next couple of weeks, Sole focused on settling in. Opening the bunker had made them a local hero, at least for the few days after, and had officially inducted them into the group of settlers. They had quickly formed a silent allyship with Jun, forming their own little post-apocalyptic grief group. While neither of them really wanted to talk about the events that were haunting them, there was an understanding between the two. Marcy was another story, but Sole knew everyone addressed grief in their own ways; hell, if Sole had any energy, they might have been just as angry at their own situation.

In the vein of grief, Sole had remained at ground level when the bunker had been opened. Preston had been the one to descend and check things out, just in case there had been some sort of trap awaiting whoever broke in– when he mentioned the possibility, Sole hadn’t dissuaded his caution. It wouldn’t have surprised them if their neighbor had done such a thing. It had surprised them, however, when he’d ascended moments later with a solemn look on his face and pulled them, quite literally as they’d remained seated in their chair, to the side. “Before we do anything about the supplies down there, I wanted to let you know…” Preston sighed, “There’s a body down there. Well, a skeleton. I thought you should know.”

Sole took a deep breath and glanced away. “Uh, wow. I mean, I didn’t even think about the possibility of him actually… making it long enough to get down there.”

“If you’d like– there was a hat. On the body. If you want, I can bring it up so you can confirm it was him. If that would help.”

“Yeah, I think I’d like that.”

Sole quickly confirmed that it was their neighbor who had died. There was a little bit of pride in their chest, trying its best to counteract the grief, at the fact that he had made it into his bunker. It hadn’t been a complete waste, after all. Whether or not the bunker was radiation-proof and he had survived longer than a second after the blast, they didn’t know. But he had died somewhere that meant something to him, and they were glad for that.

That night Preston had helped them out of their house again. Sole was getting a little better about using the crutches, but with the uneven terrain, it was best that they had some help, and Preston was too good of a man to watch them struggle. He’d built a small fire and set up two chairs, one for him to keep watch overnight over the little community and the other for Sole to join him as long as they needed to. He threw a blanket over his shoulder as they made their way out into the little field and once they were settled in their chair, he tucked them in.

Curious, Sole asked, “Do you guys still do funerals?”

“Well, I guess it depends.”

Preston propped his gun up against the arm of his chair and sat back. His coat collar was turned up against the chill of the breeze, his arms crossed over his chest as he pondered. “Sometimes you end up banded together with people you don’t know very well, and if they die, then no, there’s not really a funeral. If you really respected them then you might bury them, or set them up in a more dignified way then sprawled out where they died, but other than that, not really. If you really knew the person and were close, like if one of the folks here died, you’d probably bury them and make a makeshift marker. But, I’ve heard pre-war you guys would do a whole,” Preston waved his hand in the air to gesture something grand, “thing. We don’t have the time, energy, or resources to do that now, though. And, uh, people dying now is common.”

“Yeah, that makes sense.” Sole acknowledged quietly.

“Why do you ask?”

“I think I have some people to bury.”

It took a couple of days for Preston to arrange for everyone to be free and help out, but he was true to the agreement they made that night. Sole offered to go back down into Vault 111 to help them figure out how to open the cryopods, but Preston had firmly asserted that that wasn’t necessary and it would be unnecessary stress on Sole when they should be focusing on recovering. Instead, they were set up in a chair to watch the procession of still-frozen bodies brought down the hill and to the graves that had been set up.

Marcy had her fair share of snide comments about wasting time and being stuck in the past, but it was easy to ignore them with Sturges keeping them company. He did his best to keep things lighthearted despite the awful imagery of their neighbors being filed into the neat row of graves that had emphatically been placed as far away from the main neighborhood while still being in Sanctuary as possible. Marcy stood nearby, hands on hips, watching critically. “You dug too many graves. What a waste of time.”

“What?” Sturges asked, mildly perturbed at her overseeing.

“There’s one more grave than there are people. There’s an extra grave.”

“No, I asked for that many graves specifically. It’s… reserved. For when I find the person. I want to bring him home and bury him, if I can find him.” Sole piped up, not looking at either of the settlers.

The stern look on Sturge’s face was enough to stop Marcy from asking any questions, and Sole simply looked on as the graves were filled in, ignoring the sharp pangs in their chest that were making them feel so hollow.

Once Sole was finally mobile and could reliably use the crutches, it was a fight to keep them from overworking themself. Preston began consulting them, figuring that their pre-war experiences would give them a different perspective on survival methods that may be helpful and to prevent them from doing physical labor. And the settlement began to grow.

A main house was patched up, the holes in the walls repaired with scraps taken from other collapsed houses. Makeshift beds were created for everyone in the settlement– Preston decided they wanted everyone sleeping in one area, though an uncomfortable squeeze, until proper defenses were set up and everyone had grown accustomed to the area. Sturges made Mama Murphy a designated chair that found its place on the porch of said community house to keep an eye on everything. Crops began sprouting behind the community house, the promise for a future.

All of the food and supplies from the bunker were moved into Sole’s house, something that Preston had insisted on principle despite Sole’s indifference. The plan was for Sole to move out of their old house once they were well and to join everyone else in the community house. Sole’s house would be repaired and turned into a medical building, somewhere for Curie to have a designated space to run her tests and experiments and heal the sick and wounded. Sole could think of no better legacy for their old home than something adjacent to a hospital or clinic.

Curie had made her return to the settlement just before Preston and Sole discussed burying those left in the Vault. She had been the one to check out their bodies, to confirm there was no hope in saving them like there had been with Sole, and Sole was sure she’d collected samples and other material to study what had happened, but Sole didn’t ask. They didn’t particularly want to think about it.

In fact, they spent every waking minute fighting thoughts about anything pre-war. Maybe they were settling into the denial stage of grief and making that their new home, but they tried not to think about that much, either. Somewhere along the way they had convinced themself that it would be easier to simply throw themself into this new way of life, after the bombs, and lingering on what they had left behind would only start a destructive spiral. Preston made his disapproval known, but didn’t push, and neither did Sturges, who was far more understanding.

Rolling out of bed one morning, Sole grasped their crutches and began awkwardly shoving themself into a coat that Preston had scrounged up for them. None of their clothes had survived, of course, though Sole was a little disappointed about that. Jun had been kind enough to give their vault suit a little scrub in the river and returned it to them with his and Marcy’s regards. They knew Marcy had in fact not sent her regards, but it was a kind gesture, regardless. For now, the vault suit, the coat, and the black ballcap that had been pulled out of the bunker and also washed in the river were the entirety of Sole’s wardrobe.

Sole had gotten the hang of the little swing that got them momentum on their crutches, and once they had shut the door behind them, they began swinging towards the entrance to Sanctuary. They had started joining Preston on his patrols for the sake of having something to do without him checking on them every two minutes, worrying about if they were doing too much.

Preston spotted them as soon as they rounded the collapsed house that was on their way and greeted them with a raised hand and a smile that matched the rising sun. They gave a tiny wave in return, more focused on keeping their balance, and made their way over as quickly and reliably as they could. “Mornin’! Good to see you’re getting faster on those things.”

Sole laughed. “Tell me about it. I can’t wait till I’m back on my feet and can actually help out properly around here.”

“Hey, don’t you worry about that, you’re helping out plenty. Speaking of, I thought about what you said, about setting up Sturge’s auto-turret by the bridge– it seems like the obvious choice, but I’m kind of worried about the hill coming down from the Vault, too. A smart tactician would scale the hill on the other side and approach from that way.”

Sole thought about this for a moment. “Well, no one really knows we’re up here yet, right? So the first time we get approached it’s gonna be from the front, from the main road leading up from Concord. As long as we keep an eye out and make sure no one’s looking in on us without approaching, we should be okay until word gets out that we’re here. That’s when we’ll have to worry about getting snuck up on.”

“Yeah, you’ve got a point. Man, what did you do before the war? How do you think of this stuff? I didn’t think you had to worry much about stuff like this before.”

Sole laughed again, though it was dry this time. “I was sort of an unofficial detective. Going after shitty people in any time period will make you paranoid enough to worry about these things.”

The pair began walking, starting their patrol by the riverbank. “Oh, damn. Sounds like an intense job if that wasn’t the norm back then. You catch anyone?”

Sole stared. They stared out at the river and watched it bubble and creep down its little path towards the other end of the neighborhood and then they closed their eyes and tried their best to focus on the feeling of the sun warming their skin, for fear of that biting cold coming back. “Yeah. My first big case, we ended up catching the guy. Got in the newspapers and everything.”

“Wow. Once a badass, always a badass, I guess.” Preston grinned.

“Hm. Not sure if I feel like a badass.”

“Are you kidding me? You caught the guy, got cryogenically frozen, survived a nuclear war and the plethora of crap the freeze gave you and crawled back home, and kicked frostbite and everything else’s ass, and then saved a group of people from starving. That’s pretty badass in my book.”

Sole rolled their eyes, but couldn’t fight the smile that rose to their face. “Alright. I guess I am pretty badass.”

“That’s the spirit.”

Preston let the garbling river fill the silence as they approached the makeshift graveyard; Sole was sure he made his patrols cut by it intentionally, so they couldn’t stay in denial forever. He was quite tactical in the way he cared, and Sole could appreciate that even if they didn’t appreciate being pulled back to everything that had happened. “Y’know, we still have detectives?”

“Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah. I mean, one. We have one detective. I’ve mentioned Diamond City before, I think. Biggest settlement in the Commonwealth at the moment– you’ll go there eventually, at the very least once. His agency is there and he tries to help people out. He’s a good man, always trying to do the right thing. Even though people aren’t always kind enough to do the same for him.”

Sole looked down at the empty grave nearby and felt as if it were looking back at them. They swallowed. “It’s– uh,” They cleared their throat as their voice cracked, “good to know people like that are still around. The world needs people like… like him.”

“Yeah, we’re pretty lucky. You should talk to him at some point, I think you two would have a lot in common. Hell, you might even end up a detective again.” Preston laughed and Sole swallowed again, hard, averting their eyes from the grave and staring up at the sky.

“No, uh. I think those days are over for me. Had my fill of detectives.”

“Hey, are you alright?”

“Yeah, I’m alright Preston. Why don’t we go take a look at where you’re gonna want that turret? I can help Sturges set it up.”

#back to eden #fallout 4 fanfiction #gender neutral sole survivor #nick valentine #preston garvey #sturges #curie #mama murphy #jun long #marcy long #hurt comfort #slow burn #angst with a happy ending

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decimatlas · 11 months

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@4freedoms continued from here.

There were plenty of nights when Eden was tasked with the role of ushering any strays to their barracks. They’d dodge, scamper, hide at the unmistakable sound of her approaching. Air of authority, intimidation — her boots would simply hit the ground and they would go running, darting off in hopes of avoiding discipline. They never got far, of course. Eden had begun to know them well — their habits, the cover they’d take, the signals they’d give each other to warn of her approach. She always found them, always spotted them. She’d bark and order and they would slink away, tails between legs. They’d regret it in the morning. They always did.

Nearly always.

On that night in particular, whilst Eden did her rounds — she spotted familiar, bright locks, whipped by breeze. Moonlight reflected off fiery wisps. Bronwyn is perched atop a building, arms wrapped around her knees and pulled flush to her chest. Eden knows why she’s there, why she stares into the sky, at stars no doubt blurred by grief-filled vision.

She contemplates leaving her there, turning a blind eye — letting her stay in solitude and connect with her fallen idol in the only way she knows how. But her heart betrays her; her legs carry her. She’s climbing atop the building and approaching Bronwyn from behind.

Eden offers a hollow statement to announce her presence — and it is returned by an equally as hollow response. It’s formality; she’s out past curfew, she shouldn’t be out. But the young girl continues, voice raspy, lost through anguished howls that ripped and tore at her throat. Bronwyn’s words compel Eden to glance at the stars herself. She’d perched upon rooftops many nights herself. Gazed up, comforted by their sight and by the one who sat beside her. And Eden supposes that one could even connect with the fallen through those bright flecks in the sky.

And even as the younger begs, bargains — Eden’s previous words hold a heavy truth. She shouldn’t be out here by herself. The stars could only offer her so much on their own.

Eden is not much of a woman, not presently much of a weapon. ( Hell beckons her, but not now. Not on cool, quiet nights like these. ) — But she perpetually remains a collection of ghosts. Reflections betray her, empty barracks taunt her. And in an odd way, that large, empty office at the end of the hall she has walked down so many times haunts her too.

And Bronwyn has collected her own ghosts as well. Perhaps she even names the stars — turns a haunt into something brighter. Something warmer.

Eden won’t make her go back inside. No, she decided that before she even climbed up onto the roof to join her. But Bronwyn shouldn’t be out here by herself.

So, she will stay.

Wordlessly, Eden moves forward now. Boots reach the edge of the building before she lowers herself down to sit beside the young soldier. So young — bearing the burden of such heavy, heavy loss. And her heart weighs more too, no doubt — the fallen clutch, dig their nails into it. They linger, and she’s keeping them here, in a way. As she gazes up at the sky again, Eden briefly wonders if their fallen comrades can see them. She wonders if they’re watching.

❛ I’m relieving you of your duties tomorrow. ❜ She finally speaks after a long drag of silence between them. She’ll talk to the Captain about it later. He trusts her discretion, anyway.

A few more moments pass before Eden reaches into the inside pocket of her jacket and pulls out a piece of fabric. It’s a remnant of her own ghosts, her own losses: the patch from Oruo’s uniform. Eden turns it over in her hand, index finger idly fiddling with its rough edges. She’d ripped it off in haste, desperate to keep a part of her best friend.

And she’s painfully aware nothing she can say in that moment will heal Bronwyn’s wounds, will allow her a feeling of relief. Loss was a familiar feeling to them all, but that didn’t make it easy. It was never easy.

❛ They’re never really gone. ❜ Eden speaks again. It’s an odd statement of sentiment, coming from her. But it’s true — for better or for worse, damn, it is true. She can’t escape them, the ghosts, those she’d lost. But perhaps it’d offer the girl some comfort. Perhaps the light within her would receive it as something to hold within her heart. Transform her mourning into something else.

❛ We keep fighting. We stay alive. For them. ❜

Yes, transform the embers of grief within her to a fire — a will to stay alive. To push forward.

#4freedoms #interaction : eden emerson.#eden emerson : shingeki no kyojin.#cries shakes #mama eden is here #not good with feelings but still understands her well #understands that pain and grief #the heavy feeling of loss #how the ghosts haunt her #linger over her shoulder #it’s such a heavy burden #but they have to keep going. keep fighting. for them.#to ensure their deaths weren’t meaningless. and to keep them alive in a way.

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