August 14th, 2288
Sanctuary Hills, or just Sanctuary as it was now known, was a pre-war suburb located a few dozen miles Northwest of Boston and only a few North of Concord, right across a little river and surrounded by forests. A quaint few streets with homes meant for families and couples to live and start their lives together. It had that rundown old look a lot of prewar buildings had, but the effort to repair them made it evident people lived here still. Wood boards and metal sheets covered the walls and blown out windows. Planks, tarps, and other things covered the roofs to keep the elements out and heat in during the winter. The front yards that people had once proudly maintained to up their neighbors or win awards were now used as either cattlepens or little farming patches growing corn, razorgrain, and other crops. Though they weren't on right now, numerous streetlights lined the streets that would provide securing light once the sun went down.
And if you needed any more evidence it was inhabited, you need merely see the many people milling around outside, especially the dozen or so kids that were out just before noon. That alone would tell any traveler just how safe this area was.
They were spread all over the street and into some of the adjacent yards, playing a stripped down version of the great American pastime: Baseball. They had no uniforms, but each kid wore a blue or red ballcap to signal their team. Adults and other kids either on the bench or not playing stood or sat in the yards, watching the proceedings. A new batter, wearing a blue hat, stepped up to the plate. At second base, on the far end of the ad-hoc diamond, another member of the blue team was waiting for his chance to make the run for home plate. The pitcher stared down the new batter, trying to intimidate. He cocked his arm back and threw.
"Strike!" The umpire, the only adult, called as the batter swung a second too late. A mix of jeers and encouragement arose from the spectators. The pitcher caught the ball and prepared to throw again. He raised his arm and pitched. The batter swung and the audience started shouting in excitement when he hit it. The ball flew up and down the street. The batter immediately dropped the oak instrument and started running, the kid at second base started running too, and a member of the red team ran after the ball.
The baseball bounced off one of the heads of an indifferent brahmin and started rolling down the street. A kid quickly caught up to it and tossed it back towards the diamond, but by then the blue team member at 2nd base had already made it all the way back. But the batter was still in the open. The ball was thrown to 2nd base, who quickly turned to pitch it to 3rd. But the batter had already made it past third and was going for the full home run. They took crucial seconds to readjust. They threw, spectators shouted, and to most it seemed like the ball and the batter reached home base at the same time.
"Safe!" The umpire held up two fingers. Spectators cheered. The blue team whooped and hollered, and several members of the red team threw down their hats and stomped around.
"Two home runes for the blue team!" A robotic but English accented voice called. A Mister Handy robot, a spherical floating butler, hovered over to a terminal set up at the side of the field and used one of its extensions to tap on the keyboard. An electronic display mounted on one of the roofs of a house, used to keep the scores right now, updated. The blue team went from lagging behind to have a very slim lead over the red.
"Dad, dad! Did you see that?!" The batter ran up to one of the adults spectating and pulled off his cap, revealing a head of hair the same shade of black as the man he'd stopped in front of.
"I saw it, Shaun. Good job, buddy." The man reached out and patted his son on the shoulder. "Get scraped up out there?" Shaun had taken a tumble right after passing home base, but he'd got there.
"No, I'm fine. See?" He held up his arms. Dirt and grime, but no blood. His father smiled, nodded, and gave his son an encouraging push back towards the bench to finish the game.
When most people in the Commonwealth thought about Nate Howard, they imagined a man clad in hulking power armor fighting against hordes of synths, or maybe an elaborately dressed man leading bands of Minutemen against attacking raiders. Some might imagine him as a builder or a cleaner, but the majority knew him as the man who'd destroyed the Institute and countless threats to the Commonwealth, so they always imagined a warrior.
But how did Nate Howard picture himself? Well, the answer was the exchange that had just occurred: A father, raising his son.
Yes, Nate was a Sentinel of the East Coast Brotherhood, which did more or less make him one of the most powerful people on the whole East Coast. Yes, he was the general of a professional military force that more or less controlled the Commonwealth. He was even the de facto mayor of Sanctuary and even a few other settlements across the wasteland. He was a water merchant, a weapons and armor manufacturer, and even ran caravans-all venues that brought in a lot of bottle caps. These were all very big titles.
But the thing he considered himself, first, foremost, and most importantly, was a dad. He took his position in the Minutemen seriously. He even still took his role in the Brotherhood of Steel seriously. But they were all behind being a dad, because that was what he'd been first, ever since he stepped out Vault 111. Hell, it was what he'd been since he came back from the Alaska front, over 200 years ago. Everything he did, even in all those new positions he held, were in service to being a dad. And after he'd rescued his son from the Institute, he really did desire something slower than constant fighting.
But that wasn't the full story. The full story of what happened the day the Institute fell was far more complicated than that. Only a few people knew that full story, and a few more had their suspicions. Nate knew the full story, more than anyone else, even.
But what a man knew and what a man would-or could-believe might be different. And as far as Nate believed, the events were simple: He'd gone into the Institute with the Brotherhood, he came out with his son, and the Institute blew up soon after. That was the history he lived by now.
The game continued on, and he watched as the teams switched. It wasn't exactly baseball as he knew it, but he was glad he'd been able to reintroduce America's pastime to a new generation of kids. He was glad he'd been able to reintroduce a lot of things to people in the Commonwealth, mostly ideas and knowledge, and see them embraced so readily.
He was still surprised in general by just how 'unique' he was now. Pre-war, Nate had seen himself as just any other American. He loved his country, he'd fought for his country, but good luck getting him to remember the Bill of Rights or Declaration of Independence word for word. But he understood the values. He'd finished school, but he hadn't exactly been a star student.
He thought the same of his engineering ability. Nate didn't consider himself an expert on that either. He hadn't been about to get a profitable career in construction after coming home from the war. But he knew some things, just the type of handiwork the man of a house would be expected to know.
But no matter where he went in the Commonwealth, he might as well have been a scholar or a miracle worker with tools. The people here in the Commonwealth weren't dumb by any means; in practical matters, they very very smart and could get a lot of things done themselves. Diamond City still had a school where the kids there could get a basic education. But time and time again Nate had confounded people by being knowledgeable about things people had no idea about, or using words that had apparently disappeared from the English language in the two centuries since the bombs fell. He only had a basic grasp of electrical, plumbing, and home maintenance, but having the basics is what people aspired to here. The Institute really had kept the Commonwealth stupid and under developed, and in all hoensty it made him feel awkward to be one of the smartest people now. But he felt like he had a duty to these people-and his son-to improve the Commonwealth any way he could.
His fighting ability was certainly among the best in the Commonwealth, but Nate didn't want to dwell on that. He was a man who'd fought three wars and many other smaller battles and skirmishes. He didn't even want to think of how many people he'd killed. He didn't need to either. The Commonwealth was at peace. It would be at peace for a long time, now that the Minutemen were set up and could function autonomously. He'd even gone through the trouble of dealing with issues outside the Commonwealth. He could finally, finally, focus on living a normal life. A farmer and a trader wasn't exactly something he'd envisioned for himself, but if it made him and Shaun a living, he would make it work.
"Nate." An accented voice spoke up behind him. He turned his head to see a dark haired man in grimy overalls standing behind the line of chairs making up the spectators stand.
"Sturges." He greeted Sanctuary's resident handyman warmly. "What is it?" The man had been watching the game, but he looked back down.
"There's a Captain Shaw on the radio calling out to every settlement in the Commonwealth for the General." He nodded at him. "Unless I missed a retirement party, I guess she means you."
"Yeah…" Nate turned back to the game for a moment, looking at the back of Shaun's head while he sat on the bench. "Alright." With a grunt of effort, Nate lifted himself up from the chair and followed Sturges down the street. His house was on the corner right before the road led out of the suburb, over a river, and eventually into Concord. Since Sturges was the settlement's handyman, his house doubled as the nexus of its electrical system; there was a fusion generator tucked in the carport, and wires that extended out into pylons that provided power to each house in the suburb, the street lights, the water purifier in the stream, and numerous other appliances around the settlement. Even then, they still had plenty of energy to spare if needed.
One of the greatest accomplishments the Minutemen had succeeded with was building lines of instant communication around the commonwealth. Antennas, range extenders, and hardlines allowed every settlement to commute via radio with each other, the Castle, or Diamond City. Even ones that were more than a day's walk away. More communication meant more trade, more safety, and better organization. It was one of the things that allowed society to flourish, and it had finally come to the Commonwealth. Sturges handled communications for the whole settlement, sending or receiving messages and alerting everyone or anything when something specific came through.
Nate settled himself on the stool at what had once been the kitchen counter, now refitted into a radio corner. He picked up the receiver. "This is General Howard, I hear someone's looking for me."
"That's the second time I've called the entire Commonwealth for you before finding you at home." Came the old, outwardly irritable, no nonsense voice of Ronnie Shaw into his ear. Shaw was the Minutemen's quartermaster. She saw that the professional contingent was always armed with functioning guns and ammunition, and she made sure the irregular contingent had something a little more potent than the mix of old shotguns, hunting rifles, and pipe weapons most of the Commonwealth's population used. Since Prestron had taken part of the professional continent up to the National Guard Training Yard-they were refitting it as an outpost to better respond to a lot of the farms North of Boston- she'd served as the garrison commander for the Castle too. "I'll cut straight to it: You need to report in. There's a big problem coming to the Commonwealth. Radio is too insecure to blab about it. You need to hear it here."
"An imminent threat?" Nate leaned forward. He didn't question the secrecy; the Minutemen's radio network was extensive, but it wasn't secure like the Brotherhood or Gunners was. The Gunners had actually listened in and ambushed them before. Caution like that really was necessary.
"We got a week, tops. I've sent a message with one of them robots to tell Garvey. I'll send more out to the other companies when I can get hold of more of them." Shaw reported. Nate glanced back over at Sturges. One of the irregular Minutemen companies of Minutemen was based here in Sanctuary. He didn't command it, but he had helped it in a few local operations. Sturges nodded.
"I'll tell them you're leaving and to expect a message." The handyman exited the house.
"Is it a human threat?" General Howard asked next.
"A damn nasty one." Shaw confirmed. The General's first thought was raiders. It didn't matter how many they killed, roving bands of their kind kept wandering into their home. It might even be the Rust Devils; neither his Minutemen or the Brotherhood of Steel had successfully annihilated that group yet.
"Alright." Nate made his choice. "I'll leave immediately. Expect me there tomorrow morning." It was less than 50 miles, but still quite a hike.
"We'll be ready for you, General. Shaw signing off." The radio call ended. Nate stood up, lingering at the table for a moment with his palms pressed into faded granite. Then he left the house, moving with a determined stride back down to the street to his own abode.
"Sir, is everything all right?" The Mr. Handy that was keeping the baseball score turned one of its optical orbs to him.
"I have to head to the Castle, Codsworth. Something's happened."
"Oh. Oh dear." His robot butler fretted. "I was hoping this peace we've made would last forever."
"I'll take care of it." His owner sounded but assuring and menacing at the same time. General Howard stepped into his home of over 200 years. It had looked a lot nicer before the war, but Codsworth had made the tireless endeavor to keep it a little better off than the rest of the neighborhood over the centuries until his master woke up, and together, they'd restored it. It was solid, it was insulated, and it had lights and electricity. No plumbing though, since something that big was beyond even him. But maybe one day; the Minutemen had been manufacturing Mr. Handy's and Protectrons at a reasonable pace, and he knew for a fact some cities had been using them for utilities before the bombs. If they could find some of those programs, Boston and the surrounding communities might one day have plumbing again.
He made his way to his bedroom at the end of the hallway and drew the curtains over the windows. There was no reason for most of the room to be taken up by a queen size bed, but he'd insisted on it. The closet had his uniforms for both the Brotherhood and the Minutemen, as well as an assortment of other outfits and clothes he owned, all inexplicably stuffed on a few shelves while the other shelves stayed bare.
The General of the Minutemen had traditionally worn an authentic colonial garb since the organization's inception, an outfit Nate had inherited when he helped them retake the Castle. He'd taken good care to clean and restore it too. He was retired Army and American, after all. The uniform deserved respect. A pair of dusty army fatigues had been his main outfit of choice once he'd gotten out of the vault, at least until he learned it made people weary on account of the Gunners using pre-war military outfits and organization. That had driven General Howard's desire to eliminate them almost as much as their bloodthirsty ways.
But, he didn't desire to wear it in actual combat. War was a practical affair. He would still wear it for some functions, but otherwise, he liked to be among his troops, so to speak. To that end, his uniform was a blue dyed set of Army fatigues just like all the professional Minutemen soldiers, only with 4 stars on the collar. He kept a set of sturdy combat armor, helmet, and backpack under the bed. He'd already been carrying the 10mm pistol he usually used as a sidearm, he just had put the holster on again. The last bit of gear he had to grab was his laser rifle, on a shelf in the living room where it could be quickly retrieved for emergencies. It was the same one he'd gotten from Danse the year before, a thank you for helping his recon team with their mission.
He missed Danse. Codsworth had been the first 'person' he found from the old world, Preston was the first friend he'd made in this new world. But Danse was the man who'd helped him find a new purpose, help him put his old skills to use again. Danse and the Brotherhood had helped Nate achieve the impossible task of battling the Institute. But Danse was a synth, and the Brotherhood had no need for synths, even ones dedicated to their cause. The former Paladin was in hiding now, deep into the woods East of here. He stayed in an old bunker most days, trying to avoid detection. Vertibirds were always in the area now, flying extermination missions to super mutant and ghoul problems on the edge or outside the Commonwealth. Nate visited when he could, but it was a far cry from the days they'd gone through the Commonwealth side by side.
Nate did like the Brotherhood. The people there and what it stood for. It was easy to get into with his prior military experience. But like the old Army and government, he didn't find himself in perfect agreement with them, but he went along for the greater good. The Brotherhood were hard liners, skirting just on the edge of his moral sensibilities. They'd even crossed it before.
The Railroad had been an underground anti-Institute group saving synths that had gained their own humanity. Nate had gotten into contact with them on his own, at a time when they were still under the Brotherhood's radar. He'd helped his fair share of synths, he'd intercepted a few Institute operations with them, and he'd made a couple of friends. They were good people, if a little self-centered. But to the Brotherhood, they were the enemy. Synths were just machines and didn't deserve help. Apparently, Railroad agents had started engaging Brotherhood members, but Nate never witnessed that. All he knew now was that while he was teleporting in and out of the Institute playing double agent, the Brotherhood had attacked the Railroad HQ and wiped its leadership all out. He'd had no say, and no advanced notice.
Nate had been genuinely pissed off when he found out. But by then preparations for an attack on the Institute were nearly complete. If he backed out then, he would be back to square one. He had to stay with them. He'd felt disgusted with himself for it, but it was to destroy the Institute. The good outweighed the bad. But it didn't stop him from thinking about Deacon and the others.
And it didn't stop him from carrying on in the spirit of their beliefs. As a sentinel of the Brotherhood, he couldn't help synths. But as General of the Minutemen? It might not make him popular, but he could do it. He'd seen it for himself, synths were like any other people. They deserved a chance, and quite a few of them got it with him. Hell, a few of Sanctuary's residents were synths. The Railroad was gone, but its dream of Freedom for All remained.
As Nate loaded the energy weapon, the front door opened and Shaun came in. "You're leaving again." He could tell just by his father's garb.
"Yeah, I'm sorry buddy." Nate set the energy weapon down and kneeled by his son. "Something's come up. It'll only be a few days, I promise."
"I know. You always come back. And a lot of people depend on you." Shaun was surprisingly mature for an eleven year old. He knew his dad could be busy with a lot of things, but he never held it against him. "When I'm older, I hope I can help as many people as you." Nate smiled and patted his son on the shoulder.
"When you're a lot older. And hopefully by then, there won't be so many problems people need help with." Nate stood back up. "Codsworth will still be here, and I'll ask the Longs to check in on you every day."
"Every day?" His son asked. "Can't you make it every few days? I'm getting older! I can look after myself." He insisted.
"Hmm." Nate humored him. "11 is a big number." Shaun looked hopeful. "Ask me again when you're 12."
"Aw." His son looked disappointed.
"No wild house parties." Nate made his son grin again. "And no inviting any girls over."
"Gross!" Now Nate was the one smiling.
"No using the welding equipment while I'm gone. And don't hook anything new up to the power grid either." Because Shaun had grown up in the Institute, he'd naturally developed an interest in science and engineering. He was really smart in it too. His dad had a pre-war education and had learned a lot more things since, but Shaun eclipsed him on all fronts. He loved building and tinkering, helping Sturges fix or build stuff around the settlement. He even helped the Minutemen program its robots. He made his own stuff too, out of the salvage his dad or the caravans brought back. He had a lot of ideas, some his dad had to overrule on.
Finding out if deathclaws could be pacified with beta waves did sound interesting, but it was too dangerous an experiment for his son to carry out!
"I won't dad." He nodded.
"Ok son." Nate gave him a firm pat on the shoulder.
"Did you say goodbye to mom yet?" He asked. His father's hand slackened for a moment, then became firm again.
"I was just about to. Do you want to come too?" His son nodded. "C'mon then." The two made for the side door that had used to lead to the carport, now Shaun's own little outdoor workshop, and into the backyard from there. Most of Sanctuary's residents used their backyards to farm, but the Howard residence's back yard was sparse. It was enclosed by a white picket fence, and if you looked into the woods over it, you could see the larger scrap fences next to the stream that ran along the other side of the suburb. There was only one thing to note in the yard: a grave, complete with a headstone.
After that first, horrifically violent day outside the Vault, Nate had made the choice to come back to Sanctuary with Prestron and the survivors from Quincy. Not only had he been tired, but he realized that this new world was very different from the one he'd been in a short time ago. He needed to stop, learn, and plan his next moves out instead of just charging blindly out. He didn't even have a place to bring Shaun back to when he did find him.
So he'd stayed that night in his old home and half of the next day there, helping the others settle in, working with Codsworth to fix his house, and talking extensively with Preston to figure out what would be in store for him when he got beyond Concord. And before he'd left, he'd asked Preston to help him out with one thing: Get his wife's body out of that vault and put it to rest. He couldn't bury her with her family, in a graveyard South of Boston. But at the very least, he could bury her here, in the home where they'd had as many happy moments as they could've possibly had before the world ended. She deserved so much more, but this was the best he could do. And this way, at least, she could be there to watch him raise Shaun.
"Hi dear." Nate kneeled down as he stopped in front of the grave. "I have to head out again. Work." A soldier twice over the many other jobs he had. She might not be happy about it, but she'd understand. He stood back up again, pulling Shaun over to his side. "You should've just seen Shaun."
"I hit a home run!"
"All the way down the street. Our son might end up a star baseball player." Progress was slow for the moment, but Nate really did hope that by the time Shawn was grown up, life would be a lot closer to what Nora and he had. Without the food riots, martial law, and threat of destruction, obviously. Only the good bits.
"Maybe." Shaun wasn't quite sure what he wanted to be yet: a soldier, a scientist, or an engineer. If Nate could help it, it'd be two of the later. "I wish you could've seen it." He said. His dad gave him a sympathetic pat on the back.
"I'll be back soon." Nate promised the headstone. "And Shaun will behave while I'm gone."
"Yes, sir." The boy confirmed. Nate nodded, then got the feeling he was being watched. He looked over his shoulder and caught the eye stalks of a Mr. Handy peering around the side of the carport quickly disappear.
"Codsworth."
"Ah, Mr. Howard!" The robot hovered from around the corner acting like it hadn't just been caught. "I made you a meal for your travels." It held out a lunch pail with its pincer arm. "You'll need calories for such a long hike."
"Thanks, Codsworth." Nate took it, and then he set a hand on Codsworth's spherical body, carefully restored to the same condition he'd come out of the box with. "She wouldn't trust anyone else but you to watch him." Codsworth was proud to be a Mister Handy, but he was more than just a robot, Nate honestly believed. Robots had the potential to be more than just programs. Things like this had been happening and discussed even before the war. Nate had even seen it himself; in Alaska, a lot of men in the infantry had bonded with the combat robots deployed with them to the front, and the robots themselves sometimes acted a little more human than the human soldiers they were supplementing. Honestly, that was the big reason Nate had taken the controversial side with synths. He saw something human in Codsworth, so he treated him with respect befitting it.
"Oh. Oh my." Emotion welled up in his robotic voice at the great compliment. "Well, I shan't let mum down!" It returned to its usual British accented bombast. "I'll do a sweep of the house for any holes or leaks. After all, winter is only around the corner!" That was true. Winters were usually hard in Boston, but they were a lot harder 200 years later; all the seasons were more extreme. Even the best shelter might not keep out the cold, and you had to stock up on food beforehand. Raiders were at their worst in those lean months. Hopefully, with less raiders and more production all over the Commonwealth, things would be easier this year. Hopefully. They still had one good harvest they could make before it got really cold, and most people were already preserving food.
"Want to help take down the flags too, son?" Nate turned to him. His boy nodded, and the two walked through the carport to the front yard. Nate hadn't planted a farm in his yard, since he had enough business connections to constantly have food delivered. But he had installed a flagpole. And at the top of that flagpole were two flags, pristine and well cared for: An American flag, and a Minutemen flag below it. Visitors often recognized the latter, but not always the former. And even when they found out, they still wondered why.
As far as Nate was concerned, America was still a thing. The government may not be, but the people still were. The ideas and the spirit of these people here in the Commonwealth who survived and worked together just screamed American to him, even if they themselves didn't realize it. In time, he hoped that a government and definable borders would make America real again.
But that was for other people to do, not him. Nate didn't know a whole lot about government or laws; that had been his wife's specialty. The people of the Commonwealth could figure it out though. They almost had already. He would help if he could, definitely support it, but it was the one thing he wouldn't try to do himself, despite what some people likely thought. Next year, maybe. He was hopeful.
Both flags were taken down, properly folded, and safely stowed in his house. Nate Howard said one last goodbye to his son, went to ask the Longs to keep an eye on him while he was gone, and started to leave. A woman was waiting on the sidewalk by Sturge's house for him-Colonel Harris, the commander of the local Minutemen company. She was dressed in colonial style clothes that had surged in popularity in a world without many organized textiles anymore, and had an old combat rifle in a rope sling over her shoulder.
"General." She greeted him with a salute. It wasn't necessary, but it was a sign of respect. The irregular companies weren't beholden to the General in the same way as the professional contingent, but most of them chose to be anyway. The extra bodies always helped a lot.
"Colonel." He returned the salute, and they both put their hands down. "Sturges tell you?"
"Something about a raider threat." She confirmed.
"Yeah." General Howard nodded. "Might even be Rust Devils."
"Always hated those creepy fucking robots of theirs." The woman remarked. "I'll increase the patrols around Concord." Her company of a modest 37 Minutemen was primarily responsible for Sanctuary, the nearby Abernathy Farm, and patrolling the relatively vast ruins of Concord. Just to make sure raiders weren't blocking the roads, the few settlers there were okay, and that any scavengers in the area were behaving themselves.
"Good." The General nodded. "A Charlie should get here with a message tomorrow or the day after with a full briefing." 'Charlies' were what the Minutemen dubbed a collection of half a dozen assaultrons they used as couriers. Fitted with backpacks, satchels, and capable of traversing the Commonwealth faster than any human with their robotic legs, they delivered packages or sensitive messages to the companies around the Commonwealth, or just served as combat support. General Howard had gotten the idea from Ada (who was among that half dozen) and her old caravan, not to mention the tools to do it. "It can stay and help. I'll bring part of the main force if there's any trouble around here."
"I expect you will, General." Colonel Harris trusted his word. There had been some murmurs, only murmurs, about the distribution of resources when the Minutemen did their public works. Supposedly, there was a preference for the areas North of Boston where the General made his home. There was some truth to that, although Nate did fund it all himself and not out of the Minutemen's coffers; the man had preferences, but he wasn't corrupt. Standards of living were higher everywhere, but Sanctuary was definitely one of the highest, and the people there knew it.
After a few more discussions about specific defense positions around the area, the General was content his home would be safe while he was gone and finally started to leave.
The suburb ended at the river. The historic Old North Bridge, an accurate recreation of the very same bridge where the first shots of the American Revolution had been fired, used to connect the suburb to the road leading into Concord. But the centuries had caused it to decay and fall apart, and the foot and brahmin traffic as Sanctuary grew hadn't helped. They'd had to tear it down and replace it with a new bridge, wooden with a concrete base. On this side of the bridge, they'd built a few elevated lookouts and barricades. Bridges were naturally easy to defend, and they'd made this one impossible to invade across. A minuteman was standing watch on one of the lookouts, and a redheaded woman in leather armor looked to be napping against one of the barricades as General Howard approached, an old army helmet tipped forward to cover her eyes.
"Well hello there handsome." She subverted his expectation by looking up as he approached. "Are we heading out again?" She asked in an Irish accent.
"I have to report into the Castle. Are you coming?"
"Obviously." The woman scoffed. She stood up, picking up a combat shotgun as she rose. "Do you think I'm stupid enough let you wander about this shitehole by yourself?"
"No, Cait." This was an old exchange, but it got a slight smile out of him still anyway.
"You're damn right. Now if we're going, get your arse in gear and let's go." Nate had made plenty of new friends, but Cait was definitely the most surprising. She'd been a junkie, a drunk, and a foul mouthed indentured brawler when he found her. At first he'd thought it was just because of the raiders, and that's why he'd taken her out of there. But no, she was like that all on her own, as well as a bit of a thief. But he hadn't just thrown her out into the wasteland. He'd been understanding, kind, and concerned.
A lot of his other traveling companions thought he was a fool for trying to get through to her, but Nate was civic minded like that. And in the end, it paid off. Cait had opened up to him more and more, he'd helped her get over her psycho addiction, and now she was a (relatively) productive member of the Commonwealth's population. She wasn't part of the Minutemen or a farmer or anything, but she wasn't a problem, either.
Actually, she was more or less Nate's bodyguard, wherever his various commitments took him. She was pretty forceful on taking the position too, swearing she was going to pay him back for saving her life like he did. It was a debt he noticed she never seemed to bring up unless he suggested she be her own person. But that was fine. Freedom like this was still a new experience to her. He felt confident she'd grow used to it eventually. Until then, he always enjoyed having a friend beside him in this familiar but different landscape.
"We'll stop by Starlight on the way." He told her as they crossed the bridge. "We'll cross the bridge into Charlestown and head along the coast." Starlight was the name for the town that had sprung up at the old Starlight Drive In. Wooden shacks, a few concrete buildings, and more than a few train cars they had dragged off the nearby rail line had come together to house a community of over 100 people and made it a trading hub for farmers, settlers, and craftsmen all around the North. More people prefer it to Diamond City these days, and the Bunker Hill bigshots were routing as many caravans to one as they did the other. It only had a tenth of Diamond City's population, but it was still on the map. It was still growing too, that's why Nate wanted to check it out.
"Alright. Maybe I can kick in a mirelurk's face on the way." Was Cait's response. The Minutemen had done a lot of good work in the coastal areas of Boston, cleaning up junk and repairing some of the sea walls to drain the flooding and keep the Atlantic at bay. Considering all they had was basic tools and a lot of muscles and determination, they'd done surprisingly well, as long as it didn't rain. Getting all the Mirelurks out of the area though seemed like a pipe dream. They weren't trying to drive them to extinction; they were a valuable food source. They were just trying to keep the nests away from human habitation. But no matter how hard they tried, nests kept popping up.
"Maybe. Nate wouldn't mind a little wildlife cleanup either. The two set off into the Commonwealth.