"And I asked myself: What's the weight of my life on the scales of eternity?"
-Garrett Russel
The fighting was winding down as the Minutemen forces hurried to evacuate the Institute. Nate rushed down the hallway, Preston and Sturges on his heels as he spilled the blood of both synth and human indiscriminately. He stopped at the mouth of the molecular relay chamber as Preston and Sturges passed him.
The room had seen the first part of the fighting, blood marring the bleached white of Institute design as corpses littered the room like the broken toys of a very large child. He gritted his teeth at the sight.
More blood on his hands.
He looked back down the hallway. He turned and started back down the hall.
"General!" Preston called after him. "Where are you going?"
"I need to go back for something," he offered.
He navigated his way back through the hallways, past the dead and dying. He passed synths, scientists, and minutemen in equal measure.
All dead because of him.
He gritted his teeth as he entered the main atrium. Corpses littered the ground as thick as leaves in the fall. The once well cultivated grass was churned up, slick with blood. The few trees that were planted had been shredded by laser-fire. The fountain in the center turned a murky red, a few bodies floating like macabre flotsam.
The crimson on white reminded him of Anchorage. How the snow ran red with blood in some places. The fighting had moved to the connecting departments, or at least he assumed it had.
The alarm from the evacuation protocol deafened him as he made his way towards the stairs. He took them two at a time, his boots squelching against the smooth plastic. He ignored the blank, accusing stare of Alan Binet as he reached the top of the stairs.
War was hell.
He stood outside of his destination, as if something prevented him from going in. He looked at the pale door.
He couldn't just leave him.
He had destroyed this place for his son, after all. How could he simply leave his son? His hand shook as he pressed the button. The door opened without a sound, and Nate entered.
"What? Have you come back to gloat?" a hoarse voice greeted him.
His son laid in a bed. His cheeks gaunt and skin the sickly rubber look. The wrinkles were more pronounced. "No," Nate answered. "I'm not- I'm not leaving you, Shaun."
His armor felt uncomfortably tight around the chest as he moved towards his son. "Let me die along with everything I've created," the older man protested. Nate ignored the sting and slung his rifle.
"We got out as many as we could."
His hands slid under the older man, lifting him up. He ignored how light his son was, how he could feel his ribs through the blanket. Nate turned, and began retracing his steps a third time. The maze-like hallways that thread through the Institute like veins were clogged with the aftermath of firefights. Nate could feel the leather of his combat boots soak through.
"Why?" Shaun croaked out as they rounded another corner.
Nate creased his eyebrows. Why indeed. He hardly knew the man his son had become, who was the antithesis of everything Nate believed in. He had missed his first word, his first steps. He'd missed all the firsts. He'd spent a grand total of three months with his son. Getting down to the heart of the matter, his son was a stranger.
Why indeed.
"Because, you're my son, Shaun," he whispered to the old man. It seemed to pacify him, as Shaun adjusted his head to a more comfortable angle.
They reached the relay. Preston and Sturges were gone, probably back to the Castle with the bulk of their forces, or where ever else they might go. Nate shifted Shaun's weight to his left arm, ignoring how easy it was to carry him like that. He grit his teeth against how thin his son was.
He put in the coordinates and stepped into the Relay. The machine snapped, and blue light engulfed his vision. He remembered the first time he had experienced the molecular relay. The none too pleasant feeling of being torn apart and reassembled.
He blinked stars out of his eyes, stumbling as the relay spat him out. The cold hit him like a jolt of caffeine.
Vault 111.
He looked around, taking in his surroundings. He had gotten the coordinates right. He slowly sat down, Shaun still in his arms. He looked up at the metal sarcophagus preserving Nora's body. How it looked like she was merely asleep, not dead.
Nate settled Shaun as best he could. Shaun gave him a miserable cough in thanks. "I always wondered," Shaun whispered, "If things had gone differently..." he trailed off, turning his head towards his mother.
Nate sighed. "I-" -he took a shaky breath, ignoring the sting of his eyes- "I wonder what it would've been like."
Shaun was silent except for the sound of strained breathing. "What was she like?" he asked, no longer the sixty-year-old but a young boy again.
Nate wiped at his eyes before returning to carding his hand through Shaun's hair. "She- she was an angel. Too good for me. She was smart, and beautiful." He paused. "She loved you more than life itself." He chuckled, a pathetic mockery of humor. "She saw something in me that I could never figure out. I always thought she would realize she could do better than me and leave."
"What changed your mind?"
"You."
Shaun sighed. "I-I wish I knew her."
Nate didn't have a reply for that. He simply listened to Shaun's breathing slow. Finally, he spoke. "I do too."
They sat together in silence, staring at Nora. Nate felt the tears run down his cheeks. What would he even do after this? What was the point anymore? He had spilled so much blood, yet it wouldn't bring back his family. All the trying, and here he was with Shaun slowly slipping through his fingers.
He reaches into the layers of sweaters and shirts he wears to guard against the chill of the Commonwealth, withdrawing a battered holotape. He slides it into his pipboy and microphone feedback fills the cavernous Vault.
Oopsie. Ha ha ha. No, no, no. Little fingers away.
Shaun wriggles in his lap, turning his head to look at him. Nate focuses on the tinny voice emitting from his pipboy. His heart tearing, aching, as he listened to the sound of her. His throat was dry.
He couldn't remember what she looked like alive. How the light hit her eyes. "Is that her?" Shaun whispered.
Nate could only nod, his voice gone and his throat tight.
...But even so, I know our best days are yet to come. There will be changes, sure. Things we'll need to adjust to...
"Father," Shaun wheezed. Nate's grip slackened as he realized how thin Shaun's voice was. His son was dying.
"Father, I want you- I want you to- to keep them safe. Promise me."
"I'll do my best. You have my word, Shaun," he promised.
Shaun's head turned to the side, his breathing getting slower. And Slower. And slower. "I love you, Shaun," Nate whispered.
Shaun's breathing stopped, and his son went limp in his hands. Nate felt his heart rend itself in two. He tried to suck in air; his lungs not working. He felt like he was drowning, choking on his own tears.
He wasn't sure how long he spent simply sitting, mourning in the ashes of his family. It felt like years, and as he finally stood it felt like decades. He felt as if his limbs were lead. Slowly, reverently, he picked Shaun up. He looked over at Nora's pale, blank face staring through the small window.
"I found him," a voice said, choked with grief. It took him a second to realize it was himself. He had kept his promise to her.
It had seemed like ages ago when he had first crawled out of the Vault, the sole survivor out of dozens. He remembered how hectic it had been, disoriented by the shadow of a world he had once resided in.
How he had promised her. He had promised her he would find their son. That he would find who took him and would make them pay. How could he have known his sweet boy represented the same people who had torn their family apart. It was a cruel irony. Yet through it all, he had kept his promise. God help him, he had kept it.
He walked through the hall, towards the elevator. Shaun seemed to get heavier with every step, or maybe he got weaker. He stepped onto the elevator, hitting the button on his pipboy. The platform jerked, then began it's ascent.
Moonlight broke through as the thick steel plates parted before him. He blinked up at the moon, on the hill where it had all begun. Fitting, to end where he began. Lights shown from below, celebrations within Sanctuary in full swing. He couldn't bring himself to resent their celebration in the midst of his mourning. He was too tired, and anger only kept you afloat for so long before it burnt you out.
He would know best.
He laid Shaun down as gently as he could. He needed a shovel.