#02: Every Superhero Needs A Sidekick

The year of Shaun's birth had been a complete roller coaster, to say the least. Sloan remembered it had been full of surprises and stressful circumstances. The year had begun with an incident during a case at work that ended up sending her to the hospital. Fractured wrist, they told her after taking an x-ray. That same day, after the lab took a look at her bloodwork, a nurse had entered her room to inform her that she was pregnant. An ultrasound confirmed it—almost two months along.

She'd taken the news about as well as any other woman in her position. That is, if one considered vomiting into a potted plant and having to breathe into a paper bag while the nurse tried to calm her down 'taking it well.'

It wasn't as though kids had never factored into her plans for the future. It just hadn't happened at a good time. Nate had been deployed overseas at the time—looking back, Sloan supposed they could have been more careful during the time he'd been home for the holiday—and she hadn't been the least bit prepared to deal with a pregnancy on her own. That had been a fun conversation to have over the phone, especially the part where her call had been dropped three times while she was trying to break the news to him.

And so for the next seven months, Sloan had been confined to a desk and a mountain of paperwork within the office. It was excruciatingly boring, and she desperately missed the action. The rest of her unit was always sure to fill her in on all that had happened during the latest case, though, and she'd been counting down the days until she'd be able to return to the field. She made plans to spend two months on maternity leave after the birth of her son while simultaneously getting herself back into fighting shape before finally getting cleared to go back to work. Nate returned home at the end of July that year, and the timing couldn't have been better; Shaun was born three days later.

By the time October had rolled around, Sloan was preparing to return to her unit in the FBI. Nate had enrolled in evening classes at the Commonwealth Institute of Technology, allowing him to spend more time with Shaun and look after the boy while Sloan was at work.

2077 had been a complete whirlwind, but beneath the chaos and the stress, there had been a great big glimmer of hope for the future. Nate was home. Two had become three. And despite the challenges, their life together was supposed to begin again.

But as the saying goes, the best laid plans of mice and men often go awry. And they went awry in pretty much the most dramatic fashion imaginable when the bombs dropped.

So much for that big, bright future.

Presently, Sloan was spending her first night as an official Railroad agent in the crypt of the Old North Church. Deacon remarked that it wouldn't have been his first choice as far as bases go, but they'd been desperate. And while they had obviously done the best they could with a limited space, after having seen their old set-up at the Switchboard Sloan could see for herself how much the Institute's attack had shaken the Railroad; how far they must have fallen. She recalled seeing corpse after corpse during the op earlier, strewn along walkways or sprawled onto the ground, Deacon sometimes muttering names under his breath as they passed. It must have been a horrible thing to live through, she'd thought, and tried to picture how she would have felt about losing her entire unit in a similar fashion. Deacon had been very matter-of-fact while explaining the incident to her, but Sloan imagined revisiting the place couldn't have been easy for him. After all, weren't they his colleagues? Friends, even?

By now, much of headquarters had gone dark. Most of the agents were asleep, though some remained awake, either on watch duty or completing other tasks. Tinker Tom had been hard at work on the courser chip all night, and currently sat before his computer screen while mumbling to himself. Gibberish, as far as Sloan was concerned. She didn't understand a word of that technological lingo. That had always been Nate's forte, not hers.

Unsure of what to do with herself, Sloan supposed she might as well find a place to sleep…or, at the very least, pretend to sleep. A row of dirty mattresses lined the corridor that led toward the back entrance. Deacon had pointed them out during a quick 'tour' of the place, adding that although the area was the draftiest, it also afforded the most privacy.

So she claimed the mattress set in the furthest, darkest corner and sat down rather unceremoniously. Unzipping her pack, she pulled out a half-full bottle of purified water and took a few small sips while thinking over everything that had happened that evening.

Her first 'official' task, if one could even call it that, had been to deliver the recovered prototype to Dr. Carrington. He was immediately cantankerous upon meeting her, apparently miffed that he'd not been included in the decision to recruit her.

"We know next to nothing about you, and yet Dez has invited you into HQ," he had griped, pinching the bridge of his nose. "It would've been nice if she had consulted with her second-in-command first."

Sloan had shrugged, not offended in the least. "I get it. Structure is important in an organization like this. You have every right to be skeptical of me. It's your job. And it's my job to prove myself a worthy addition, so I hope you'll give me a chance."

Carrington harrumphed, though he seemed to warm up to her a bit after that. "It'd be nice if our veteran agents thought the same thing," he grumbled under his breath, shooting a particularly scathing glare in Deacon's direction. "Still, I suppose what's done is done. If you really want to prove yourself, then we might as well put you to work."

And so she'd been assigned her first mission, which entailed helping one of the Railroad's field agents with a runaway synth. In the morning she was supposed to locate the dead drop near Bunker Hill and go from there, and considering Tinker Tom was still working to decode the courser chip, Sloan supposed she had some time to do it.

It was a little crazy how this had all happened, considering she hadn't planned on joining the Railroad when she had followed the Freedom Trail to their headquarters. They were only supposed to have been a stepping stone toward her end goal of finding her son and taking him back from the Institute's diabolical clutches. But as it happened, the Railroad was also eager to take the fight to the Institute, which meant they all had more common ground than she'd expected. And if allying with them meant joining the fight for synthetic freedom, then hell, she was alright with that.

"Would you risk your life for a synth?" Desdemona had asked upon their initial meeting.

Sloan had immediately thought of Nick Valentine. He was someone she considered an important friend; he'd helped her immensely and hadn't asked for a thing in return, and as far as she was concerned, he was as much a person as any human she had ever known. Perhaps even more. If the synths in need were even half as decent as Valentine, then Sloan figured she owed it to him to do what she could to help them.

Her answer had come easily. "I risk my life for people. Human or synth, it doesn't matter."

Finding Shaun was still her sole focus, and while she couldn't afford to become sidetracked, she also knew that helping the Railroad would likely bolster her chances of success. Might as well pitch in a little and do some good in the meantime.

A noise from around the corner shook her from her thoughts just then. Sloan aimed her Pip Boy toward the direction it had come from just in time to watch Deacon appear in the corridor.

"So, how you holding up?" He asked, his figure tinted green from the light. He leaned one shoulder against the brick wall, giving a nod to her set-up. "Looks like you're making yourself at home. I mean, you even went and stole my bed. And to think, I vouched for you."

"I didn't see your name on it," she teased, fairly sure that he was just messing with her.

"I happen to have very small handwriting. You just didn't look hard enough," he quipped back with a shrug. "But look, I wanted to run something by you. Since we made such a good team earlier, I was thinking we should keep a good thing going and travel together some more. If you don't mind a, uh…sidekick, anyway."

Sloan's lips twisted into a wry smile. "Every superhero needs one of those, right?"

The offer was more than likely an effort to keep a close eye on her, given the fact that despite his intel on her, she was practically a stranger to the group and there was no way of knowing whether or not she could truly be trusted just yet. It made sense to her. It was smart. And if she really wanted their help, the best move she could make would be to allow him to accompany her…even if doing so meant that he'd learn more about her than she'd been willing to divulge until that point.

So after a short silence, while she pretended to consider his offer, she nodded her consent and decided to start with the real reason she was after the Institute. "Okay…if we're going to be traveling together, I…there's something you should know."

Deacon spread his arms slightly. "Lay it on me, boss."

"Alright, well…when I said the Institute kidnapped someone close to me, I…" Sloan hesitated, but only for a moment. This was the best chance she'd have at finding Shaun. If there were any way that Deacon could help her, she knew she had to give him more information. Any little scrap, even bits that seemed irrelevant, could potentially help. "I left out the part about how that someone is my son. My baby," she said, her eyes dropping to her Pip Boy and idly studying the dimmed screen in the darkness.

He shook his head, glancing away for a moment. "Aw, hell. Just when you think the bastards can't sink any lower, now they're snatching babies?"

"His name's Shaun." She shook her head, fighting the tightening sensation in her throat. When had crying ever helped? "Fuck, he's only three…four months old." She paused to take a breath and run a hand through her messy hair. "Or he was, anyway, I…I don't know anymore. Hard to keep track of time when you're on ice, you know? Anyway, I figured it would come up eventually, so…now you know."

He nodded slowly. "That explains why you're so hell bent on knocking down the Institute's door. And hell, for damned good reason. But, hey—if I know Tinker, he'll have that courser chip decoded in no time. There's no way that thing won't give us some answers." He paused, listening to Tom muttering under his breath from the next room, before he added, "Don't sweat it. We'll get your boy back. That's a promise."

Sloan stared up at him for a moment, wanting to believe that more than anything. She watched as Deacon pushed off the wall, holding up a hand and bidding her a good night, and as he walked away she whispered, "Thanks."

As it turned out, Old Man Stockton had orders to 'deliver the package' after dark, which left Sloan and Deacon with quite a few hours to kill once they'd arrived at Bunker Hill. By the time nightfall rolled around, Sloan had paced the perimeter about half a dozen times and browsed every shop at least twice. Deacon disappeared for a while, citing that he had to use the bathroom. She realized a half hour later that this had been a blatant lie, even though he returned just before dusk with some excuse about how every toilet from here to Goodneighbor was clogged, damn it all. Sloan never asked where he'd really gone off to. It wasn't her business.

Once the raiders were cleared out of the rendezvous point, they met up with Stockton and the synth. H2-22 was meek-mannered and shy, preferring not to say too much, although he did express a genuine appreciation for what they were all doing to help him. He seemed grateful to have escaped the Institute, and for the chance to live his life on his own terms. It was the most basic of freedoms. The kind that people in Sloan's time had by default. Anybody should be granted at least that much, shouldn't they?

Not long after Stockton fired up the signal, an agent calling himself High Rise showed up to guide them to his safehouse. This, of course, was not the casual stroll through the streets of Boston that it once would have been and included the usual obstacles like packs of ferals and drugged-out raiders shooting up anything that moved. In the end, the group arrived at Ticonderoga relatively unscathed with the 'package' intact.

Sloan found herself more than a little fascinated by H2-22, though did her best not to stare. Like Glory, he was a Gen 3 synth. Much different than Nick Valentine; if she hadn't been explicitly told that H2 was a synth, she wouldn't have been able to spot a difference. He looked, sounded and acted human. So did all the other synths hiding out at Ticon, as she came to realize when High Rise had invited them inside. They each had unique thoughts and feelings. They were expressive. They felt hunger and fatigue, they bled like any other living being. With an inward shudder, she recalled the Courser she'd killed in order to acquire the chip within his head. He'd experienced pain and even death. Until that moment, she'd not been sure that such a thing was truly possible. The Gen 3s were able to blend in nearly seamlessly. How could anyone ever tell who was or wasn't a synth? Had she met more of them in her travels without ever knowing? She had to wonder, was the Institute truly aware of exactly what—who—they'd been creating?

"So, you getting the hang of the Railroad yet?" Came Deacon's voice from behind her just then. "We're just one big, dysfunctional family. With guns."

Pulled from her thoughts, Sloan turned away from one of Ticonderoga's dirty windows to face Deacon as he sauntered over. "Yeah? Birthdays must be a real kick in the pants."

"Oh, they are," he replied with a chuckle. "Last time Tinker Tom threw a party, I woke up in the middle of the Mojave Desert with a Fat Man, a tricycle, and an army of mole rats at my command. Really cool story, I'll tell you all about it sometime."

Sloan snorted at what she was sure had been a lie, although he appeared to be using it as an attempt to entertain her and lighten the mood a little. She'd learned quite quickly that he did that rather often. Unlike anyone else she'd ever teamed up with, Deacon was a real mystery. She was used to being able to read her colleagues fairly easily, yet there she was, still trying to gauge him. Sloan found herself intrigued, yet wary.

Secretive and sly, Deacon had a reputation for deceiving even those among the Railroad he represented. Yet he went about it all with such a laid back, jaunty attitude, even when his words were met with hostility from other members. Plus, his eagerness in regards to making her a full-fledged member despite knowing jack about her struck Sloan as an oddity. That action seemed to directly contradict his nature as a distrustful loner. Even as an outsider, she could tell that much about him. Thinking back to the previous day, she recalled Desdemona saying that Deacon had never expressed such a strong interest in anyone before.

"Well, you've certainly made an impression on Deacon. He's never spoken about—or lied about—anyone so highly before."

That meant something. It was no secret that Sloan was a special exception—but why?

True, Deacon had admitted to having done his homework on her—she'd gotten him to confess to keeping tabs on her activities in Diamond City and Goodneighbor. But there was more to it than he let on. There had to be. Sloan was convinced that he must know something that she didn't. Why else would he have been so keen to vouch for her? To speak more highly of her than he'd done for anyone else? What was it about her, specifically? There was no way he could have known about her history as an FBI agent…or was there? If that had been the case, wouldn't he have already said so? It seemed that whatever it was that had given him such a good feeling, he was choosing to withhold it from her.

"Anyway, that's not what I came over here to talk about," Deacon continued, and Sloan realized he'd been talking the entire time she'd been lost in thought.

She shrugged, trying to look as if he'd had her undivided attention all along. "Okay, what'd you want to talk about, then?"

"Well, now that you're actually listening to me," he said very pointedly, though his tone indicated that he wasn't upset in the least. "Here it is: I'm used to flying solo. But I gotta admit, working with you makes me think I've been missing out. Having someone watching your back is…refreshing. Especially since you never know when the Institute is watching…"

Sloan nodded. "Yeah. It is nice, right? I'm used to working with a team, but this…duo stuff is new. You've really never worked with a partner before, though?"

"Not for a long time," he replied. "Besides, partnering up in the Railroad can leave you vulnerable. One more person who can finger you to the Institute."

Damn. He worried about traitors even within a secretive organization like the Railroad. Sloan had a feeling he wasn't just speaking from paranoia, either. But before she could remark on that, he continued.

"Anyway, some people at HQ are jealous. You took the Big Nap and everyone you knew is long gone. Now—" seeing her mouth open to object, Deacon held up a hand, "—hear me out on the silver lining. If a human in the Railroad slips up, then they expose friends and loved ones to danger. You're safe from that."

Those words had felt like a slap in the face, and Sloan could only gawk back at him for a few seconds before her brain finally caught up to the anger that had flared up within her chest. She cocked one eyebrow, her sharp eyes flashing ire as her voice came out in a low, warning tone, "I'm safe from that? Do you have any idea what that sounds like to me? It may have been over two hundred years ago to the rest of you, but to me it was almost yesterday. The last thing I remember is the sky being on fucking fire and people screaming in terror." She squeezed her eyes shut against the sudden images invading her mind, opening them a moment later to shoot him a glare. "You really think that's anything to be fucking jealous of? Tell 'em I'll trade places any day of the damned week! My friends, my family…I never even got to say goodbye. So yeah, you're right—everyone I know is dead. Thanks for that reminder."

He immediately backpedaled. "Aw, Jesus, I—I didn't mean that," he insisted, and although Sloan couldn't see his eyes, his tone seemed regretful enough that she decided he probably hadn't intended to upset her. "Look, if the Church gets compromised and the Coursers are on our tail, at least you won't be putting more people in harm's way. That's all."

Sloan frowned, still a bit peeved, but she could see where he was coming from. Her former career hadn't come without similar risks; jilted criminals had been known to target the families of agents on occasion. She'd heard her fair share of horror stories. It had been one of the reasons she'd been so nervous about having a baby to begin with.

She finally sighed and accepted his reasoning. "Alright. Fair enough."

"It doesn't matter much to me," Deacon continued. "I'm a synth. At least that's what they tell me, anyway. So I really don't have anything to lose. For Glory and me and the others, it's easier to dedicate ourselves to the cause."

"Wait, what?" Her brow furrowed. He could be lying, but he could also be telling the truth. She couldn't possibly know either way, considering how indistinguishable synths were from humans. "You're a synth? Really? Why didn't you tell me before?"

He shook his head. "I don't like talking about it. I was one of the first synths they did the whole 'cranium reboot' on, so it was a bit of a botched job. Most synths have fun fake memories. A happy home, a family. Me? I got nothing. And that…well, it does something to you."

Sloan was silent, processing this. Deacon, a synth? Like Glory and H2-22 and Nick Valentine…? She was trying to keep an open mind about all of it. After all, someone without any memories probably would be prone to making up whatever sorts of stories they pleased. Compulsive lying as a response to a traumatic event wasn't unusual. Furthermore, the act of fabricating such grandiose tales often could be linked to memory deficits in a person's brain. If that were true of Deacon, then perhaps even he didn't know the lies from the truths.

"So," Deacon continued, watching her chew on her lip in silent thought, "here's what I'm getting at: since we're traveling together, I want you to take this." He fished around in the pocket of the dusty leather jacket he was wearing, producing a small piece of folded-up paper and holding it out to her. "It's my recall code."

Sloan's eyebrows shot up. "Why are you giving that to me?"

"Look, the Institute has your kid, right? So if this whole courser chip thing doesn't pan out and you really need information on them, read this code to me."

She gave him a wary look, her eyes flickering from his face to the piece of paper between his fingers, and it didn't take her very long to figure out that she was being played. A cagey spy handing out a code that could erase all his memories in an instant?

Please. He probably wasn't even a synth, she realized.

So after considering this for a moment, Sloan plucked the paper from his fingers and opened it up, reading the words aloud. "You can't trust everyone…?" She gave him an expectant look, folding her arms over her chest.

Suddenly Deacon began to convulse. "A-a-a-ah!"

Her eyes went wide just then, heart leaping into her throat as horror washed over her. But before she could think to regret what she'd just done, Deacon stopped shaking and began to laugh.

Sloan scowled, resisting the urge to smack him. "Oh my god, you are such a shit."

"Ha! Did I have you going there?" He gave her a cheeky grin, looking quite pleased with himself.

She could only roll her eyes and give him a shove when he continued to snicker, feeling silly for even momentarily falling for such a dumb ploy. She should have seen that coming, really.

"Look, don't take it personal," Deacon said, still looking terribly amused. "I lie to everyone. Maybe I'm just another human that has people back home he wants to protect. Then again, maybe not." The last two words were spoken in a cliché robotic voice, and then he laughed again.

Sloan raised one eyebrow, still sulking a little. "Is there a point to any of this, or do you just enjoy fucking with my head?"

"Oh, I definitely do. But alright, listen—" His grin faded as he held up a hand. "I'm supposed to be showing you the ropes in the Railroad, so let's say this is lesson, well, whatever number we're at. That code I gave you is a hard truth. You can't trust everyone. And before you say anything—I know, I know. That's not exactly a new concept for someone whose job depended on being able to read people to catch the bad guys. But the thing is, sometimes you just can't tell who is human anymore. Even if someone sounds sincere, they could be a synth replacement working for the Institute."

He certainly wasn't wrong about that, she thought to herself, as evidenced by her musings earlier that evening.

"The bitch of the problem," he continued, "is recognizing the ninety percent of the time someone's on the up and up and the ten percent of the time you're being played."

Sloan conceded with a short nod. "Alright, point taken. But you're still kind of an ass," she added with a slight smirk on her lips.

"Ha. I guess I earned that. Anyway, that's all I had." He looked pointedly at the sky out the window, which had lightened considerably during their conversation. "So unless you want to stay and chat some more here, we should probably head back to HQ and let Carrington know your first official mission was a success. If we leave now, we might even make it back without waking the raiders from their drug-addled slumber parties."

Sloan exhaled a small laugh. He was so damned difficult to read. But despite the lies he told her, he'd been quite dependable on the field thus far. Furthermore, all the Railroad members seemed to respect him, albeit grudgingly in some cases. That definitely wasn't without reason.

And so even though Deacon was obviously hiding something from her, Sloan decided that whoever—or whatever—he was, she could safely count him as an ally.

Notes: TBH, that whole 'silver lining' crap he says during that affinity talk pissed me off. Like, really, Deacon? You're gonna try and tell the Survivor that the fact everyone they knew died is a good thing? I love you to tiny, bitty little pieces my dude, but that was some poor-ass wording! So it was nice to address that here, lol.