A Wasteland Where Nothing Could Grow
Dogmeat
The Potomac River ran thick and heavy. It was choked by garbage and debris, dark with hidden poison. Project Purity had promised to inject new life into the water and make it clean and fresh again. But now the project leader was dead, and all the machinery that went with it was in the hands of a tyrannical army of fiends in black armor. Hope was so rare in the Wastelands…it didn't help that losing it made everything seem twice as desperate.
Fawkes' shadow wavered in the light of the setting sun as the super mutant ran along the muddy shore. He was swinging his sledge into the Mirelurks, batting them left and right like heavy shopping carts as their shells cracked and split under the blows. His war-screams sounded equal parts glee and rage. This was one of his favorite jobs…clearing the chosen campsite for those miserable times when they were forced to sleep out in the open.
Ben leaned his rifle against a warped picnic table. Dogmeat was standing a few feet below him, paws almost touching the shores of the river. Almost touching, but not quite. Any other time, any other river, a normal dog would have taken a drink or chased a frisbee into the depths. But not when the river was radiated and poisonous. Not when almost every other dog out in the wastes had turned into feral, ever-hungry monsters with yellow eyes and balding, rotted skin.
Ben made sure his steps were gentle but fairly audible. He'd learned the hard way not to sneak up on Dogmeat. Whatever the German Shepard had been through before that incident in the Scrapyard had turned him as feral as his brethren when he was unpleasantly surprised.
He came up beside Dogmeat and then sat down heavily, crossing his legs. Now that Dogmeat was aware of his presence there was little to fear. Reaching out with a carefree hand, he began grooming the animal. Grimacing in disgust, he tugged what he could only assume was old Ghoul-flesh off of Dogmeat's ears. Flicking it into the Potomac with vehemence, he then patted the dog's muscular back.
He was rewarded by the sticky, skin-peeling sensation of dry Mirelurk juice. For the hundredth time, he marveled at how Dogmeat was still alive.
Dogmeat turned his head towards him, panting softly as if he could hear his thoughts and was offering a mute acknowledgement. Ben saw blood staining his muzzle. More than disgust, he felt existential sadness. If only the Potomac River had been purified, he could be giving Dogmeat a proper bath. If only…
If only his father was still alive.
No. Stop. Don't.
All perfectly good warnings. Don't think about it. Ben swallowed, doing his best to heed them as he tried to distract himself. "It's crazy to me, Dogmeat. You're literally just a dog."
Dogmeat whuffed softly, pushing his muzzle into Ben's open palm. His nose was cold. Ben smiled. "Just a dog. You can't talk, and for so long you were alone, friendless, probably hurt by anyone who could get ahold of you…" his voice faltered. Sensing his distress, Dogmeat dropped to his belly beside him, his body comfortable and heavy against Ben's side. Ben smiled. "You're still such a good dog. Friendly, loyal…kind, I guess. If a dog can be kind."
He ran his fingers through the thick fur on Dogmeat's neck, feeling the ugly bump of scar tissue there from countless collars and nooses. "My…my father was like that. Kind."
Great job, Benedict. Ignore your own advice.
"It must be some ironic twist of fate that…when he was trapped in the virtual world, he looked EXACTLY like you. A German Shepard, mismatching eyes and all."
Dogmeat rested his head on his paws, watching Fawkes in the distance. The super mutant was finished with the Mirelurks and had his sledge slung over his shoulder. He was staring at the ground, distracted by a bug or something equally trivial. Fawkes often got caught up in what other people took for granted.
"When we took back the Jefferson Memorial from…from the super mutants, remember we went inside first? You, me, and Fawkes? We cleaned them all out. Then Dad and the scientists came rushing by with their equipment and their chatter, spinning around my head…I couldn't take it. All those people, those faces…and my Dad, back with me again. Alive and safe, against all hope. And he was busy. Absorbed. A complete stranger. I couldn't take it, so I went outside to stand sentry."
The fingers in Dogmeat's scruff tightened. The animal whined.
Ben seemed not to have heard him. "I thought he'd forget about me. Thought I could sulk outside till it grew dark, till the moon was up and I could sneak into bed, still sulking. But it was just a few minutes, Dogmeat…minutes, and he missed me. Came out to talk to me. Asked me why I was standing around outside."
Deep, shivering breaths. "That was when I told him, boy. I told him what the Wasteland had done to me. How I found a community that accepted me, until they didn't. Until a conman cut into my head and took a piece of my brain. Hacking and numbers are still here but…theory? Stringing processes together? Coherent, controlled avenues of thought? All gone. I wasn't a scientist any more. I was a gunman with a knack for numbers and running my mouth off…good for nothing but cleaning out the super mutants. Good for nothing but pushing people around or killing them."
The fingers grew slack. The hand rested heavily on Dogmeat's back, warm and sad. "Dad didn't care that I'd been lobotomized. That I would never be his 'chip off the old block'. He coaxed me inside. 'You can do so many things, Benedict.'" Again, Ben's voice broke as he imitated his father. "'So, so many things. They may have taken away what you already knew…but that only means you have so many more things to learn.'"
He went quiet. For a long time. For so long that Fawkes snapped out of his trance and came trudging heavily towards them, loudly proclaiming that he would take first watch. Dogmeat lifted his ears suspiciously at the green mutant, never quite trustful of the human who wasn't human anymore.
"Is it…" Ben was whispering now that Fawkes grew closer. "Is it weird to say that…his voice was strong? The strongest sound I've ever heard, and I'm never going to have that again. Never going to have his support, or his advice…any road I take from now will be my choice, and my fault."
Again, he wiped at the dried, sticky blood around Dogmeat's jaw. Without fear, he scratched behind the dog's ears and ruffled his fur. "You're much better than this, boy." Ben's blue eyes were fixed on an invisible point, as if he were talking to Dogmeat, his father, and himself all at the same time. "It doesn't matter that the world has gone wrong…you're just as good inside as you could have been outside. You have value."
