Chapter Text
Dogmeat dropped the length of stick at Ben’s feet and looked at him, golden eyes full of expectation.
“I just think you’re making a bigger deal about this than it actually is?” Ben wiped his mouth with his sleeve and tucked his canteen into a pocket on his worn canvas pack. The weather felt like it was finally turning, the grey clouds parting to reveal blue skies that held the promise of warmth. If it got any warmer, he could finally consider removing his scarf.
Dogmeat barked sharply, trying to get him to move faster. He could move at the speed of sound and it still wouldn’t be fast enough. Her tail picked up speed, becoming a tan blur and her forepaws danced on the road as he leaned down and picked up the stick.
Ben weighed it in his hand, tossing the stick in the air, the dog vibrating at his feet. He feinted it one way, Dogmeat darted off to chase. Ben huffed out a laugh as she returned with a glare. Hurling it underarm down the road, he watched it spin off before he glanced over at Deacon.
Dogmeat took off like a shot.
Deacon scowled from behind his sunglasses, arms folded tightly around his torso, expression far removed from his usual affable geniality. The move would have looked defensive if not for the fearful tightness in his shoulders. “I don’t think you’re fully understanding the gravity of this. If they know about this, then what else can they find? And if they can find it, then the Institute can find it,” he spat out, words sharp and prickly. “Did you tell them? I know you’re all buddy-buddy with the Brotherhood, but-”
“Deacon,” Ben tried not to bristle at the accusation as he cut the other man off sharply. He took a calming breath, pinching the bridge of his nose and squeezing his brown eyes shut. “Whatever I know about you is what you’ve told me. And half of it contradicts the other half. So, no. I didn’t tell the Brotherhood anything. And-” He held up one finger, “They’ve never asked me about you or the Railroad.”
Dogmeat returned, hurling the stick down at their feet. She danced on the spot, impatience filling her every cell.
“I won’t have people’s safety, people’s lives, compromised because the Brotherhood has spies. Because if they can find it, so can the Institute.” Deacon bit out. He clenched his fists and glared. “We’re going to have to do something about it. I can’t risk the work we do”
She barked at them when they didn’t immediately throw it.
Ben sighed, sending the stick spinning down the road again. The trees around them rustled as the wind wove its way through the leaves. Tugging the fabric a little tighter around his neck as cold snuck its way under the scarf, Ben decided that maybe that it was a premature consideration to remove it.
Knowing where the other man had grown up didn't exactly feel like a matter of national or operational or even local security. It wasn’t like Deacon’s real name had been dropped in the conversation. Not that he knew what it was, other than probably not Deacon.
“You were standing in their base, a place you’ve been more than once. A place you’ve been welcomed more than once and nobody has ever said a thing to me about you,” Ben stated carefully, successfully squashing the desire to roll his eyes again. “I don’t think the Brotherhood has any spies following you.”
It would be naive to think that they didn’t have at least some form of intelligence gathering happening. Just that he didn’t think they’d consider Deacon a big enough player to warrant the use of resources.
As Dogmeat pranced back, prize held triumphantly in her jaws, the cracking of twigs under boots pulled Ben’s attention away from the Dog. He looked up as his other walking companion returned from a private sojourn in the undergrowth.
Macready joined them back on the cracked and shattered road, brushing his hands off against his pants before hauling his faded leather pack up onto his shoulders.
“What’s up with him?” he asked, eyeing Deacon’s black look, eyebrows raised beyond his sunglasses. He paused to tug his dark coat back into place, the ragged hem brushing against his calves as he shifted the straps.
Ignoring the younger man, Deacon continued to glare at Ben, even whilst he picked up his own pack. “How did he know then?” he gritted out between clenched teeth. “I’ve never told anyone.”
Before either of them could answer, he stalked off, shoulders bristling.
With a perplexed blink, Macready turned his attention to Ben, just as confused by Deacon’s behaviour. “How did who know what now?” he asked, bewildered by the strange reaction. He produced a bread roll from his pocket and bit a chunk out of it, teeth tearing through the golden crust. His blue gaze jumping between Ben’s face and Deacon’s disappearing back as he chewed slowly.
Ben shrugged helplessly, waving the Macready into motion, he’d prefer to get to Sanctuary before dark. “Arth… Elder Maxson made an offhand comment about Deacon growing up in a cave. Which contradicted the story Deacon was telling me about growing up on a farm outside of Boston.” Arthur’s casual pronouncement had completely thrown off the sermon Deacon had been giving. It was probably worse that the Elder had given Deacon a cursory glance, barely looking up from his report. After which, he just absently threw the information into the conversation, like he wasn’t setting off a verbal grenade.
Ben waved a hand towards Deacon’s uncharacteristically stiff spine. “As you can see, Deacon is having a Totally Normal Reaction about it.” The last words were called out towards the other man’s back. He’d been unhappy with Ben’s perfectly reasonable underreaction to the whole thing since they’d left Diamond City this morning.
Deacon flipped them off over his shoulder.
“Oh.” Macready deflated, clearly expecting something more interesting. He kept chewing slowly, “Is that all?” He scrunched up his face and squinted quizzically at Deacon.
Ben froze, booted foot hanging in mid air, head turning slowly to stare at Macready. He lowered his foot to the ground and stared with incredulous eyes.
“What?” Macready asked with a shrug, before he took another nonchalant bite. “I didn’t realize that was a secret?” His voice lilted up around the question. Scratching his ear with his free hand, Macready tucked loose brown strands back under the band of his hat.
Ahead of them, Deacon drifted to a halt, dropping his head into his hands and making noises like an angry cat. He whirled and stomped back towards them, even the leaves on the cracked concrete scattering from his path.
“How did he know?” Deacon grabbed Macready’s collar, hauling him until they were nose to nose.
“Oi!” Ben snapped, dragging Deacon back by his collar. “Fucking chill out man!” He’d never seen him this out of control or displaying any other emotion than amiable.
Deacon let himself be pulled back a few steps, still spitting mad.
Macready was aiming for nonchalance but the divot between his eyes suggested otherwise.
“Maxson knew because it’s Maxson.” Macready stepped further back away from Deacon, putting more space between them and straightening his collar with one hand. He ran his fingers under the chain that hung around his neck, a flash of relief flitting across his face, reassured at the weight he found there. “If it makes you feel any better, it’s not a Brotherhood thing. It's definitely a Maxson thing.” He started walking again, not waiting for the other two. Macready kicked a stick for Dogmeat, watching the hound streak off, tail wagging furiously.
“Did you tell him?” Deacon accused, chasing after the dog and man both with a hurried stride, and leaving Ben to catch up.
“Did I tell Maxson?” Macready laughed in disbelief, latching onto the absurdity of the suggestion. “No. When would I have had the chance? It’s not like I’m welcome on the Prydwen.” He shrugged, sadness flickering through his eyes almost too quick to see as he pressed his palm against the lump under his shirt. “Or in any Brotherhood base… technically. Not just the Prydwen.”
That was news to Ben. Although, it explained why Macready turned down every invitation to go to the airport, now that he thought about it. Knowing he’d be stopped at the gate and be told to wait outside whilst Ben got to go inside would put a damper on any day. He held up one finger to keep the important part of the thought in his mind. “Explain. I know you’ve been in the Cambridge base without being stopped. And also how do you know Deacon here grew up in a cave?”
With one final glance at Deacon’s furious shoulders, Macready shrugged. He folded his arms across his chest, fingers digging into his bicep, fabric creasing around them. “I am only allowed in the Police station because you personally vouched for me and Danse respects you too much to stop me. But now that..” his knuckles whitened and a muscle jumped in his jaw, “main command is here, I doubt that I’ll be allowed in much longer.” He took a few steps away and wrestled the stick from Dogmeat’s mouth and threw it underhand back the way they’d come. “As for Deacon here? That’s easy. He’s Lamplighter. Long before me but yeah. Same cave.”
Ben blinked at the sudden revelation, before he squinted at Deacon. “So, you’re mad that he was right? OK.” He offered an annoyed thumbs up, raking his other hand through his hair, fingers catching in the messy brown curls.
Deacon crossed his arms and glared.
“Oh, come off it.” Macready snapped, patience worn thin by hostility. “You recognised me. It’s not like I hide it. Maxson just recognised it too, the same way that I did.” He turned to Ben, “You and I- ” He gestured between them “-have talked about Little Lamplight before. So the thing is, Lamplighters, we can be kinda… distinct I suppose… and sort of recognise each other? Even if we didn’t grow up together.” He waved his hands vaguely, trying to explain without words. “Other than the height thing, I don’t know how to explain it properly. Red’d be a better choice.” He hummed thoughtfully. “Her or Princess.”
“But Maxson’s not a Lamplighter?”
“Nope.” Macready’s answer was sharp and clipped, cutting that line of enquiry down.
Ben nodded eyes wide, surprised by the sudden undercurrent of hostility from the younger man. It did make sense, especially the height thing, now that he thought about it. If Macready and Deacon were typical for a Lamplighters, sharing the same compact wiry build then Maxson was a touch too tall and broad to be one. Still, it didn’t explain how Maxson knew Deacon was from there, but that was a question for another day. He doubted either of his companions would be willing to elaborate further. At least not now.
Lengthening his stride, Ben caught up to the younger man. “Then, what did you mean? ‘A Maxson thing’?”
Macready dragged one hand down his face and jammed his hands into his pockets, shoulders radiating discomfort as they climbed towards his ears. “Maxson is… observant.” The words were forced out through a clenched jaw.
Ben sighed. That didn’t really answer his question but darting his gaze between the stiff spine of Deacon and tense muscles of Macready, he decided it could be a problem for future Ben. A nice distraction from the usual wasteland bullshittery he had to deal with.
The trio continued their journey in relative silence, surrounded by the usual wilderness noises. Mostly brown surrounded them, the beginnings of green poking its way through the dirt, heralding the arrival of Spring. Trees rustled, as unseen creatures skittered off into the undergrowth as they passed. The flurry of wings as Dogmeat startled birds into flight during one of her expeditions into the greenery. Deacon occasionally muttering under his breath, too low for Ben to catch the words. Macready throwing the stick for Dogmeat to chase, dodging any possibilities for further conversation.
Ben shrugged internally and focused on keeping pace, and the beginnings of an ache in his legs suggested that they were at least making good time. It was times like this he really missed cars and bikes. Or just any mode of transport that wasn’t walking.
Why did Sanctuary have to be so far away from Diamond city?
Whose dumb idea was that?
His, probably.
At least trade had been good in Diamond City, Preston would be pleased by their haul.
Dogmeat gamboled between them, spitting the stick at their feet over and over, until the three men were finally bored of playing fetch. As always, it happened sooner than she liked. The german shepherd trotted next to Ben with her tail low and dejected. Eventually, she settled further, padding along beside him, though still silently judging him for stopping the game.
Ben lengthened his stride and fell in step with Macready as they crossed through the outskirts of Concord and started up the hill towards home. “I keep forgetting to ask if you heard anything?” he asked tentatively, “‘Bout Duncan? It’s been what? Six weeks since we sent the cure off?” Even if Shaun was still missing, it didn’t mean Ben was ignorant to the struggles of his friends. It didn’t mean he didn’t care. It's just his focus was a little scattered.
“Eight weeks, and 5 days,” Macready swallowed heavily, “I have to hope that we got the cure in time, You know?” He glanced up, eyes reflecting a pain Ben knew all too well. “But - ” He paused, hands patting down the pockets of his coat. “Daisy said this came in for me, maybe a couple weeks back.” He held up a scuffed orange holotape, the label long smudged to illegibility. “Didn’t make a whole lot of sense. It’s just music, but I think the file got corrupted or the tape is old. Or something ‘cause it cuts out before anything really happens.” He held it out to Ben, the bright plastic a stark contrast to his brown leather gloves.
“What do you mean?” Ben opened up the back of his Pip-Boy and slipped the tape inside. The music kicked in as soon as he pressed play. It felt familiar. The rhythmic, clapped beat, the twang of guitar and the wail of harmonica. He knew them all, every beat but he couldn’t pin down what song it was. Humming the melody, Ben wracked his brain for where he’d heard it before.
The music cut out with a crackle before any lyrics could come in to jog his memory. He scowled at the tape, personally offended by its unhelpfulness.
“See?” Macready’s mouth turned downwards, disappointment lurking in his eyes. “And I don’t even know if it's the right people. Although if it is, this is exactly the sort of thing they’d send. The tune means something. I just dunno what. Guess I’ve gotta keep waiting.” He held his hand out for the tape.
“Let me listen to it again.” Ben was staring down at his Pip-Boy, the melody was niggling at him.
He knew it. He was sure of it.
But he just couldn’t put a title to the song, it was hidden somewhere in the back of his brain. He scowled down at his wrist, trying to will his brain into cooperating. Now wasn’t the time to fail you slimy lump of pudding.
The fourth loop of the song was interrupted by Dogmeat letting out a flurry of barking, her sharp warning cutting through the air.
Ben’s hand went immediately to the butt of his pistol, his companions echoing his action as various hands went for weapons. His heart rate skyrocketed, a stone sinking through his gut.
Deacon and Ben shared a worried look, she hadn’t done this before. At least, not coming into Sanctuary.
She was high up on the rock bank, her tan and black coat making her less camouflaged that he’d have preferred. But with her ears pricked forward, hackles raised, she at least looked the picture of menace. All her attention riveted on something over the water, something he couldn’t see. Dogmeat barked again, loud and furious, the sound of alarm coming from deep inside her.
An answering bark echoed across the river.