From East to Wes

by Scourge of the Wasteland

Awoken from the grave and thrusted into the familiar wastes a courier stands alone. As the bull rampages and the bear snarls at its rival across the bank of a power house river. Remembering his past is the least of the courier's worries because now he is faced with two paths that can change the future of the Mojave forever. Rated M for language and gore.

Extensive nothingness. Two bold words when mushed together equal a tragic result. The cold terrain of the brain was his to explore as he floated without the need or reason for a body. The flashing lights of synapses in his vison blinded him as he shielded his eyes from their intense glare.

"Wake up," something in the distance tried to coax him. "Now is not the time for sleep," the man ignored that demanding voice.

"OPEN YOUR EYES!" It was woman that now screamed out this time. Her voice was shrill and reminded him of an alarm clock assaulting his ears. "Open your eyes and see the end for it is upon us now!"

And so he did, but what lay before him was not the end. Instead it was ceiling, a rotten ceiling but nevertheless a ceiling. Not a doomful end or bright lights, just a ceiling.

"And here I was thing that you'd wouldn't pull through," a voice spoke out. The courier turned his head and squinted to see a balding man with a western styled moustache.

He stared at the man for seemed like minutes before responding. His brain trying hard to place what he supposed to do in the situation, and after a while it clicked more or less, "Uh-hi." Somewhere inside the man's brain it was kicking itself.

"Well hello to you too," laughed the moustache man. "I'm Doc Mitchell, but you can call me whatever son." Doc Mitchell cleared his throat lightly. "Now, if you can try and sit up. See if you can do that for starters."

The courier did with little resistance besides a small lash of light headedness.

"There you go, nice and easy." He gave the courier a few moments incase his head was spinning. "Now boy, can you tell me your name? First, middle, last doesn't matter to me but something to go by."

Frowning deeply he concentrated. 'Uh, name, name, what's your name? He's Doc Mitchell and you are… c'mon Wes what's your name! Wait is Wes your name? That sounds decent enough at least.'

"It's-uh Wes," he said trying the name on his tongue.

"Wes huh? Well that's not the name I would give you, but if that's your name than that's your name."

Frowning once again Wes asked, "Doc, what the hell happened to me?"

The doctor chewed on his fingernail for a second before responding hesitantly, "You were found shot in the head just up the road from here where the graveyard is located. This fancy robot dug you up brought you to me and patched you up best I could."

Scratching the back of his head in thought he replied, "Okay Doc, like, I don't remember much but I'm pretty sure after you're shot, especially in the head, you ain't exactly s'posed to come back from that."

"You're preaching to the choir boy, but regardless I did the operation and low and behold here you are now. Talkin', breathin', thinkin' and bein' a bit of a smart-ass as well."

Wes frowned and stared at the ground as though it would give him the answers he needed. A mirror was shoved in this face, and looking up in surprise the doctor only nodded at the reflecting glass. Sighing he took it and stared at himself. His dirty blonde hair clumped in greasy locks against his forehead and his mixed eyes looked curiously back at him.

"Just making sure I got everything right," The doc said breaking Wes out of his concentration.

Despite everything he laughed, "In all honesty Doc, you could have given me a pink Mohawk with an uglier face than this and I wouldn't have probably known the deference."

"A pink Mohawk huh? Well that's something to consider if something like this happens again."

Wes snorted, "Yeah cause people getting shot in the head is a normal occurrence."

Doc frowned," You've got quite a mouth on you don't ya?" His forehead crinkled as he studied Wes thoughtfully.

Shrugging Wes responded, "yeah I guess so, sorry about that."

Sighing he told Wes to get up and walk over to the Vit-o-matic Vigor Tester to see how he was before losing his memory.

Score:

STR:8

INT:8

PER:6

END:6

CHR:4

AGL:6

LCK:2

"Wow boy, "chuckled Doc, "Looks like you're brains and brawns. Guess anyone could figure luck isn't really your thing though."

After a few test to insure Wes's was mentally 'okay' they met at the door at the front of his place.

"Here this was the only thing that was on you when we found you." He handed Wes a rugged black bandana with dull green patterns on it. "I figured it might bring something back or at the very least feel a little more familiar.

Wordlessly Wes folded it into a strip and tied it around his head. As though it were magic he began to feel more at peace. Like slipping on a favorite shirt and feeling right along with it. The doctor handed over a few other supplies including the Pip-Boy 3000 and 10 mm pistol with some ammo to go with it. "Doc just-um-thanks for this, all of this," he closed his eyes and breathed deeply, "thanks for everything and I mean everything. I really and actually wouldn't be here if not for you."

Doc Mitchell smiled softly, "Don't worry about kid. Just promise me something okay? Go out and do good things alright?"

Wes smiled lightly, "yeah, I'll do my best." His chest tightened softly and he got the feeling that he just lied to the doctor.

A/N: I just want to say that I won't be placing many Author Notes in later chapters because I feel like it takes away the story element. Also, while I write quite a bit this is my first posted fanfic so advice and such will be greatly appreciated. I normally am pretty bad at writing in the beginning but if my past work as shown anything I'm kinda like a snowball, once I get going I pick up really good momentum. So yeah, any criticism whether it be grammatical or whatever is awesome!