Hello lovely! 💕 Could I pretty please have #64 (and possibly a little 62), spoken by Sole to Deacon? I'm a sucker for breaking down his walls. (Maybe post-Ticon?)
Thunder Breaks
(Sole Survivor/Deacon)
Prompt #64: “Talk to me.”
Prompt #62: “It’s okay to cry…”
He’d always admired the stained glass windows of the church. There was a joke somewhere, in using a place of worship to shelter beings made by people playing God, but he was too tired to think of one right now. He let his head fall against the rotted wood of one of the pews, and let his eyelids lower until the sunlight through the windows, made into a kaleidoscope of colors, looked blurred and distorted. It poured over the upper rafters, and flitted down toward him, bits of dust unsettled by his presence floated through the colorful streams at a pace that defied the impatience of gravity. If he didn’t know better, he’d think it was was a sign. A metaphor. Something. But nihilism plagued the liar like pestilence on the wasteland; heavy, and layered thick, so as to fill all the cracks.
He knew they were there. You couldn’t mistake the creaking of the ancient floor boards for anything else. They stopped, but the wood still complained under their weight. He didn’t speak, perhaps grasping to the hope that they would turn around and go back downstairs, or out the door. Maybe not see him, or decide they weren’t curious enough to find out what had him feeling so sorry for himself. But the foot steps approached, and he knew he’d have to face them one way or another. No excuses. No “Des wants me”. No stealthboys. Just jokes, and lies, and if he’s lucky, they’ll buy his bullshit.
Sole leaned against the pew and looked at the swirling, multicolored streams of light with him. Silence settled like dust on the old wood. He was certain it wasn’t just the dust that was making it hard to breathe. A certain apprehension pressing like a boot on his chest. “Deacon,” They said softly. Strange, he’d never told them, but he almost expected them to say his real name. He could imagine the way their voice would sound if they did. “Talk to me.” He wanted to. He did. But maybe the only thing stopping him was the fact that when he opened his mouth, only lies spilled out. And he’d been bullshitting everyone around him, and himself, for so long, the lines were beginning to blur. He owed them the truth, and he’d give it to them if he knew how. “I, uh,” He began, not sure if he was more worried about his throat closing up as he spoke, or what he was going to say next. “Sole, I…”
They were patient, that’s for damn sure. Patients of a saint. Ha. There’s your church pun.
“This… this life. All the lying, and running, and hiding. I don’t know. You deserve better.” And that was the truth. The whole, honest truth. “I want better for you. You deserve someone who’s gonna tell you the truth every time they talk to you. Somewhere safer than a broken down church that could turn into another switchboard incident at…” He trailed off, leaving the blood and ghosts of switchboard to hang in the colored light. Preserved in the stillness of the air, and the drifting dust. “Deeks, I don’t want better. I want this place, and this life, and you.” They replied in a soft, low voice, but it still echoed through the acoustic building. He laughed, because now they were the liar. And laughing was all he could do. “Sole, I don’t want you to die. And every second you’re with me, and in this… this fucking decaying organization, you’re one step closer.” Only after his mind sluggishly supplied the word, did he realize its whole truth. He knew the Railroads days were numbered, sinking like a ship and only he could see the springing leaks in the metal. But it had been broken and pulled together so many times before, he figured keeping it alive was something like necromancy. Things destined to die ought to be allowed that.
Sole placed a hand on his shoulder and he didn’t wince at the contact. They gripped the fabric of his white shirt, it wadded in the spaces between their fingers, with a balance of gentleness and fierce determination, and he’d never felt so steady. “And if I die, it’ll be with you. For some synth I barely know, in this fucking decaying organization. That’s what I want. It’s not about deserve.” His breath abandoned him all at once, and he leaned into them. Stubborn. Tough as shit, and always willing to look death in the eye and give him the middle finger. Everything Deacon admired and everything he wasn’t. “It’s okay to cry…” They said. And he did. Because he couldn’t remember the last time he was told it was okay to do anything. To be anything. That he was okay, just how he was. He wept like Judas on the floor of that old church, and didn’t stray from the light of the stained glass windows, because he didn’t need God to forgive him for all the venom he’d ever spit. All he needed was them.
I went AWOL cause I had writer’s block and I had to forego writing about fallout for actually playing it lmao. Hope you can forgive how late this is, and expect more, soon!
Title comes from this
💔❤💔❤💔❤
