Don blinks away the water droplets that fall into his eyes, trying to keep his vision clear as he slowly makes his way through the threshold of the ticket gate into Boston's Illustrious Baseball Diamond, it's near pitch black and the only source of light coming through is from the end of the tunnel, the familiar artificial red glow of civilization. He pushes hair from his brow, trying to mop the water up with his hand, the worst of the storm is over, but a light drizzle
still remains from its earlier near-hurricane conditions. So, he's soaked to the bone, his jacket and Vault-Suit are clinging uncomfortably to his figure and sapping all the warmth from his skin, and despite the fever and physical strain, he's freezing.
The wound in his chest is starting to feel like a solid mass, the muscle is hard and swollen as opposed to being a series of sharp pains, which isn't exactly better, but it means that he probably won't puncture a lung with a rib if he moves around too much. It started hurting again almost as soon as the front gate was in view and has steadily gotten worse in the past twenty minutes, especially since he almost had to risk his life for some angry woman he'd just met, who of course didn't appear grateful in the least. All she did was accuse him of wanting to steal her ammo, what a thankless job he has.
As he makes it through to the other side, walking back out into the rain, he stops dead at the peak of a large set of stairs that lead down through the aisle seats and into the field. For a moment he considers the fever is making him hallucinate, because he's not too sure if what he's seeing is the result of two hundred years of nuclear fallout survival tactics, or his mentally altered state. What used to be the Diamond's field full of green artificial grass is now packed with a makeshift shanty town.
It takes him a moment to really process what he's looking at because two hundred years prior, people gathered in this arena to buy overpriced confectionaries and cheer on their favourite team, not just people from before all of this, but him as well. He'd entered this arena two hundred years ago with friends and family, at points with Carolyn and Nora, he's sat in this very stadium to cheer on his local team.
Don looks up to the metal archway, the overhead diamond is still sitting proud, but is now wrapped in dead plant roots, discoloured and rusted by the combination of time and the strange elements. Off to the distance, the expanse of walls sits in a similar state, the polished green metal no longer distinguishable in its disrepair as it surrounds the provisional settlement.
The town itself looks like it had been pieced together bit by bit over time, like it had been built from the destruction and debris of the initial blast. Using the metal plating torn from other buildings and from the very walls, they constructed buildings and homes, decorating them with old world findings. Mannequins sit outside doors, hanging lights are suspended over walkways, and glowing neon signage welded and wired from other bits of scavenged metal sits atop roofs to advertise a marketplace surrounding a huge chimney stock. The plume of smoke is glowing pink from the light pollution and mixing with the dark storm clouds still swirling overhead as it signals the town's center. The base is wrapped in a circle of red awnings and bar tables, while the peak is wrapped by a gnarled tree and causing smoke to pour skyward out of several smaller puncture points along the length. Despite the smoulder coating its branches as it leaks, the foliage and moss still wraps the trunk and its leaves rattle in the light breeze as though it didn't affect the growth whatsoever.
Like the road he travelled before the weather obscured his view, and much like Sanctuary, the plant life grows without restriction and seemingly without hindrance from the radiation still very present in the local water supplies.
Don finds himself astonished and overwhelmed by the presence of survival tactics and ingenuity in a world that seemed to be at its end. The people he can see wandering through the market, although scant considering the time of night, appear relatively normal, instead of the crazy-violent-meets-lawless-society folks he had the misfortune of dealing with earlier this same day. Sure, they look a little worse for wear, one or two in tatters for clothes, dirty, caked with mud and grime, but others are dressed more casually, some even armoured. No one is killing each other, kicking the shit out of each other, and no one appears to be armed.
They're all just... people.
All things considered, Don wasn't too sure there would be people left, not like this, in this quantity, because the last time he saw this many in one place, they were all trying to kill him. It's the first time since waking up that he's actually witnessing some semblance of normalcy instead of something nightmarish and horrific.
He realizes that these people must be comfortable here, they must feel safe, they're running a market and are no longer thinking about basic survival, these people are attempting to make a livelihood, they aren't living in fear of the outside.
It's a realization that makes a long claw of icy fear pierce his suit and drag up the length of his spine.
Something switches in his mind, something primal and intuitive, a terror he can't put words to, and he feels the sudden unconscious urge to pull his vision away from the town and up to his left.
The wall of the stadium sits tall, the framework solid, but the plating is peeling back on the ends, plant life is seeping in from the outside. He glances up towards one of the field lights as it beams down onto the settlement, swallowing the surrounding darkness and casting heavier light pollution on the storm clouds.
It sits angled in such a way that the glare doesn't hurt his eyes, and thanks to that, he spots a distinct mass of gruesome blood coloured vines as they sit wrapped around the base of the stand. They're the same ones he saw in Sanctuary, and just outside, tangled around the old baseball player statue, they seemed to be drawing the moisture from the rock and causing it to crumble. These vines however appear to stop just shy of climbing the wall, not trying to grow into the stadium despite their reach.
Don turns back to the market square; there isn't any growing here that he can see. Either it can't make it past the walls or it doesn't seem to want to grow here.
Why?
It was Mama Murphy, something he'd heard her say as he was escorting Preston and his group to Sanctuary from Concord. He had been keeping an eye on their six, making sure nothing would try to come up from behind, and she was lingering back from the rest of the group, walking slower.
He figured she was tired, old people get tired.
It wasn't until there was a reasonable distance between the two of them and the rest of the group, that she'd said it aloud and didn't seem to be addressing anyone in particular.
'Sorry?' He'd asked her, feeling at that moment taken aback.
She'd just turned, looked at him with a wide smile, and then shook her head like she just idly commented on the state of the weather ahead, 'Ah, don't listen to me, kid. I'm just rambling.'
It was how she said it that really shook him; her voice was low like a disembodied murmur, her tone was almost disdainful, thick with contempt.
There's a big difference between the people who see a light in the darkness as hope, and the people who see it as a threat. One is going to live a hell of a lot longer than the rest.
Whatever had taken hold her of her in that moment, it certainly made him listen, especially when she spoke about her 'vision' of Carolyn, telling him the cryptic message that brought him here in the first place, and... maybe that was her intention all along.
Great, now his inner voice is a crazy old fortune teller... one that gives him the impression that nothing is how it seems, because this 'Diamond City' looks hopeful, it looks like a beacon of safety, it literally would glow from a reasonable distance, and that's what makes him so nervous. It's off somehow, wrong, and he can't put his finger on it, but his blood pressure skyrockets and his gut instinct is telling him to turn and haul ass back the same way he came.
Don takes a single step back, but the moment he moves, a heavy hand slaps down on his shoulder and it takes every ounce of his self control not to jump out of his damn skin and scream like an underpaid movie actress.
"Excuse me, young man," A pudgy man in his late forties, early fifties, steps around from behind Don to face him with a smile halfway hidden behind a full moustache, it narrows his eyes to accentuate deep crow's feet, and his cheeks glow warmly against the rainfall, "I heard about all the ruckus that happened during the power outage, I wasn't aware any of our citizens had been left trapped outside in this ungodly storm."
Don is immediately unnerved by this man's proximity, his timing, and his hand wrapped firmly around his shoulder, but he knows better than to let it show, so he forces a pleasant smile in return and shrugs lightly, "Eh, Piper just got lucky, I was already out for a walk."
The man laughs; it sounds airy and forced, "By the sounds of it, you got there just in time. I came down to see how the gate fared due to the outage and was surprised when I ran into Piper. Apparently she was out when the storm hit, and as an unfortunate result, was locked out as well. Of course that made her understandably upset. She told me that you helped her survive a group of raging ferals! I can't imagine... that must have been a horrifying experience."
Don glances up to the sky, forcing his nonchalance with the mock-intensity of a grizzled mercenary, "Ferals follow the storms. You can't avoid 'em for long, not even outside the ruins."
"Of course, and accidents can always happen," The man then somehow tightens his grip enough to make Don shrink an inch on his own feet, trying to take him down a notch, but Don doesn't give, so instead the man offers his hand for the following pleasantries, "I couldn't help but see you admiring the view. You must be from out of town. Allow me to introduce myself; I'm the Mayor of this fine city, David McDonough, a pleasure to meet you."
Don shakes his hand, firmly, recalling with sudden amusement what Piper had claimed about this man just outside the gate. So this is the infamous McDonough, conjurer of storms, "How could I not? I've never seen anything like it! It's very impressive, Mayor."
McDonough returns the grip with the same tenacity, "Well then, let me be the first to welcome you with open arms, you helped a citizen in need, and that makes you a hero in my books."
"I did what any man would do," Don nods, "But, I appreciate the sentiment, Mayor McDonough."
The Mayor laughs heartily, which would sound pleasing enough to anyone close by, but to Don it sounds more like he was trying to hide the fact that he was furious, good god, did this guy actually try to kill Piper?
"My good sir, you sound like Diamond City material. Why don't you make yourself at home, get some rest? The market opens in the morning, so you'll have full access to all of the amenities we offer."
"That sounds like a hell of a plan, I could use a warm bed," Don loosens his grip on McDonough's hand, his fingers are starting to go numb, but the Mayor doesn't let go, in fact, he pulls him close and leans in to speak lowly.
"Listen son, if you have any questions, any concerns at all, please stop by my office in the stands, I'm always available," He assures him in a tone completely different from the one he projected only moments ago, his earlier tactic failing, he's apparently resorting to social confidence rather than intimidation, "No matter how outlandish the issue may sound, I assure you I will take it to heart without judgement."
Don can smell soap on him, and some kind of manufactured cologne that's too much like an alcoholic conglomeration of flowers and fruit. Obviously handmade, because the smell of rot is on the last notes that he can barely catch with every inhale. Somehow, after only knowing Mayor McDonough for a handful of minutes, he finds it suits him really well.
So Don smiles, makes direct eye contact, and gives him what he wants.
"Actually sir," His voice lowers like he's afraid of being overheard, he even pretends to glance nervously over his shoulder, "I was a little concerned about Piper's attitude... she seemed to think that being locked out was your fault..."
McDonough sighs and pats him hard on the back, trying to hide the fact that he seems quite pleased with himself, "Ah yes, Piper can be very... opinionated. But don't you worry; she needs to stir up trouble in order to keep that newspaper of hers up and running."
"That makes sense, but what if she doesn't stop stirring up trouble?" Don asks, feigning a sudden timid tone, "Won't that be a problem?"
McDonough nods thoughtfully, "People will sort it out for themselves; they'll know who's really telling the truth in the end."
"I don't know. People stop listening to the truth when they're scared, I mean... what if people start believing her?" He inquires, "What if she gets help from the right people? What if these people help her stir trouble and suddenly you have more and more folks asking questions? What if you can't answer all these questions? What will happen if they don't think you're telling the truth anymore?"
The look on McDonough's face stretches as Don speaks, assurance turns into confusion, and then widens into apprehension, fear. The taller man straightens back up, practically poising like a dominate predator as he continues.
"What are you going to do when you're the only person left who isn't telling the truth?" He lowers his voice an octave more, "What are you going to do then, David?"
After a long beat of tense silence, in which McDonough opens his mouth to try and piece words together in a sputter of syllables under Don's sudden intense gaze, his grip suddenly goes slack.
"Ah, I'm sure you'll figure it out! You're the Mayor after all, nothing happens around here without your say-so," It's Don's turn to pat the Mayor hard on the back now that his hand is free, which earns him a startled cough and a lopsided fedora; "It was nice to meet you, sir! I'll be sure to let you know of any rapscallions around here that need a-wranglin'!"
Even though Don was originally going to turn around and leave, he decides, if just for the sake of power-play, to descend the staircase. Even though is gut feeling is screaming at him not to, for god's sake, just leave, you don't want to be in here, Don shrugs it off. There has to be a reason that Dogmeat led him here, he just needs to figure out it. So, he makes a bee-line for the center of town, towards the huge smoke stock with the inertia of his victory.
He finds the anxiety and adrenaline begins to pool, he realizes he's marching like he's on a mission, he's actively trying to fight the impulse to check his surroundings, to study every corner of the market, to linger on the darker corners in case something was hidden from view. He wants to walk the perimeter, to internally map out where he is, and log all possible escape routes. He wants to profile everyone, to memorize all the darkened faces he passes, he wants to know names, he wants a clear vantage, he wants to get moving, he wants his goddamn battle scarred brain to shut up for a minute and let him think.
" May I take your order?"
Don is startled out of his own thoughts, realizing that he'd blacked out a little and stopped walking at some point, and is now standing in front of one of the bars surrounding the smoke stock. The awnings over his head stop the rain, but it doesn't do him much good considering he's already soaking wet. The heat of the stock, however, is a relief; he can feel his skin prickle with Goosebumps at the temperature shift.
He's also standing almost eye to eye with a protectron wearing a chef's hat, and it takes him a moment to process that it just spoke to him in Japanese?
" May I take your order?" The protectron asks again, immediately confirming that it actually is, somehow, speaking a foreign language two hundred years after the apocalypse.
Don steps back out into the rain and glances up to the glowing sign sitting on the awnings that reads 'Power Noodles'. He'd seen it from atop the stairs, but couldn't really discern what it was from that distance, it looked like an outdoor bar for the people in the market, but it's more like a diner.
A culturally insensitive diner...
Don puts his hands on his hips as the protectron continues idly stirring a large metal pot, seemingly unperturbed by Don's lack of response, "Oh, that's fucked up." He murmurs.
" May I take your order?"
The familiar scent of boiling pasta reaches him with a sudden updraft from the rain and Don feels his stomach curl and twist with the realization that he hasn't eaten in quite some time. He doesn't know what qualifies as food in the apocalypse, but to him, whatever this bot is cooking smells better than anything he could immediately think of.
Don lets out a sigh, despite the invisible dangers this place is leaking, on top of the mild racism, the marketing strategy is too good to ignore.
"Hey, what's up!" He responds with a wide and polite smile, slipping back into his native language as he sits on one of the bar stools, "What do you have? Noodles? I'll take one. How much?"
"There you are!"
Don flinches, expecting the bot to respond, but instead a familiar and slightly unwelcome voice calls out from behind him, he looks over his shoulder to see Piper lightly jogging into the town center with Dogmeat pattering happily at her side. He thought he managed to slip by her in the confusion of the gate opening, in the rush of guards, and in her yelling at some poor bastard named 'Danny' about locking her out in the first place. Don had tried to get Dogmeat to follow him, but the pooch seemed perfectly content to stick by her for whatever reason.
"Jeez, I was wondering where the hell you went," She pulls her dark locks from her flushed cheeks like the rain didn't bother her in the slightest, and adjusts her cap to sit snugly around her forehead.
The bot turns slightly to face her, "May I take your order?"
Piper puts her hand up, "Not now, Takahashi."
Don takes a moment to absorb the fact that the bot also has a Japanese surname, "Yeah, I had the munchies, happens when you forget to eat for twenty four hours."
"Well, I hope you're not expecting fine dining," Piper sighs, and then turns to the bot, "No offense, Takahashi."
" May I take your order?"
Don has a feeling that that's all the bot can actually say, and he's not too sure if he feels better about it or not.
"You left before I had a chance to talk to you," Piper folds her arms, stepping under the awning and closer to the heat source, "I know we got off on the wrong foot, several actually, I yelled, you joked, I slapped you."
"Yeah," Don nods, he can still feel the ghost imprint of the sting. To his credit though, it was a damn fine response to a damn good pun, "I remember."
"Whatever, that's not important," She waves her hand dismissively; "You said your friend was kidnapped by raiders."
"Did I?" Don narrows his eyes at her, "I think I would've remembered something like that."
"Yeah, after strong arming me for my ammo," She points out crassly, "After knocking me to the floor, remember?"
"I don't remember strong arming, but I do remember selflessly risking my ass to help a stranger in need," He props his head on his hand thoughtfully.
"If you'd call hitting the ground when the turrets came online 'saving'..."
"Pfft! Semantics," Don rolls his eyes dramatically.
"Look, I know someone in Diamond City whose job it is to find missing people. He's an old friend of mine who runs a detective agency near the market, and I honestly believe he's one of the best johns in the whole damn Commonwealth for the job. He's the real deal, helped more people since he's started than most people have in their entire lives. If you need a partner, he's your guy."
Don stares at her idly for a moment, "I don't know if I take much stock in a detective that lives in a most likely haunted shanty town, probably a huge scam. Takes your caps and tells you your loved one is dead, grabs a random body part he keeps in the back like 'oh, Mrs. Frankson, this is all I could find of your husband, that'll be 200 bucks.'."
"What's your plan then, huh?" She snaps, "Scour every inch of the Commonwealth? Check every raider camp from here to Quincy? How long is that going to take, days, weeks, months? Your friend doesn't have that kind of time."
Don leans back and sets his elbow on the bar table, studying her intensity, "Why are you so invested in helping me?"
Piper sighs with a low growl, glancing over her shoulder and then to the people sitting several seats away from Don. Her face suddenly softens into sombre emotion, and when she speaks, her voice is surprisingly low.
"People go missing here all the time," She murmurs, "Something about this town isn't right, but something about the entire damned Commonwealth isn't right either. I've noticed, and I've been trying to get other people to notice, but no one wants to see the truth. I'm getting real sick of having to write another article about someone going missing, another article about no one doing a damned thing about it, and another damned article about people who are so scared that they just accept it. I want to make a difference, I want people to try, so I'm asking you, please... please go talk to Nick, what do you have to lose?"
Don considers it for a moment, he knows he should trust his gut, it's what saved him more times than he can count, his gut made it so he could survive his time in the force, it brought him home, and it got him this far. To suddenly betray it like this goes against all of his survival instincts, but... shit, this could be the very reason that Dogmeat brought him here in the first place. Besides, he doesn't have much of an option at this point. Whoever this guy is, whether or not he can actually help him find Carolyn, he's another set of eyes, another set of instincts, and two are better than one.
"And another thing," Piper nods at Dogmeat as he sits obediently by her side, "You said you're following this pooch, I'll bet that he'll lead you right to the front door of the agency, as Nicky himself says, I'd bet my hat."
Don looks down at Dogmeat and considers what Mama Murphy said about him, there's a reason he brought him here instead of following the trail of those Raiders that took Carolyn. He has no idea what it is, but he has to believe it means something, there has to be some kind of divine intervention that still exists, and maybe the karmatic system would fuck him over for the shit he's done in the past, but Carolyn... she's done nothing wrong, she's kind, she's generous, and she's already been through so much.
What's more, according to the old fortune teller, assuming everything else she said was right up until now, Carolyn's son, Shaun, is out here too somewhere. She has to know that there might be a chance to bring him home.
One is going to live a hell of a lot longer than the rest...
"Fine," Don points at her, "But just so we're clear, if he leads me anywhere else, I will take your hat."
Piper smirks, "Tell you what, if he doesn't bring you straight to the agency, I'll give it to you myself."
Two metal desks sit in separate corners of an inward office space, large dented metal filing cabinets line the corner walls, and a well used chair sits in front of the desk in the immediate path of the door. Everything is stacked and piled high with what could only be described as a tornado of paperwork, files and a plenitude of scattered coffee mugs. On the main desk, a small area is cleared out and covered with photo's, accompanied by a short half empty stained glass of caramel coloured liquid, and an open bottle of bourbon.
Sitting in the chair, head resting on her hand as she fingers one of the photographs, is a pretty young woman with neatly pinned brunette waves. She glanced up the moment Piper opened the door without as much as a knock. Don followed close behind, eager to get inside, and stopped short at the look on the young woman's face. She looks entirely despondent, her eyes and cheeks red and swollen from a recent cascade of tears.
"Whoa," Piper immediately hesitates, "Ellie?"
Don finds himself suppress a hard and exasperated sigh, because of course this wasn't about to go smoothly. He had hoped that at least after Piper gave him a hope speech, things would have lined up nicely, like an action movie, but this is like real life or something.
Piper takes the seat across from her, which is most likely for clients, and gently touches her shoulder, "What's going on, is everything okay?"
The woman shakes her head, her voice heavy and broken with emotion, "I really don't know."
"What happened?" Piper demands, but her voice is gentle, "Is it Nick, is he okay?"
The woman sniffles, and sets down the photo in her hands to rub her eyes, "I... I don't know... he's missing."
"Nicky's missing?" Piper leans back, "Oh great, what's he gotten himself into this time?"
The woman smiles a little at Piper and then goes sombre again as she looks into her glass, "It was just another case, but this one had bad news written all over it, and I told him... God, I told him and he knew, but he left anyways," Her expression arches into a fresh wave of tears and she shakes her head, "I told the guards, but they didn't want to help. People keep asking for him, I take down their information, but there's nothing I can do for them, there's nothing I can do for him either and... God, I keep thinking what if that was the last time I was ever going see him-"
"Hey, hey," Piper reaches over to take the glass from her reach and takes one of her hands instead, "Come on, El, you know Nick... He can handle himself. He's a tough guy, he always comes back. He's probably taking the scenic route. You know how much he loves the rain."
Ellie seems to perk up a bit, nodding with a half hearted chuckle, "Oh Piper, this case was really dangerous... He shouldn't have gone alone. It's been two weeks and I want to assume the best, but..."
"Okay, look," Piper gestures up to Don, who decided to stand awkward and idle next to the filing cabinets beside the door, "This guy here needs his help, so I'm willing to bet that he's interested in making sure Nick gets home safe and sound, that right?"
"What?" Don arches his brow, looking at the devastation lined upon the upset young woman's face, and then immediately nods, "Oh, oh yeah, totally. I'm totally invested in making sure he comes home safe, don't you worry. We'll... we'll do that for sure."
Great, he got dragged all the way here by some kind of hyper intelligent canine to get help from a guy who went and got himself kidnapped, and now Piper is insinuating that they didn't, as a matter of fact, hit more of a dead end than he would have liked.
"We'll get Nick back," Piper assures her, "Do you know where he went?"
Ellie nods, "I um... yeah, he was looking for a missing girl, Darla, and found out she was taken by a group of Triggermen to their hideout in Park Street. When he checked out the area, he said he found an old pre-war vault down in the subway station that they were using as a base of operations and went down to talk them into giving her up... I'm terrified that they locked him up, or worse... shot him down."
Don's interest peaks at the mention of another Vault; he had no idea there was one down in Park Street of all places. He wonders if it's anything like the one he came out of... if there are more pre-war cryo chambers, more people on ice, or was it some other crazy experiment that those Vault-Tec assholes decided to unleash on a group of scared survivors.
"Park Street's not too far from here," Piper looks back at Don expectantly, "We could make it in and out in a few hours."
Don agrees with a light nod, albeit half-heartedly, he was hoping to avoid any more delays, besides, he already needs to rescue someone. Needing to rescue someone else to do that just doubles his problem. He knew this guy was a hack...
"Alright," Piper stands up, "We'll get stocked up and head out as soon as the sun is up."
"Whoa, whoa, whoaaa," Don suddenly intervenes, "You said it would only take a few hours. That's fine, sure, but at daybreak? That's several. If we're doing this, it would need to be, like, now."
"We can't go in the middle of the night, that's suicide," Piper snaps at him, "Do you even know what's out there?"
"More of those horrifying skin suit people?" He guesses, though he doesn't want to run into more of those for a while, he's filled his quota of nightmare inducing horror for today.
"Ferals, Gunner's, Raiders, Super Mutants, god knows what else," She puts her hands on her hips, shaking her head in exasperation, "No way, we can't risk it."
"Can we risk losing time?" Don folds his arms, "You were the one so adamant that I get help right away."
"Yeah, but do you really think that walking into the Commons at night is worth a few extra hours?" She responds, "It's like a friggin' maze in there, you take one wrong move, or hell, even the right move, and you're walking straight into a nest of ferals, or a Super Mutant Camp. It's not worth the risk, trust me."
Don stares at her for a moment; he wants to argue his point, because to him a few extra hours could mean the difference between a rescue party and never seeing her again. He can't let that happen, he's already risking enough by going against his gut to be here, he know he needs to leave right away. In order to do that, he needs to play along, at least for now. So, instead of challenging her again, he just smiles and ducks his head passively, "Alright, Piper," He agrees, "We'll do it your way."
Piper pauses, studying him with an air of sudden suspicion, "What's that supposed to mean?"
Don shrugs again, lips comically pursed, "I obviously can't talk you out of not going immediately, so, fine. No use in arguing. We'll do it your way."
"Really?" Piper asks, hesitantly optimistic and not entirely convinced.
Don nods, "Really."
She turns back around, slowly, still eyeing him until her attention is back on Ellie, "Okay El, if you can think of anything else that'll help us out, we'll be at Publick Occurrences until dawn."
"Thank you, Piper," The other woman smiles with relief, "Thank you so much."
"Hey, it's what I do," She shrugs, sounding a little embarrassed, "Or y'know, it's what he would do."
The rest of their conversation is lost to Don, because the moment Ellie stands to give Piper a much needed hug, he takes a step back, opens the door, and slips out without another word. Outside, he sees Dogmeat standing at the end of the short hall that opens into the alleyway, watching him intently as he approaches. The pooch seemed perfectly content to wait outside for them.
"Come on, boy," Don pats his leg as he walks out into the darkened alley, lit only by the ominous red neon sign at his back that reads VALENTINE'S DETECTIVE AGENCY, and the two walk down and back out into the market side by side. It's gotten weirdly quiet, so much so that it only increases the sense of anticipation growing in Don's stomach.
They cross the market, close enough to 'Power Noodles' that Don can point at Takahashi and call out, "I'll be back for my noodles!"
The bot doesn't respond, but it does watch him as he makes his way through the market and back towards the staircase. It doesn't take him longer than a minute or two to reach the entrance into the city once more. He pauses in the square just outside the main gate where those ferals were gunned down. It looks a little less creepy with the spotlights up and running, but he does notice the bodies have been dragged off. The trails of bloody smears reach around the crumbled statue and disappear behind the remains of a nearby building, where a red glow bleeds out into the street; the rain has backed off so he can clearly smell the scent of burning flesh. It's something he wishes he didn't recognize.
"Hey boy," He crouches in front of Dogmeat, sitting at eye level, "I need you to do me a favour, can you go back to Sanctuary?"
The dog tilts his head curiously, as if to inquire why.
"I need you to go make sure those people are okay, I might take a little longer than I thought." Don runs his fingers through the plume of fur around his neck, it brings him comfort, "Maybe bring Preston a souvenir, like a baseball, or a torn up cap... let him know I made it here, but I can't come back just yet."
Dogmeat whines a little, stuffing his nose under Don's arm as if to point out the jacket that probably has some lingering scent of Carolyn still wrapped in the fibers.
"I'll find her, boy, don't worry. I just don't want you to get hurt too," Don rubs his snout with his thumbs, drops his hands, and nods towards the gate he came through earlier, "So go on. Get going."
Dogmeat hesitantly turns and patters towards the turret checkpoint to their immediate right, stopping at the opening to look back at him with uncertainty before disappearing through the arch.
Don smiles after him; he's a smart dog.
Quickly, he decides to get moving, Piper's going to realize he's gone, but she probably won't come after him until daybreak. Still, he doesn't want to have to argue with her again, or resort to knocking her out if she becomes totally unreasonable.
He walks towards the frame of the doorway where the initial horde of ferals had flooded out of, grabbing the wood as he steps through, he finds himself suddenly pause. He feels something crawling up his spine, but it's different than the fear he experienced when he stood at the peak of Diamond City. It's almost worse, the feeling of isolation.
It suddenly becomes clear to him that he's alone, tangibly alone, and he's going to be alone until he gets to Park Street, possibly even longer if this detective turns out to be dead after all. It's the same feeling he experienced when Piper reproached him, when she spoke to him about wanting to help out, and he realized... that when she insisted they leave in the morning instead of right away, when Don knew he had to ditch her, he had actually looked forward to having company.
He finds that he wishes Piper would have agreed to leave right away, despite being a pain in the ass, it was nice to talk to someone who could have been a partner to him, because she spoke about them like they were already partners and it was strange because he's always done this alone.
He's always been alone.
It was instinctual to send Dogmeat away, to leave Piper behind, because it's something he's always done. It's not that he doesn't want the help; he just can't gauge the actions of people on the battlefield. Hell, he doesn't even recognize himself in the middle of it all.
So... it was a nice thought at the time, but that's all it's going to be.
Don, without looking back to the gate with any kind of expectation, steps through the threshold into the alleyway and begins to make his way to Park Street in the dark.