Olde Towne Road Trip

Gunfire rained down on Danse and Hancock as they sprinted through the ruins of Concord, bullets pinging off walls, sending brick dust spraying all over them. Just as Danse raised a hand to wipe the grit from his visor, there was a clunk and a deep crack. His head snapped to the side, and the display function in his helmet went black.

Groping blindly and trying to ignore the stabbing pains in his neck, he stumbled into what he sincerely hoped was cover, and pulled the helmet off, inspecting the damage. There was a large bullet hole in the thickest section of the metal plating, right next to the visor. It crackled and hissed, sparks flying out of the split metal. The bullet must have hit the circuitry for the visor - a shot in a million, and a raider with a scrap yard combat rifle had accidentally pulled it off.

With a noise of disgust, Danse launched the helmet over the cover, and watched with an edge of petty satisfaction as it hit one of the raiders in the head, knocking him out cold.

Hancock spat out a mouthful of dirt and gave him a wolfish grin. "Party's getting good now, huh?"

Danse didn't reply. The ghoul revelled in chaos, purposefully aggravating the raiders they encountered so that they'd be forced into a fight. When Danse had challenged him, the ghoul had made an excuse about 'putting down dogs' and then ran off into the fray. Part of Danse would have gladly left Hancock to his fate, rather than risking his own personal safety to protect him, but something was stopping him.

The flag, he told himself firmly. You need him to get the flag.

Not that Hancock seemed to require his help dealing with the scum. He had dispatched all of them with frightening efficiency...until now. The raider with the rocket launcher had taken them both by surprise.

"Move left and try to flank them," barked Danse. "I'll stay here and draw their fire."

"Or…" Hancock leaned over and picked up a half full bottle of alcohol from a broken bookshelf, pulling the lid off.

"This is not the time!" bellowed Danse over the gunfire, filled with utter disbelief. Did the ghoul's addictions know no bounds?

"Keep your armour on," Hancock yelled back, rolling his eyes as he shoved the bottle into Danse's hands.

Danse felt his stomach clench as the familiar smell of alcohol hit him, but gritted his teeth and tried to ignore it as he watched Hancock grab a nearby skeleton and tear a strip of fabric off the tattered remains of its clothes.

"Thank you," the ghoul said sweetly, snatching the bottle back off Danse. Danse let out breath he hadn't realised he'd been holding and frowned as Hancock stuffed the fabric inside the open bottle, before pulling out a lighter from his pocket.

Hancock grinned as a flame jumped to light, and held it under the rag, the material quickly catching fire. Without another word, he stood and threw the bottle, and Danse's mouth fell open as it soared across the battlefield, hitting the rocket launcher wielding raider square in the chest.

The raider screamed as the blaze consumed him, and in his panic, he dropped his weapon. Whether a weapon malfunction had occurred, Danse didn't know, but the rocket launcher fired the second it hit the floor, and the following explosion sent body parts flying in every direction.

Hancock cackled and picked up his shotgun. "Come on, tin can. Level playing field now!"

The ghoul leapt to his feet and ran back into the fight before Danse could collect his bearings. Shaking his head, he tried to refocus, and dashed after him.

Yes, Hancock loved chaos. It was clear in his yells and jeers as he fought his way through the masses, alternating between his gun and his knife. Danse stayed back, firing in controlled, short bursts, making sure to keep his exposed head protected as best he could. More than once, the ghoul came close to a fatal hit, before pulling through at the last moment. Danse knew he had travelled with Quinn before he had met her at the police station, and he wondered if Hancock was responsible for her reckless attitude.

No, Danse decided. He may have encouraged it, but she's always been an inferno.

Together they made short work of the remaining raiders, and when Danse stepped out from his cover and walked towards the ghoul, Hancock was panting from the effort, his ravaged skin peppered with blood.

"Good fight," said Hancock, wheezing slightly. "Nice not to be cooped up in Goodneighbor or Sanctuary."

There was a noise, and a raider leapt out from behind an old dumpster, slashing out with the machete in her hand. Hancock whirled around in surprise, but before the blade made contact with him, Danse had raised his rifle and pulled the trigger.

A jet of red streaked across the open area, hitting the raider in the gut. There was a shriek, and she dropped her machete with a clatter as she stumbled back and tripped over a piece of rubble. The raider hit the ground with a bump hard enough to knock the wind out of her, but she barely seemed to notice, her hands scrabbling at the oozing burn in her midriff.

Hancock stared down at the dying raider behind him for a moment, and then turned back to Danse, his expression one of utter shock. "Did you just...did you just save my life?"

Danse didn't reply, but stomped over to the raider and shot her in the head. He glanced up at Hancock. "Let's move out. Without getting into another fight, if you can help yourself."

"Whoa, whoa, no," said Hancock, running after Danse as he started to walk away. "No, hang on, tin can, I'm gonna need a lil' help here. What just happened?"

"I killed a raider. Surely you aren't too high to recognise that?"

"Yeah, funny. I'm a junkie. I know." Hancock moved in front of Danse, forcing him to stop. "You just saved my life. A ghoul's life. You. Mr. Paladin of the Brotherhood of Steel. Saved me."

"I'm failing to see your point."

"Oh come on." Hancock scowled. "I know you're Brotherhood, but you're not that damn obtuse. You and the rest of your little organisation don't like ghouls. You wouldn't help us even if we were dying right in front of you. I'm pretty sure if it wasn't for Quinn, you'd have found a way to kill me a long time ago. Same with Valentine."

Danse felt annoyance flare up inside of him. The ghoul was right about the synth of course, but did he really think that he'd just kill ghouls for no reason? Danse said as much, not bothering to hide his anger, and Hancock pulled a face.

"Your Brotherhood doesn't have a good track record with deciding which ghouls are feral, and which ghouls aren't," he snapped, poking Danse in his steel-plated chest. "And for that matter, some people just don't care at all. Diamond City didn't when it murdered its population of ghouls, back when I was still human."

It was Danse's turn to be surprised. "Diamond City killed its ghoul population?"

"Yeah." Hancock stepped back, pulling out a cigarette and lighting it with a shaking hand. "They leave that one out of the visitors' tour guide, but that's exactly what happened. Soon as McDonough got into power, a lot of people died. Those that managed to escape...well. I tried to help them, but one by one, they just disappeared."

Frowning, Danse considered the ghoul. It was hard to tell if he was lying - Danse had never been good at reading the damaged faces of ghouls - but the tremors in his hands suggested he was not. Shaking his head, Danse said, "Killing civilians...that's not right."

"And that brings me back to my main point," Hancock said, blowing smoke out of his nose cavity. "You. Saving me. You're Brotherhood to the point of fanaticism. So why does killing non-ferals bother you?"

"Feral ghouls are the enemy."

"You're still hostile to non-ferals, though."

"Because at any point, you can become a feral. That's not a risk I'm prepared to ignore." Danse's scowl softened. "On the other hand, while you disgust me, it wouldn't be right to let you die."

Hancock frowned and dragged on his cigarette, fixing Danse with a stern look. "I don't know what to make of you, tin can. I suppose the best compliment I can give is you're not as much of a fucking asshole as I thought. But only slightly less."

"Be content in the knowledge that the feeling is mutual."

To his surprise, Hancock laughed.

"Long as I know you're not planning on shooting me in the back anytime soon," Hancock said, jamming the cigarette between his teeth and picking up his shotgun, "I can live with that. Come on."

By the time they had reached the outskirts of Boston, the sun was setting. It shouldn't have taken so long to make the trek, but continuous interruptions from raiders, as well as a particularly nasty encounter with a yao guai mother and her two cubs, had slowed them down. Hancock had managed to stem the bleeding on his arm by the time they had set up camp, and didn't argue when Danse said he would take first watch.

First watch.

The idea was laughable. There would be no other watch tonight but his. Danse flicked his eyes over to the sleeping ghoul in the corner, his coat thrown haphazardly over himself, arms and legs splayed out in a wide arc. His battered hat was next to him, and Danse thought the ghoul looked oddly small without it.

How does he function with the amount of intoxicants he pushes through his body?

Danse suspected there was rarely a moment that the ghoul wasn't high on something, and yet he seemed to function relatively well regardless. It was a state that could not last - Danse had seen the sorry tale far too many times in the Brotherhood and in Rivet City, too. Men and women who looked to chemicals to cope, before losing control of their habits. There had been a time where he had drifted uncomfortably near to that same brink.

Looking back towards the ghoul, Danse felt a sense of unease crept over him.

How close to the edge is he? How close to the edge was I?

Twisting his mouth to the side, Danse refocused his gaze on the deep dark of the ruins. This was stupid. He was nothing like the ghoul. He'd had the strength to stop himself and move on with his life. He was completely fine.

The stabbing pains in his head were getting worse, his heavy eyelids protesting as he fought against their drooping. When had been the last time he had slept?

I can't answer the question, Danse thought to himself. Why am I avoiding it so much? Because of Cutler, or…?

No. It was because he didn't trust the ghoul. That was all. And yet still, the images of the church in the Glowing Sea surfaced, a nightmare where Cutler had taken on the form of another, where they were decidedly dead. His fault again. Always his fault.

Danse groaned and pressed his palm to his forehead, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment. A mutated Cutler flashed across his vision, and he snapped them open again, heart racing.

The hours trudged by, the tiredness chipping away at his resolve as he stood stock still, staring out into the nothing. The ghoul was right there. All he had to do was wake him, and sleep would be his.

Hancock gave a loud snore and turned over, mumbling something about molerats as his jacket slipped down off his shoulders. He looked frail in the dim lighting, and Danse couldn't help but wonder what horrors he had seen when Diamond City had purged its ghouls. It explained his almost idealistic views of freedom and goodness, and although Danse still thought it was naive, he could understand it, at least. There were worse ideologies to be aligned to.

Eventually, the sun hit the depths of the city, filtering through the boards and into the shelter they had taken refuge in. When the light landed on Hancock's face, he groaned and opened his bleary eyes.

"My turn for watch?" he mumbled, squinting at the paladin.

"No, said Danse briskly. "Time for you to get up."

"To get up?" Hancock sat up, letting his coat fall onto his lap, and gave Danse an odd look. "You were on watch the whole night?"

"Affirmative."

"But…" the ghoul paused, scratching his head. "Are you going to sleep now?"

"Negative. We have a job to do." Danse turned away moving across to the exit of the shelter and peering out, checking for hostiles.

"Come on, man, you can't do this on no sleep."

"I can and I will." Danse's temper was quickly fraying. "I don't trust a ghoul to watch my back while I'm unconscious."

"Oh for the love of…" Hancock shook his head and stood, pulling his jacket on and then ramming his hat back on his head irritably. "I should have known yesterday's speech was too good to be true." He stalked past Danse, muttering, "Jackass," under his breath as he went.

Danse followed without comment, letting Hancock lead the way through the city. The usual raiders that haunted the ruins were conspicuously absent, and only a brief encounter with a pack of feral ghouls hindered their progress. Before long, they were at the door of the Cabot house.

Aside from the intercom and the sentry bot stationed outside, Danse saw nothing spectacular about the building. Hancock sauntered over, pressing the button and grinning as a voice crackled out from it.

"What do you want, Hancock?"

"Just making a house call to my dear friends," said Hancock, examining his fingers nonchalantly. "Quinn can't be here right now, but I've a request to make if you'll let me in."

There was a beep, and the door opened. Hancock straightened up and sashayed in, gesturing for Danse to follow. Danse frowned as he walked in after the ghoul. This was not the greeting given to someone welcomed by the Cabots. His grip tightened on his gun as he stepped inside.

The interior took Danse's breath away. He had never seen a pre-war building so perfectly preserved, and his eyes roamed the room, drinking in every stunning detail. He barely listened as Hancock tried to sweet talk the ghoul guard - someone called Edward - and simply stared in wonder, a strange warmth in his chest as he absorbed the past.

"Hey, Hancock."

A new voice dragged Danse out of stupor, and he turned to see a very young, very pretty woman had joined the gathering, twirling a strand of her long, blonde hair around one finger as she regarded Hancock with interest.

"Emogene," Hancock said, flashing a winning smile. "Nice to see you at the homestead."

Emogene rolled her eyes. "Only because Mother kicked up a fuss again. I'll be back at the Third Rail before you know it. What brings you here?"

"We're looking for an American flag to use in a funeral ceremony for a friend. Her husband was a soldier with a love of pre-war artefacts. Last time I was here, I noticed that you just so happened to have an undamaged one, and we were wondering if there was any way to convince you to part with it."

"We?" Emogene glanced past Hancock and Edward, finally noticing Danse. She raised an eyebrow, and a small smile spread across her lips. Edward made a quiet groaning noise.

Emogene ignored him and walked past the two ghouls, circling Danse as her eyes flicked up and down, surveying him. Danse suddenly felt extremely uncomfortable, a sensation which increased ten-fold when she stopped in front of him, smirking.

"Not every day I see Brotherhood around these parts," she said, tilting her head to one side and playing with her hair again. "Not every day they're so handsome, either."

"I, uh," said Danse, feeling his cheeks burn as Hancock silently sniggered behind Emogene, while Edward put his face in his hand. "Thank you, ma'am."

Emogene chuckled. "And shy, too? Cute. Good to see a strong man who isn't an overconfident tool."

Danse didn't know how to respond to that, and so stayed silent. The next second, she had moved forward, grabbing the handles of Danse's armour and pulling herself up to his height, planting a soft kiss on his cheek.

As Danse stood rigid, shell shocked, Hancock lost control completely and burst into loud peals of laughter. Emogene winked, clearly enjoying herself, and sauntered away. Her hips swayed as she walked, and Danse's eyes flicked down before he could stop them. He forced them up again, blushing furiously, but one glance at her face told him she knew he had looked. Emogene gave him a mischievous grin before turning to Edward.

"Let them have the flag," she said. "I doubt anyone will even notice it's gone, and if they do, they won't remember why we had it in the first place."

As she walked away, Edward rolled his eyes, but stalked off up the stairs, returning a few minutes later with the flag, locked inside a triangular wooden case with glass panels. He handed it to Danse, who quickly stowed it away in his armour, his face still hot and uncomfortable.

"Thank you," Danse said, and Edward grunted in response, before looking pointedly at Hancock.

"Don't worry, tin can," Hancock said, still giggling to himself. "I won't tell Quinn. Now let's try and get out of Boston before it gets dark."

Boston had other ideas.

"God damn it, not again!" Danse yelled, his frustration mounting just as a bullet whizzed past his head, hitting the ground behind him with a dull thud. He reloaded his rifle and took out a few of the super mutants with a series of well placed headshots, the remaining mutants howling and gnashing their teeth.

This was the third attack since they had left the Cabots', halting their progress. Now that they had the flag, neither Hancock nor Danse were willing to push ahead too hard, in case it was damaged. Each battle was becoming a long, drawn out farce, Danse's temper being driven slowly towards the edge with every delay. He was starting to understand how Quinn had felt when their journey to Sanctuary had been constantly held back.

Hancock shot him a strange look and then crept away, out of sight. Danse ignored him. If the ghoul wanted to run, that was his prerogative. It simply proved what Danse had known all along: the mayor was nothing but a cowardly, self-serving-

There was a bang, and Hancock appeared behind the mutants, unloading his shotgun into each one in turn, until their brains painted the sidewalk with a gory pattern. He waved to Danse, signalling the all clear, before disappearing into a nearby building.

Blinking, Danse stood up. He hadn't even ordered Hancock to flank, and yet he'd had done it anyway. A troublesome thought crossed his mind. Was he wrong about him?

Danse shook his head and pushed the idea aside. Regardless of how good Hancock was in a fight, he was still a junkie and a ghoul - who knew when he would turn feral?

Maybe never, said a little voice in his head. You can't be sure he ever will.

I can't be sure that he won't, though.

Is it worth the hostility?

Danse made his way over to the building Hancock had ducked into, squinting as his eyes tried to adjust to the low lighting. The ghoul was sat in the corner, puffing on a jet inhaler, his hat on top of a rickety old table.

"I think we've had enough excitement for one day," he said, his eyes slightly unfocused as Danse glared at him. "Time to rest up, tin can."

"But the flag-"

"It's not going anywhere. And neither are we. You've been a shitheel all day, and I'm guessing that's because you're running on pure spite at this point. Get some sleep. I'll take first watch."

"Even if I trusted you, you're high. That is not a suitable state to be keeping an eye out for trouble."

Hancock giggled. "I've been tripping balls this entire adventure and it's not affected me enough for you to comment on it." He shot the paladin a lopsided grin of triumph. "Besides, if you miss out on sleep again, you'll fight like crap tomorrow."

Danse opened his mouth to argue, but then stopped, thinking of Quinn and what he had said to her the last night he had seen her.

"A paladin is supposed to set an example to others, not cower over bad dreams."

"Fine." He stomped off to the other side of the room, as far away from Hancock as he could manage, and exited his armour, feeling instantly vulnerable. Danse unsheathed his combat knife, tucking it into his boot, and then settled down in a corner, staring at the opposite wall.

"Subtle," said Hancock, rolling his eyes as he stood up and reloaded his shotgun, before walking forwards and closing the door they had entered from. "I'll wake you around midnight, alright? You might be able to go without sleep, but I can't."

Danse continued to stare ahead, not deeming Hancock's comment worth an answer. He was on edge, the same way he had been at Sanctuary, just before Quinn had returned from the Institute. His armour was his shield, and he felt lost without it.

Quinn…

How was she doing? Had she gone to see Cade yet, like he'd asked? Somehow, Danse doubted this, stubborn as she was. More than likely she'd use every excuse under the sun until Cade lost his patience and dragged her there himself. Then again, maybe she would surprise him and want to recover of her own accord. Maybe she had found the vault suit by now, and Quinn would realise that he did care, that all he wanted was for her to get better.

Suddenly, a scenario played in his head in which Danse presented the mended suit to Quinn himself before he left. She took it, shocked, but elated, and then thrown herself into his arms, hugging him tight. Even though intimate contact did not come naturally to him, he couldn't deny that he enjoyed her touch.

Something stirred within him, and Danse felt uncomfortable. There he was again, thinking of her as anything but a friend. Danse knew his duty, and they came before his desires and his needs. There was Brotherhood, and then there was everything else. Nothing in-between.

Then why are you here? What does this achieve for the Brotherhood?

Another question he couldn't answer. It occurred to Danse he was having a lot of those lately.

He shifted in his spot on the floor and laid his head back against the wall, closing his eyes. Better to try and sleep than mull over such pointless thoughts.

Within seconds, Danse was out.

He had returned to Rivet City again, the scene playing out like a well rehearsed play. Checking his gun, Danse edged down the stairs, feeling strangely calm. No matter what happened here, he would not leave this place whole.

The lights flickered, and as Danse scanned the area, he saw a lone, crumpled figure lying in the centre of the room. Something was wrong, though. They did not groan. They did not move.

No, Cutler.

Danse fell to his knees, feet away from the body of his friend. He didn't want to explore this death again, didn't want to turn him over and see those blank eyes staring back at him. Maybe if he just stayed here, it would be alright. If he didn't look, Cutler would never leave him.

"You let them die."

Something smashed into the side of his head, sending him sprawling to the ground. Danse didn't try to stand up, but lay there, splayed on the floor, waiting for the inevitable. He'd had enough.

A pair of big, yellow-green hands fastened around his neck, the thumbs pushing deep into his throat, and the familiar lipless face appeared over his. Its teeth gnashed, and Danse instinctively moved, his body fighting for life on its own, trying to push the super mutant back.

The struggle proved fruitless, the strong hands pressing down so hard his throat felt like it was about to collapse. Dizziness set in, his vision tunnelling as he was slowly choked. The last thing he saw before the world went black was a set of dog tags tight around the monster's meaty neck. Danse didn't have to read the words to know what they said, what they always said.

Cutler.

Danse gasped and retched, the world spinning out of his control as he slumped forward onto the floor. It took a few seconds to remember where he was. He raised a shaking hand to his neck and massaged it, trying to ease the tightness in his throat as his chest heaved.

"You alright?"

Danse jumped. He had forgotten the ghoul was with him. For the first time since he had known him, Hancock looked deadly serious. There were no jokes, no goading or aggravating comments - just pure, simple concern.

"I'm fine," Danse replied. He may have sounded more convincing if his voice hadn't come out in a wheeze. But Hancock didn't comment any further, turning back to the boarded up window, though Danse noticed him watching out of the corner of his eye.

Sweat was dripping from him, saturating his skin. He wiped it away with a noise of annoyance, and then pulled off his uniform hood, running a hand through his sodden hair.

Without thinking, he mumbled, "They're getting worse."

"Worse?" said Hancock, turning to him and frowning.

"No," Danse replied quickly. He didn't want the ghoul involved in this. "It's nothing. Forget about it."

There was a pause.

"Alright then." Hancock returned to staring out of the cracks in the boards, a series of emotions flickering over his face. After a few seconds, he glanced back. "Is this why you didn't want to sleep? Do you have them often?"

Danse slowly got to his feet, avoiding Hancock's gaze, and pulled his hood back on. "It's my turn for watch. Get some rest."

If Hancock was bothered by Danse's lack of an answer, he didn't show it. Instead, he simply nodded and lowered his shotgun, stepping away from the window. "Been quiet so far. Wake me if there's any trouble."

Danse bit back a sarcastic answer - no, I thought I'd just leave you to sleep in the middle of an attack - and climbed into his power armour, relief flooding through him as his body returned to its metal shell. He stomped over to where Hancock had been, feeling more run down and exhausted than ever, and checked over his rifle.

"Hey, tin can," came Hancock's voice from across the room.

Danse gave a heavy sigh. He was in no mood for another of the ghoul's stupid, needling-

"Thanks for earlier. For saving my irradiated ass, I mean."

"I…" Danse looked at him, bemused, but the ghoul was wearing a completely earnest expression. "You're welcome."

"Yeah. Just don't tell Quinn I said that. The teasing would be endless."

"Only if you don't tell her I saved you in the first place."

Hancock chuckled. "Deal. Wouldn't want her to think we're bonding or anything now, would we?"

Despite himself, Danse grinned.

A/N: Usual thanks to my beta, waiting4morning. I really look forward to the weekend these days, when I can release another chapter. So thanks again for your continued support, and I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I do writing it.