AN: This was originally written before The Mummy Returns, so I apologize if it reintroduces old information.


The Prodigal Son

Synopsis: Joshua Graham struggles to reclaim his life after returning to his hometown. (K+)


New Canaan, August 2277.

Eyes.

Everywhere.

Joshua wasn't looking, but he could feel them.

Four months ago, he'd have said the stares burnt against his skin. But now he knew what it was to burn. No, they itched, dug into his flesh. They made him want to fidget in his seat, something he never did. They made him want to get up, turn on his heel, and leave the crowded chapel. Maybe leave New Canaan. Find somewhere else to suffer the rest of his days. Maybe go back to Caesar and beg forgiveness—

...No.

His mind drifted back to the Legion often. They weren't pleasant thoughts. Only once he'd reached New Canaan and seen the stark difference between the two did he realize how dark the Legion had become. Seeing parents with their children, visitors from friendly tribes, or even men and women speaking as equals, was jarring after thirty years of war and barbarity. The culture gap was difficult for Joshua to bridge, which was how he had come to the incident this morning.

It had not been his fault. Well, it was entirely his fault. But he hadn't been the one to start the argument.

The town had gathered in the shade of its enormous stone temple, as they did every Sunday morning. It was a pre-War structure, the pride and central hub of the community, scorched by purging fire but never destroyed. The people greeted each other, shared stories, discussed the usual mundanity. Joshua had hung back to observe, nodding when addressed but avoiding conversation. He spoke many languages, yet somehow his native tongue — blessings and familiarity — seemed foreign to him now. Esther was milling about with the crowd, leaving him alone on his crutch by the entry.

Near him had stood a teenager, making doting faces at some boy several yards beyond him. She had turned her attention briefly to Joshua and noticed his raised eyebrow. Defensive, she had stammered on for a few moments, until Joshua told her, in briefest terms, that he didn't care.

What he had meant was that she could flirt as much as she wanted and it didn't matter to him. The girl
had taken it the wrong way, masking her embarrassment with noisy indignation. She'd balled her little fists at her sides, stamped a foot, and shouted some nonsense at him. He'd interrupted her with a clean backhand to the face.

The girl had staggered, shocked, and Joshua had remembered suddenly that he couldn't assault people who undermined him anymore. He'd heard the crowd gasp, some horrified, others shouting. Joshua had been considering an apology when the girl's father hauled back and punched him.

Under normal circumstances, Joshua could take a hit, though he didn't often have to. Anyone who wasn't shooting at him was usually too subservient to even make eye contact. Surprised, he had stumbled back. His injured legs couldn't take the sudden shift, and he'd dropped lamely into the dust.

There he had lain on his back, every inch of him in various degrees of pain. Getting up would have been a mistake; he would have shaken and possibly even fallen again. He could only take so much indignity, and the past months had given him a lifetime's worth. So he'd folded his hands across his front, blocked out the sound of the crowd, and waited for sacrament to begin so he could limp back to Esther's house in privacy.

Abraham's face had appeared in his field of vision, followed by Daniel's. Joshua kept his eyes on the Utah sky, but he couldn't ignore them as they physically maneuvered him to a standing position, each supporting an arm.

"I'm going home," he'd muttered.

"No, you're not," Abraham had growled. "You're walking into that building and sitting down with your family, and you're dealing with the consequences of your actions." Joshua had glanced to Daniel for help, but the younger man wasn't about to argue with his father.

So here Joshua sat, enduring the stares he knew were aimed at him from just outside his view. Unable to take it any longer, he glanced to the right. The only eyes he saw were those of Hope, his four-year-old grandniece. Irritated, he held her gaze. She stared back defiantly, her little legs churning the air beneath the pew. Her face cracked into a grin, and Joshua realized this was a game.

He played along, until finally she blinked and broke out into a stream of giggles. Her mother scolded her, and a quick glance revealed that Esther was glaring at Joshua as well.

Esther Sawyer was a woman of gentle severity, a dark braid spilling down her back and eyes the color of the Great Salt Lake. She was beloved by all of New Canaan for her kind, steady leadership. Joshua was indebted to her and her family for many things. But he was not going to be bossed around by his older sister. He faced front again, smirking beneath the bandages.


"I cannot believe this!"

Joshua's lips tightened in displeasure.

Esther angrily arranged various pots on the countertop. "What were you thinking?" A cutting board clattered to the floor and she stopped to pick it up, huffing with age. Esther was seven years her brother's senior, and had spent the decades they were separated raising a family instead of an army. She was squatter and grayer than he'd left her, but no less beautiful.

"I was thinking the girl needed to be slapped." Joshua took another drink of water. Having his mouth uncovered was uncomfortable, and it made him testy. Being yelled at wasn't helping matters.

Hope's mother, Naomi, glanced at them anxiously, then went back to helping Esther make lunch.

"This isn't funny," snapped Esther.

"Nor am I amused," Joshua agreed. "My purpose is — was — to keep order."

"Well... you failed," Daniel remarked from across the room. Joshua turned to frown at him. Daniel shrugged, apologetic but unthreatened, and returned to helping Hope tie her play shoes.

"I didn't think," said Joshua finally. "Where I come from, children are punished for speaking like that." He didn't mention that the girl he'd slapped would have been considered an adult and probably well on her way to birthing her second child where he came from.

"You come from New Canaan, Joshua," said his sister. "I know you're better than this."

"Do you?"

"Yes." Esther spoke with so much certainty that Joshua almost wanted to believe it. "I know you. You're not arrogant or violent. You're my brother." Calmer now, she took his chin gently in one hand. After a moment's hesitation, Joshua leaned into her touch. It hurt more than he expected it to, and he pulled away, but Esther took the reconciliation for what it was and returned to her cooking.


Joshua stayed inside for most of the week. He cited his pain as the reason, but the others could almost certainly see past the lie. He wasn't about to parade the streets like some sort of leper on display, to pity and fear but not to touch. New Canaanites didn't attack people, especially not those weaker than themselves. He was unclean. He was dangerous.

He wanted to prove them wrong, if not for himself, then for Esther. But how was he supposed to do that? Go a month without attacking anybody? He didn't know if he could manage even that.

He couldn't face it, so he stayed inside.

Saturday came and went. Twilight filtered in through the curtains of Esther's spare bedroom. It was all the same to Joshua; he didn't have much of a sleeping schedule. Or an eating schedule, for that matter, though he'd gained back much of the weight lost in eighty days of dragging himself through the desert.

He sat on his bed, idly repairing a Colt M1911 some neighbor had dropped off. The townspeople had taken to asking Joshua for help with their weapons, though he was sure there were more skillful repairmen in the city. He assumed Esther had something to do with it and didn't ask questions.

The door opened with a hesitant squeak, as if ashamed of the disturbance. Joshua waited a few seconds before tearing his attention from the gun and towards the intruder.

Daniel stood in the doorway, casting awkward glances around the Spartan bedroom. When it became clear that Joshua wasn't going to speak first, he did. "Evening. May I come in?"

"It isn't my house."

"Right." Daniel shut the door and sat several feet away on the bed. Postponing conversation, he tucked in a corner of the blanket. On reflex, Joshua supposed; this had been Daniel's room once. "So, how have you been? I haven't seen much of you lately."

An uncomfortably open question. "I'm about as you'd expect. Thank you for asking." He turned back to the gun in his hand.

"Right, good. Good." There was a pause, and Joshua could practically hear Daniel wince. "We — I was wondering if you intended on coming to tomorrow's sacrament."

"Either I walk there myself, or I'm bodily dragged by your parents. No point in making a spectacle of it." Again.

"They would, wouldn't they," Daniel granted, a fond smile in his voice. "Well, the reason I asked — you know you've been spending a lot of time in here, right?"

Joshua sighed, mildly irritated. "I try to keep a low profile."

"I'm not sure that's possible for you. Or necessary."

Joshua turned again to his nephew, not quite glaring, but hoping his eyes reflected the depths of exasperation that his face no longer could. Daniel drew back, intimidated, and Joshua set aside the .45 to work on the shotgun lying against the wall. They sat for several moments, both acutely aware of how poorly they were handling this conversation.

"You can't hide forever," Daniel broke the silence. "I know you want to, but you're one of us."

Joshua didn't look up. "The blood on my hands outweighs the blood I share with the New Canaanites."

"And the blood of Christ outweighs even that."

Joshua let out a "hmmph" of mirthless laughter. He liked Daniel, though he could tell it wasn't quite reciprocated. The man was a far cry from the cooing toddler Joshua had left in New Canaan thirty years ago. Now he was wise, competent, and personable. They would have been close, had things been different. Had things been different.

"Look," began Daniel, when it was clear Joshua wasn't going to continue.

"No. You look." Joshua stroked the shotgun's barrel, almost reverently. He reminisced deeper into his misery for a moment, then continued. "You can't imagine the things I've done. The things I've ordered done. If I were well enough to leave, I would."

Daniel frowned, getting frustrated. "However you feel about it, you're stuck here until you heal. You should make the most of it."

"It seems the less I try, the less I fail."

"Is that so?" Daniel asked sardonically. "The NCR truly did a number on your confidence."

This time, Joshua really did glare at him. He went back to servicing the shotgun, ignoring the burn of his brisk motions.

Daniel sighed. If he'd alienated Joshua further, his mother was not going to be happy with him. "Okay. I'm sorry. I'm really not helping here. I know... there's a lot of pressure on you, and you don't feel like handling any of it. You're right; we can't begin to understand what you been through. But... look at you. After everything, God's given you another chance. Can't you try?"

Joshua didn't appear to be listening. He was lost in thought, staring at the shotgun across his lap.

Daniel sighed, gently chiding himself for giving up. "Okay. Nevermind. You don't have to come tomorrow." He shook his head, frustrated, and began to leave.

"Daniel."

He looked back at his uncle. Joshua hadn't moved, but he was staring at the opposite wall instead of the gun — a small improvement. Daniel waited for him to continue.

"I'll do it. I'll... make an effort."

"Great!" Daniel's face lit up in pleasant surprise. "I'll see you tomorrow."

As Daniel walked home through the thickening darkness, he glanced up at the towering steeple that marked the place his family would come together, as they had every Sunday in living memory. And Joshua would be with them.

The spectre of Joshua Graham had haunted Daniel his entire life.

In the church, he'd been excommunicated. His name had seldom been mentioned. But in Daniel's home, Joshua was always there. In anecdotes and in photographs, whispered in the prayers of his grandparents. And in the shame. His family was bent double with the shame.

Entire cultures, languages, families swallowed up by the insatiable maw of Caesar's Legion. For thirty years the news had been rolling in. Then came the looks, the schoolyard questions of isn't that your uncle?

No. No he isn't.

Of course, God had put it to use, as with all things. Would Daniel have found his permanent calling as a missionary if he hadn't had so much to prove? Would he care so much for the tribes if he weren't also a victim of the Legion's sin? Maybe not.

And now Joshua was back. Thought dead, but alive again. He was welcomed. None of the shame fell on him. And still he'd gone and blown it. The girl he'd slapped was badly behaved, sure, but he'd shown his true colors by striking her. He'd squandered that mercy.

Esther still believed in him. And he was... something like repentant. Maybe there was still hope for the man. But even so, Daniel wasn't exactly displeased at the idea that Joshua was planning on leaving.


The following morning, Joshua limped to the temple with Abraham and Esther, still wearing his SWAT vest. He hadn't bothered to change out of it last night. Daniel told him his bandages needed to be replaced once a day, but the thought sent him into a cold sweat. He tried his luck more days than not, knowing full well the consequences if infection caught up to him.

The eyes followed him down the street. He grit his teeth and moved on.

The girl he had struck was standing outside the temple, flanked by her father. At a nudge from Esther, Joshua stepped forward. The girl reflexively stepped behind her father, who eyed Joshua with mistrust.

"I'd like to formally apologize for striking you last week," Joshua said solemnly. The girl leaned out from the safety of her father's shadow to look at him. Her expression was cautious, but not accusatory. Joshua continued. "Had I taken a moment to consider my actions, I would not have done so. I beg your pardon, humbly. If there is anything I can do to make it right, name it."

The girl stepped into full view. "Uh. Don't worry, I forgive you. Thank you." She was nervous, but her smile was genuine, even as her hand itched at the memory of the mark across her cheek.

Joshua nodded slowly and turned to find a refuge from all the eyes, but the girl's father stepped forward. He seized Joshua's hand from its perch on his crutch and shook it heartily. "Never let me see you do anything like that again."

Joshua resisted a grunt of pain and shook back. The man seemed satisfied, though his eyes still held a note of future warning.

When Joshua looked back at Esther, she was smiling.


The end of the meeting arrived, and Mordecai began to read community announcements. A new baby, a request for brotherly love for a sick church member, the usual call to prayer over the unchurched tribes. Joshua's attention wandered and snapped back periodically.

"Oh! I'd almost forgotten..." muttered Mordecai, drawing Joshua's eyes to the pulpit once more. His arthritic hands shuffled slowly through his notes. The man was getting old. He had been bishop since Joshua had left thirty years ago. "Yes, here it is. Headmistress Madison is asking for several volunteers to act as guards for the school's upcoming field trip. The excursion will commence tomorrow morning at eight. All who are willing to join, please stand now."

A handful of able-bodied young people stood. Mordecai nodded and began taking down names, knobbly fingers laboring over each letter.

Joshua felt a tugging on the hem of his pant leg. He looked down to see Hope sitting splayed on the chapel floor, beaming up at him.

He bent closer to her level. "Are you behaving yourself?"

"Come be our guard," she stage-whispered. "If any bad guys come, you can shoot them with your guns."

"I don't want to shoot anyone with my guns." That wasn't entirely true. He could think of a number of people he wanted to shoot with his guns. But that wasn't the thing to say to a four-year-old.

Abraham noticed his wayward granddaughter. "Hope, what are you doing down there? Go back to your parents," he chastised her.

Hope ignored him and grabbed Joshua's knee to pull herself up to standing. He winced at her weight. "Please?"

Mordecai was about to fold up his list. After a quick moment of indecision, Joshua gently pried Hope from his knee.

He stood.

"Joshua? You're still healing. You can't go along with them," Esther hissed from Abraham's left. Hope hugged her grandmother's knee and scampered back to Naomi and Elias.

"I won't heal. We all know that," Joshua muttered. "I can't hide forever."


Hiding forever is underrated, Joshua decided. There was sand trapped under his bandages. It grit painfully against his skin. He thought for sure it must have been drawing blood, but trying to free it would make everything worse.

This area, the foot of the Wasatch mountain range, had once received decent runoff. The fallout had been far reaching, and its climate had not yet recovered. It wasn't bad in cooler seasons, but it was no Flagstaff. August heat swam around him, so dry it was like choking on smoke again. His crutch couldn't find purchase in the liquid sands. He tried to walk on denser spots, but his feet caught on arid grasses, and he had to focus on not tripping. The other guards' offers to help were appreciated, but annoying.

His grandniece's small hand grabbed his. He pulled away quickly, surprised. "Little one, remember not to touch."

"I'm sorry," she recited bashfully. She was a New Canaanite through and through, altogether too affectionate. He lightly patted the top of her hair by way of apology, and she smiled again, incident forgotten.

Hope refused to leave his side, even without the tether of his hand. Joshua positioned himself behind her, so she would be shaded from the morning sun at their backs. When the teacher called the children over to look at some plant or rock formation, his niece would grab his hand and drag him along. It was tedious, matching pace with her, especially when he was supposed to be covering the perimeter. But apparently he was the type of person to take orders from a four-year-old now.

The teacher was discussing the electromagnetic spectrum, how the sun could light and warm them from such a distance (and how God had planned it that way). The subject was far over Hope's head, so she decided instead to lie down on the ground. Joshua had crouched, and was about to tell her to not to lay in the dirt, when a shout rose up from one of the guards.

Joshua stood and spun, alerting with all the readiness of a disgraced military leader who hadn't quite processed yet that he was retired. The guards were firing at bobbing orange blurs in the near distance. His .45 leapt to his hand and he braced for combat, feeling oddly comfortable behind the fear, as if he were slipping back into his old skin.

The cazadores had attacked the wrong end of their procession; everyone on the east side had a gun. It was difficult to place a bullet through their rapidly-beating wings, but a few went down in the hail of gunfire. The attack seemed manageable, until—

The teacher let out an ear-splitting shriek. Joshua spun to see her frozen in terror, trying to backpedal while shielding the children from the cazador fluttering mere feet from them. He shoved his way through the clump of children, skidded under the insect's hovering form, and emptied several rounds into its underbelly. They lodged ineffectively into its prickly exoskeleton, but at least he had its attention.

Joshua leapt from his crouch, putting distance between himself and the class. The cazador swooped, landed right onto his front, and wound its wiry legs tightly around his arms. He tried to bat it off, but it held fast, stronger than it had any right to be. Its stinger punched into his armor, once, twice. He felt a percussive force, but no piercing pain of a lethal injection. He struggled on.

Finally, he managed to wrap a fist around one of the talons buried into his arm. He swung it like a flail, its brilliant wings fluttering psychedelically in the pounding sunlight, and felt the body detach from the leg.

The cazador was shaken, but still very much alive. It bounced off the sand, then steadied itself, aimed its stinger, and darted at Joshua.

He ducked into himself, bracing for an impact that never came. The cazador rolled beside him in a heap, a bullet hole torn straight through its wing. It fluttered lamely, then fell still with another shot from Joshua's pistol.

The guard who had felled the cazador jogged up in a frenzy. "Hey! We need medical attention over here!" he called to the group. Joshua scanned the class to see who was injured. The teacher stood looking over the children, who seemed blessedly fine. He blinked at the guard in confusion. The man's owlish eyes stared worriedly back at him.

With a frown, he realized why. "I'm fine."

Another guard approached, holding a medical kit. "It didn't get you?"

"No. I'm fine."

The teacher half-stumbled towards him. "How are we... how are you alive...?" she whispered, breaths trembling. "You were right under it..." The woman seemed dazed. Joshua hoped it was due to shock, not venom, but she hadn't called for a medic.

He moved to check on Hope, but the first guard stopped him. "You saved them," he pointed out.

"I understand that. Where is my niece?"

"I'll tell the town," the guard said. "Everyone should know what you did here."

Joshua ignored him and located Hope, still curled up on the ground. He pried her hands away from her tearstreaked face. She looked up and sniffed.

"Hi, Joshua."

"Hello, Hope. I think you were right about those bad guys." She whimpered and nodded. Then, without warning, she launched herself into his arms and wrapped herself tightly around his neck.

He carried her all the way home.


Timeline so far:

2277-
February - First Battle of Hoover Dam
July - The Mummy Returns
August 17 - Aniss leaves Vault 101
The Prodigal Son
September - To Set the Record Straight
2278-
April - James dies (Purity War begins)
June - Bitter Springs
September - Project Purity activates
2279-
Adams Air Force Base (Purity War ends)
2280-
May - Dogmeat's Vacation
August - Boones are married
2281-
October 11 - Sage is shot in the head
October 19 - Sage wakes up
2282-
ED-E, My Bud
2283-
January - Second Battle of Hoover Dam
February - To Have and To Hold