Information

Jaeden
Legacy Name: Jaeden

The Nuclear Kumos
Owner: Lin

Age: 7 years, 4 months, 3 weeks

Born: November 26th, 2016

Adopted: 7 years, 4 months, 3 weeks ago

Adopted: November 26th, 2016

Pet Spotlight Winner
June 25th, 2018

Statistics

• Level: 1
   
• Strength: 10
   
• Defense: 10
   
• Speed: 10
   
• Health: 10
   
• HP: 10/10
   
• Intelligence: 0
   
• Books Read: 0
• Food Eaten: 0
• Job: Unemployed

"Take all the time you need, soldier," Danse says quietly. "I'll be waiting outside when you're ready."

"I... Thanks, Danse," Jaeden breathes, and steels himself to head deeper into vault 111.

For some reason, even though they've both turned their backs on everything the Brotherhood represents, it never bothers him to hear Danse refer to him as 'soldier'. It's almost like a pet name at this point, except Jaeden doubts Danse would be bothered by such nonsense. Miserably, Jaeden looks down the rusted corridor before him that's starting to cave in. Maybe it's for the better. It's a tomb, after all. Nothing more.

He can't say why, but after every thing that happened, he felt like he should visit the place that had become Nora's grave. Or, as close as she would get to one. She isn't here, he knows that, but maybe he needs some kind of closure. ...To tell her that he'd found Shaun, and that he's gone, too – the institute with him. It's a blessing, really, that his beautiful, kindhearted wife hadn't lived to see the horrid wasteland that the commonwealth has become. She could barely kill a spider. She wouldn't have been happy living in such chaos, if she could even survive it.

Jaeden takes a deep breath and enters the chamber where they had both slept in cryogenic stasis for two centuries. In a way, he doesn't want to be alone in there, but he's grateful that Danse is waiting just outside. He doesn't want anyone to see him fall apart. He can't let anyone see him as anything other than the badass that led the railroad to lay waste to the institute. Especially not Danse. The simplest things have been hell for him since his exile from the Brotherhood, and the discovery of his true origins as an institute synth. But, if anyone knows what Jaeden really feels as he struggles with his own losses, it's Danse. Danse knows how it feels to have nothing left – not even his own identity.

The smell of rust hang heavy in the silent halls of the vault. The icy, dead eyes of the other less fortunate residents stare at him with horror – frozen in time as they tried to escape their pods. It really is, and always will be, a scene straight out of his worst nightmares. ...And there's Nora, still encased in ice, with blood frozen and matted in her chestnut hair.

Jaeden knows he couldn't save her, but he'd give anything to see her radiant, carefree smile one last time. He'd never been the same since returning home from the military. At first, he was the poster child for PTSD, but Nora had saved him from himself. ...And now she's gone.

"It's over," He says to Nora. "I found Shaun. At least I got to say goodbye, but I wish I could saved him from what he became. I don't know that he would have wanted that, though."

Jaeden sighs, and looks away from Nora at his calloused hands. "So I guess this is goodbye. I'm not coming back here again. If you were here, you'd probably slap me and tell me to get on with my life. I know that but, I... I'll always love you." Jaeden fights back tears, wondering if he's doomed to spend the rest of his life alone roaming the wasteland with Dogmeat. No. He has to keep his crap together – for Danse and Curie, if not for himself. They'll self-destruct without him to keep watch over them. Danse will probably kill himself, and Curie... Well, she'll probably die trying to ask a deathclaw for its input on her medical research.

"Goodbye, Nora," He says, and turns his back on Vault 111 for the last time.

Danse is waiting just outside, sitting cross-legged on top of a half-buried shipping crate, smoking a cigarette. Dogmeat is rolling around in the dirt beside him, completely ignored. Jaeden isn't sure which is weirder: seeing the once proud soldier who barely touched alcohol taking a drag from a cigarette, or the fact that he's wearing an old Nuka Cola shirt and a pair of ratty jeans instead of power armor. Jaeden doesn't comment, though. He knows the struggle that Danse is going through – trying to figure out who he really is, and not just what he was 'programmed' to be. That being said, the last thing he wants to do was criticize the closest friend that he has in this strange new world. Well, maybe a little bit for posterity's sake.

"You didn't get those cigarettes in Goodneighbor, did you? For all you know they might have mixed radstag crap in them," Jaeden quips and hops up onto the crate beside him. Danse chokes on the smoke and gives him a disapproving glare that's as fake as Jaeden's disarming smile.

"I'd be more worried that they're laced with jet. That sarcasm is going to get you shot at one day. Half the time I can't tell when you're being serious, or just being an ass," Danse grumbles and grinds the butt of the cigarette into the dirt with his heel.

"Funny story, that happened once in boot camp when I was seventeen," Jaeden says with a shrug. "I can't help it, honestly. Sometimes being a jerk is the only coping mechanism I have."

"It just occurred to me that I never asked what you did in the military," Danse said, thoughtfully.

"I was part of the 2nd Battalion, 108th Infantry Regiment. I was a combat medic, stationed in rural China," Jaeden replies. "When I was 25, I was honorably discharged and shipped home with several bullet holes, a broken leg and a box of medals."

"How did that happen?" Danse pressed. "It's just that I've seen you shoot the legs off a super mutant behemoth like it was nothing, so I'm a little curious."

"A terror attack on a civilian school. I was trying to find one of our men that was down and calling for a medic. I ended up throwing myself between about eight gunmen and bunch of kids. There wasn't any other option at the time. I killed every one of them, though. And none of the kids took a bullet," Jaeden explains, cringing at the memory. He can almost feel the hail of bullets he took that day. "That was when I met Nora, who was there working as a nurse at the army base. ...Thank God she gave up on that and became a lawyer."

"I'm sorry," Danse says, frowning. "I guess things never got much easier for you."

"I'm more worried about you, really," Jaeden replies, honestly.

"I've never had a family to lose," Danse says disarmingly. "I can't imagine what that's like. Are you... how are you holding up?"

"I'm fine. Let's... Let's just go," Jaeden says flatly.

"I'm not blind, you know," Danse replies, in an unamused tone. "When was the last time you slept?"

"I sleep just fine," Jaeden snaps, irritably.

"Right, I'm going to ask you again: are you okay?"

"I'm fine, I - ...No. I'm not," Jaeden finally admits, fighting back tears. "Everything I had – everything that made life worth living after I made it out of the hell I lived every day in the army – it's all gone. ...And I'm in the middle of a war again, except this one never ends because even without the Institute, the Commonwealth is still an anarchy full of idiots trying to kill each other. I wish I could shoot Kellogg about twenty more times. I thought, if I could just find Shaun it would be alright somehow."

Dogmeat whines and lays his head on Jaeden's lap. Absently, he scratches his ears and stares hard at the clouds on the horizon. Anything to distract him or, God forbid, he'll start crying like a little girl. There really is only so much he can take. He chokes on a breath he didn't know he was holding, and realizes that his hands are shaking. He stuffs them in Dogmeat's fur, but it's too late; Danse has noticed. Danse takes Jaeden's hands in his and holds them tightly.

"It's okay. You don't have to be strong all the time, you know," Danse says, somewhat awkwardly.

Jaeden scoffs, trying not to think that Danse's hands are surprisingly soft for someone who is far better at handling guns than people. "I'll bet good caps Haylen said that to you about twenty times a day."

"Well, you're not wrong," Danse concedes. "Neither was she."

"...God. She's dead, too. ...Because of me," Jaeden says miserably.

"You didn't kill her," Danse reminds him.

"I might as well have."

"What's done is done, and this isn't about Haylen," Danse presses.

"I'll be fine. I always am," Jaeden snaps a little more rudely than he meant to, and pulls away from Danse. He stands up and reaches for his rifle that he'd left leaning against the shipping crate. Danse hops down beside him and, before Jaeden can react, drags him into a tight embrace.

"What are you doing?" Jaeden asks, his voice muffled from where his face is pressed against Danse's chest. Is he really that much shorter than him?

"Holding you."

"Yes, but why?"

After what has to be the single most awkward silence in Jaeden's entire Life, Danse finally answers. "Because I promised I would."

"What?"

"You asked me if I would be there to hold you if you ever needed it."

"Oh my God, Danse. I was kidding!" Jaeden groans, and can't stop himself from laughing. Of course he'd taken that comment seriously. Why wouldn't he? Maybe it's a synth thing, or Danse's utter lack of a sense of humor, but it isn't unusual for Jaeden's sarcasm to go completely over the poor guy's head. Still, he wouldn't have him any other way.

"...You can let go," Jaeden tells him, prodding him in the shoulder. Though, if he is going to be completely honest, he isn't sure he wants Danse to let go. It's more than a little childish but, for the first time in a while, Jaeden doesn't feel quite so alone in the world.

Danse ruffles his already horribly tousled blonde hair and pulls away, his hand still resting on Jaeden's shoulder. "I know you were joking, but I also know that deep down you meant it. You mean most things you say, just not necessarily the way that you say them."

Jaeden cringes, and wishes a random raider would come by and shoot him in the face. He knows very well that he hides his depression behind a rock-solid wall of sarcasm and dark humor, he just didn't think Danse saw it as the pathetic little cry for help that it was. This, he isn't sure if he can live with. There'll be no dealing with it if Danse thinks he'll have to talk him off the ledge every time he snarks at some random idiot.

"You're reading too far into it," Jaeden replies, not entirely sure how to deal with this mess.

"You know, I've never been good at dealing with emotions," Danse says sympathetically. "You are definitely worse."

"But better at pretending," Jaeden quips with a crooked smile.

"Better at running from your demons, maybe, but you aren't so good at pretending to have it together lately."

"Are you done?" Jaeden asks, not quite able to meet his eyes.

"I'm trying to help you," Danse says quietly. "I'm just not sure how."

"I'm not sure you can, or anyone really."

"Alright, let's try this conversation over again. This time, you're going to remember that I've trusted you to be there for me through everything that's happened since I was exiled from the brotherhood. That you've seen me at worst and haven't, as far as I can tell, thought any less of me," Danse says, crossing his arms across his chest. "No one can help you if you don't let them, you know."

Jaeden is at a loss for words for a moment. He's heard that line before, not long after returning home from the army. Nora, it turned out, had also been discharged and gone back to her previous profession as a lawyer. She hated that job but had gone through with it, and the years of college it required, to make her parents happy. His father that he lived with at the time, had forced him to see a shrink to deal with his frequent panic attacks. Well, really he'd just told him to grow a pair and act like a man. He'd been in the army all his life, after all, and he certainly didn't lose his marbles whenever the neighbor's kids set off fireworks in the back yard. Regardless, it was some kind of sick twist of fate to run into Nora again at the bar after the second appointment. And, after five sessions of accomplishing absolutely nothing other than talking in circles, she'd said those same words to him while they were out on their first official date.

"Jaeden? Are you alright?"

"No," He admits in a dismal tone. "I'm really not. When I had Nora, I got better, but I was never alright after I came back from China. Let's go home, and I'll tell you everything."

If anyone ever told Jaeden he'd one day be living in the salvaged ruins of a Red Rocket station, he probably would have shot them. Yet, here he is, sitting on a metal bar stool at the weather worn counter with a hot cup of tea cupped in his hands. God only knows what's in the tea. Danse bought it the last time they were in Diamond City.

Shaun, Synth Shaun, is playing in the back of the old prewar truck Jaeden's been restoring. It's parked just outside, visible through the window behind where they're sitting. It had been Danse's idea, to give him and Shaun something to do together. Jaeden would be lying if he said the whole thing doesn't still mess with his head, but Synth Shaun really is just like any other ten year old boy. He likes toy cars, playing basketball with Danse, and working on projects with his Dad. Jaeden wants to hate the Institute, but hating the institute would mean hating Shaun – both Shauns – and he just can't do that.

Jaeden looks up at Danse and sighs. "When I was discharged from the army, I was a wreck. I spent months in the hospital from the injuries. When I got home, and had no choice but to live with my old man, I avoided sleeping as much as I could to make the nightmares stop. I used to have panic attacks, and almost shot the neighbor's kid for letting off fireworks on the fourth of July. I... I had been asleep and woke up thinking someone was shooting up the place."

After a few moments, and no comments from Danse, Jaeden keeps talking. "My father was, well, a complete piece of garbage. He was a general – the perfect soldier. Like his father before, and his father... And so on. All my life, I wanted to be half the man he was – half the man I thought he was. As it turned out, I was a disappointment to him. He expected to have a war hero for a son; he got a combat medic instead, and hated me for it. It was even worse when I got discharged. Nothing I did ever made him happy. After about a year, I started seeing a therapist about the nightmares and panic attacks. My father kicked me out, and I ended up living on Nora's couch after I ran into her at a bar a few nights later."

"She was discharged as well?" Danse asks, curiously.

"Yes, because her brother got himself killed in a car accident and there wasn't anyone else to look after their disabled mother. It was some kind of crazy coincidence that we both grew up in Concord." Jaeden replies. "But that's a whole other story. In the end, she saved me from myself. She kept me busy running errands and working on her house in Sanctuary Hills all day, while she went to work at her office in Concord. Little things, like keeping up the maintenance on her car, or replacing the hoses on the washing machine. I didn't mind. I liked the quiet there, and while the neighbors gossiped about us all the time, it was the first place that ever felt like home to me. Eventually we fell in love, got married and had Shaun. For a while, I was happy. I could sleep at night, and didn't need to keep a gun under my pillow. ...Then everything went to hell again, and I had to watch her die."

Danse looks out the window at Shaun. He's playing fetch with Dog Meat, who's wagging his tail excitedly as Shaun tosses a baseball high into the air. Dog Meat catches it and drops it at his feet.

"I wish I had a dog when I was a kid," Jaeden says with a hint of a smile. "There was just my sister's cat and that thing hated me."

"Can I ask why you joined the Brotherhood then? It seems like getting back into something so similar to the military wasn't the best thing for you." Danse asks, leaning forward and resting his arms on the counter.

"It was familiar. I didn't know where to turn, and everything was so different and hostile at first. The brotherhood was something I knew, order and direction. That was what I needed then, I think." Jaeden explains. "Of course, that turned out to be a fiasco, but I can't say I regret it. I met you, after all. Honestly, I don't think I would have made it this far without you."

"I wouldn't be alive without you," Danse replies quietly.

"I don't think I really have anything else to say. My life sucks, and always sucked – aside from the brief time I had with Nora," Jaeden says sadly. "I think I'm almost afraid to be too happy, like something will come along and screw it up the second I think it's going to be okay."

"All things considered, that's hardly unexpected." Danse tells him, with a frown. "But, that doesn't mean it will always be that way. It's almost like you have a family again, in a sense. You've got me and Shaun after all, and Curie if she doesn't die from forgetting to eat or something."

Jaeden raises his eyebrows and looks out across the overgrown parking lot to the shed that he and Danse had made into a proper lab for Curie. Jaeden panics for a moment when he doesn't see her, but he hears her cry out in surprise as Dogmeat runs smack into her as she's leaving her greenhouse. They'd probably starve without her, which is horribly ironic considering she hasn't exactly mastered the art of maintaining a human body. She will literally forget to eat if she's too engrossed in her research. How anyone could possibly think that she's dangerous just because she's a synth, Jaeden can't begin to understand. She's so innocent and kindhearted is almost painful.

"Yeah, you're right," Jaeden agrees awkwardly. "We're a mess, but we're a family."



Story, overlay and profile code by User not found: song
Profile art is an edited screenshot from Fallout 4

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