Note: To clarify none of this is supposed to be interpreted as Deacon hitting on Sole. Their friendship is familial in this case and that’s it.
Request: “ So imagine, the Sole Survivor is secretive about their identity. They never show their face, their voice bounces around their helmet, and Deacon's 90 percent sure they use heeled boots. But they're a good leader and a good person, so everyone lets it be. One day, Sole is out with a Companion and they hit their head. Companion has no choice but to take off the helmet to check for wounds, since Sole's knocked out. And they learn why they never show their face. They're a teenager.”
It was a hot day in the middle of summer. Sole and Deacon were trekking across the Commonwealth to Diamond City, hoping to get a decent room for the night before they left to check out a nearby safehouse. Sweat beaded across Sole’s forehead, the intense heat made worse by the helmet they always wore. “Sheesh, Boss. I’m committed to privacy, too, but are you sure you don’t wanna take that off? I’ll look the other way, promise.” He held up his pinky to imply his innocent intentions.
Sole rolled their eyes despite Deacon not being able to see. “Yeah, sure. For about two seconds before you use those sunglasses to your advantage. I know your tricks by now Deacon.”
He grinned, unashamed. “Busted.”
They continued their hike in silence. Deacon had known Sole for more than a year and a half, and not once had they even given a hint about their identity. Sure, they came from a vault and they were trying to find a family member, but that’s all Deacon knew about them. They had managed to hook up a voice modifier to their helmet, which changed pitch every day. Their armor was bulky and hid any defining features. They were decently tall, but even then, in the beginning they walked unsteadily which led Deacon to believe their boots had built in heels. Conversations were kept anecdotal and light, and if they told stories, no one involved in them had seen Sole’s face either.
This ate at Deacon. He respected their privacy as much as they respected his. Neither tried to pry too much, but he couldn’t help but be curious. His entire job was to figure out mysteries and despite the fact that he made sure not to go too far, he really wanted to know even a little bit about who they were.
However, he didn’t need to know any more about them to respect them. They were a hard worker and a fantastic leader, and didn’t hesitate to put their life on the line for the Railroad and the Minutemen and the synths under their protection. Deacon was no stranger to keeping his distance; as long as they continued to do what they did, they were good in his books.
Sole’s commitment to their secrecy could be to a fault, though. They never let anyone help treat their wounds; Deacon had to listen to them sew up their own injuries from the other side of a curtain multiple times and each was a struggle for him to stay in his seat. Yet every time they patched themself up, put their armor back on, and stepped out from behind the curtain with a silent nod.
And now, they were refusing to put their well being first and take their helmet off for even a small breath of fresh air. Of course Deacon was mostly joking when he implied he’d take a peek at their appearance, and he could understand their caution, but still, it was putting their safety at risk.
They had made it about halfway there when Sole began stumbling. The sun had reached its fullest height and its rays were beating down onto the Commonwealth. Plants had shriveled up across the fields, ponds had been turned to mere puddles, and the light reflected harshly off the rocks, rivers, and the scraps of metal that decorated the sides of the roads.
Sole’s line of vision tilted as they struggled to re-orientate themself. Deacon moved to grab their arm, but he didn’t move fast enough due to his own exhaustion, and Sole went tumbling, their helmeted head slamming into a fractured guard rail. He swore loudly when they didn’t move to get up.
“Sole? Hey, you need to wake up.” He leaned over them in an attempt to block out the sun and shook their shoulders. No response.
Fear struck him when he realized just how limp their frame was. It was pure dead weight. “Hey! Sole, can you hear me?” He shook them again.
He had a decision to make. They had hit their head hard and that was never good. Either he respected their privacy to the fault they were so infamous for and left their helmet on, hoping for the best, or he kept them alive and let them yell at him later. He barely hesitated. Sole had saved his life multiple times, he couldn’t stand by for the sake of their anonymity.
“I’m sorry in advance, Sole.” He muttered, crouching next to them and reaching for their helmet.
Sole awoke in an unfamiliar room. An oil lamp flickered on the nightstand next to the cot they were reclined on, casting dancing shadows across the room. There was a table of medical supplies to their right along with a water pitcher and an empty, clean cup. Carefully, they began to sit up. The room spun as they inhaled sharply and squeezed their eyes shut in an attempt to make the nauseating feeling go away.
When they reopened their eyes to a right-side-up room, they reached for a knife that had been left on the tray next to a bandana. They gripped it tightly in their hand, knuckles white as they began to swing their legs over the side of the mattress. Their body felt extra heavy, like weights had been attached to their joints.
With a sharp breath they forced themself to get to their feet, leant against the railing attached to the cot. The room seemed to be a doctor’s office more than anything, but they had been stripped of their padded armor and helmet; someone had explaining to do. When they were finally steadily on their feet they picked up the bandana and tied it around the lower half of their face, securing the knot at the back of their head. “Taking off so soon?” A voice startled them from the doorway and they tightened their grip on the knife.
Their eyes snapped up, causing another wave of nauseating dizziness. Deacon- well, three of him, actually -stood in the doorway. The figures blended together before separating again, clueing Sole in on just how bad their dizziness was. As carefully as they could, they lowered themself back onto the cot. “That’s what I thought.” He sighed.
The whole ‘disappointed parent’ vibe was starting to piss Sole off, and it was exactly the reason they never gave clues about their identity. “Save the lecture, Deacon. Where are we?” They asked, attempting to regulate their tone.
“Diamond City clinic. We’re still having this conversation, though.”
“Later, when we’re somewhere secure. I’m not having less-than-fortunate discussions within earshot of nosy people. Or worse. The Institute.”
Deacon fought the urge to make a face. Sure, they were right. What he knew now didn’t change that they knew what they were doing and how to keep themself safe. It did, however, make him struggle with the idea of standing by while they continued their path of work. As they fought to stand again, he knew he couldn’t stop them, regardless. “Will you let me help you?” Deacon asked quietly, dragging a hand over his face.
“Yeah, knock yourself out.”
He crossed the room and gripped their forearm so they could brace themself to stand. “Slowly.” He warned, reaching around to grab their other arm as they swayed.
“Don’t start babying me now, Deacon.”
“I’m not. This is what caring about someone looks like.” His tone was biting.
Sole suppressed a roll of their eyes and continued to make their way towards where their armor was laying. “What time is it?”
“Ten-ish at night. We’re safe to get to Dugout Inn without you overheating again. I already booked a room and the brothers agreed to make sure the place was cleared out and everyone was in their rooms before we got there. The doc never saw your face, by the way, I kept the bandana over it.”
“Thank you.”
Carefully, Sole began putting their armor on. They started to lean forward to put their shin guards on and Deacon stopped them, kneeling to adjust the straps for them. Piece by piece he strapped them into their armor before reaching for the pitcher of water. “You need to drink something before we leave. He administered fluids but we shouldn’t risk it.” He handed them a glass of water and waited for them to finish it off.
Slowly and carefully, they made their way from the Surgery Center clinic through the alleys to the Dugout Inn. Their face was still covered, and Sole thanked God for that, but they still turned away as soon as the brothers looked over from where they were talking quietly behind the bar. “Do you guys need some help?” Vadim asked.
Deacon shook his head. “Nah, we’re all good. Thanks, though.”
Sole’s feet shuffled against the ground as he led them to the nearest room, which he had the foresight to request. With practiced ease Deacon shifted their arm over his shoulder and gripped their waist, twisting the doorknob to the room open and swinging it open. He moved them in and transferred their weight onto the nearby bed. “Alright, let’s talk.” They sighed.
“Why didn’t you tell anyone?”
“I wanted to be taken seriously. If I had said anything, no one would’ve respected me enough to let me lead. Hell, I doubt they would’ve even let me out of Sanctuary.”
Deacon began to pace slowly. “How old are you? Minus the whole popsicle situation.”
“Seventeen. Since April.”
Deacon swore, his hands on his hips as he stared at the dusty floor. Silence filled the room and Sole didn’t bother breaking it; Deacon would talk when he wanted to and it was pointless to push. After a pause, he dropped down onto the nearby couch and put his head in his hands. He swore again under his breath. “I’m sorry.” He said finally.
“Come again?”
“I’m sorry. I mean- kids have to go through a lot here already, you know. But you’ve had to do things adults from this generation couldn’t even fathom and you weren’t born into this world, I- I don’t know what to say other than I’m sorry”
When Deacon looked up at them, his sunglasses had slipped down the bridge of his nose. Sole watched carefully as he reached up to remove them, instinctively getting the urge to avert their eyes. He folded the arms together and set his sunglasses on the coffee table in front of him, his eyes clouded with emotion. “I just want you to know I’ve got your back, Boss. We’ll come out on the other side of this and you can get old with Dogmeat in Sanctuary, y’know. But you have to stop pushing yourself so hard.”
Sole, not seeing the point of hiding anymore, tugged their helmet off and settled it in their lap, running their fingertips over it as they examined it carefully. “I don’t mean it relative to your age, either. You push yourself way too hard to please everyone in this area and it’s gonna get you killed. You’ve already proved yourself. You’re already good enough. It’s time that you see that, too, and maybe take some time to just- are you gonna shoot me with my own pistol if I said ‘to just be a kid?’”
Sole tipped their head back and laughed. “No. I guess it’s fair.”
“Thank God. Hey, you need to put another cap in the ‘Near Death Experience’ jar when we get back home.”
Sole snorted. “I think we’re single handedly filling that damn thing.”
Deacon couldn’t disagree. He got up briefly to lock the door, not wanting any late-night ambushes, and settled back onto the couch. It was customary for him to take the first watch while Sole got a nap in, and considering their condition, that wasn’t going to change. “Get some rest, Boss. We’ve got an early morning.” He leaned over to the nearby lamp and paused, waiting for Sole to settle down under the blankets, the bandana still tied over the lower half of their face.
CW: Gunshot wound, description of wound. Please do not read if this makes you uncomfortable.
“I know you’re pissed, Boss, but deep down inside you still care about me, you know? Maybe consider going easy-”
Sole cut Deacon off by tugging the thread they were using to sew up his bullet wound. Deacon choked on his words and looked up to see Sole glaring at him intently. “Message received. Loud and clear.” He groaned, tipping his head back to stare at the ceiling.
Rain tapped lightly against the metal roof over their heads. It was a dreary, misty evening. Sole and he had gone on a run for the Railroad to clear a new spot for the HQ. Amongst the haze of the early morning, Deacon had turned to see Sole being charged at by two Supermutants. One was simply carrying a large plank of wood. However, the other was carrying a Minigun and had locked onto Sole’s distracted form.
Deacon, without thinking much, had grabbed Sole around their stomach and hauled them through the fog into a building for cover. Not moving fast enough, he caught a bullet in the shoulder. He couldn’t help the groan he let out as the white hot pain flashed through his arm and spread down to his hand, feathering like lightning down his torso.
That lightning shock of pain returned as Sole pressed a clean rag, just soaked in disinfectant, to the bullet wound they had stitched up. Despite their anger and frustration, the tenseness of their shoulders and their furrowed brows, they eased back into gentleness. The disinfectant diluted the blood oozing from his wound, sending it running down his forearm in a murky stream.
With the ease that only comes with having done something a thousand times over, Sole swiped up the escaping liquid with the rag and pulled another out of their bag, carefully drying his skin around the wound. They monitored closely, dabbing at dripping blood until the bleeding eased. “I’m gonna bandage it up now, let me know if it’s too tight or too loose.”
“Sole, listen. I-”
“Not now Deac, okay?”
The pure and complete disappointment in their tone struck him. He couldn’t stand when they used their “I’m not mad, just disappointed” voice. It was rare for them to use it on him, but even if it was directed toward someone else he felt discomfort crawl up his spine. Deacon felt guilty. In retrospect, what he had done was stupid, using himself as a human shield, but he had his reasons.
Seeing Sole getting charged at by those Supermutants had suddenly set things into perspective for him. Sole was the general of the Minutemen, a valuable asset to the Railroad, and potentially the key to taking down the Commonwealth’s worst enemy. And he was just their sidekick.
Sure, he pulled his weight around the Railroad, there was no question. He made sure he was always doing the most he could for them, but he was nothing compared to Sole. They were pivotal to the Commonwealth’s future. They couldn’t die.
Sole’s posture noticeably shifted forward as their anger faded into worry and defeat. Their shoulders sloped downward, their body curled in on themself, and they bowed their head to avoid looking him in the eye. Their practiced ease returned as they wound a clean bandage around his arm. “Is this okay?”
“Yeah, it’s perfect.”
Sole nodded and leaned back to study the neatness of the bandage before securing it with adhesive. Softly, they continued to run their thumb over the wrappings, skimming the cloth so carefully he could barely feel it. “I think it’s alright, Boss.”
“Right, of course, sorry.” Their voice was thick.
Were they… crying? Deacon stiffened, unsure what to do as he stared past them at the patched walls. They sniffed quietly before turning away, the absence of their hand leaving him colder than he thought possible, and began stuffing their medical supplies back into their bag. The silence grew louder and louder, filling the room until there was no space left. And then it burst.
“What the hell were you thinking?”
Sole turned to face him, their eyes red and their cheeks damp. Their frustration forced their breath in and out in short bursts, their jaw clenched. Deacon was stunned. “I was trying to save your life.” He replied, confused, sliding off of his chair.
“Who asked you, huh? Who gave you the right?” Sole’s fists were clenched, their head tilted in anger.
“Boss, what is this about? I don’t understand. You’re-” Deacon paused and looked around the room for an answer. “You’re mad I wanted you to live?”
“And what about you? You could’ve died, Deacon! What was I supposed to do?”
Deacon stopped. They weren’t actually fully angry with him, they were afraid. They were afraid that he almost died. His stomach sank and now he was disappointed in himself, too. Disappointed he’d worried them, when they had a thousand other things to be worried about. “You’re right, I’m sorry. But I did my best in the situation we were in, and I’m here now, right? I’m not going anywhere.”
Sole opened their mouth to respond, before giving up. Before he knew what was happening, they had wrapped their arms around him tightly, their face buried in his shoulder. “You better not. We have so much shit to get done, and you’re the only person I trust to watch my back.” Their voice had a humorous lilt to it, despite the thickness in their throat and it being muffled in his jacket.
Deacon wasn’t one for hugs, but Sole made it hard for him to not make an exception. He wrapped his arms around them just as tightly, rocking them back and forth dramatically until he heard their quiet laugh. “I swear, I’m not jumping ship anytime soon. I’ve got your back. Always.”
The prickling cold was what drew Sole to consciousness. Dampness pressed in on all sides, numbing their fingers and toes, despite the many layers they had donned before setting out on their mission. Initially, they were just helping out Settlements. That turned into taking out a raider gang, then backing up Deacon on an errand for the Railroad.
Of course, nothing was ever simple for Sole, and this had lasted until the sun had sunk low beneath the horizon, and the ongoing storm made it difficult to see a foot in front of them. Deacon had been the one to suggest they stop and hole up in an abandoned house. The intention had been to give Sole a chance to unload the backpack that forced their shoulders to hunch down, but the walls were so full of holes it was hard for them to do much other than shiver.
This hadn’t stopped them from dropping from exhaustion, though. He’d watched as they’d stepped into the house, cleared it, and then sunk into a corner without bothering to remove their backpack. He had stepped over and removed it for them, and he wasn’t sure they were even conscious at that point. He’d set up a small fire and sat against the wall to begin watch.
The suffocating chill brought Sole’s attention back to the present. They were still freezing their ass off, the numbness spreading up their wrists and ankles, despite the crackling of the fire. Slowly, they pulled their knees to their chest, and hid their face in their arms. Maybe if they made themselves small enough they could hide from the cold and their impending duties.
No such luck.
Deacon crept up and placed a hand on their arm, firm, in case they jumped, as was the case with most residents of the Commonwealth. Sole shifted. “What time is it?” They asked, voice rough with sleep.
“Around four, I’m guessing. The sun’s not up.” He replied.
Sole could hear the exhaustion dripping from his voice and guilt set in. They themself had been up 48 hours before dropping in the house, but that didn’t mean Deacon shouldn’t have rested too. “You should’ve woken me.” They moved their arms away from their face, looking up at him.
The lighting was dim. As he had said, it was still dark outside, though luckily there was a bit of moonlight peeking through; the storm must’ve passed, for the most part. The light from the flames danced across Deacon’s face with the shadows, shifting endlessly. It only darkened the already prominent circles under his eyes.
Briefly, he left their side, his boots making a soft thud against the soggy hardwood of the house. He came back a few moments later and Sole cracked open their eyes. He tugged off his jacket and pulled off their own, which was waterlogged from resting over them and protecting them from the rain, before covering them with his own jacket.
Sole found themself automatically tugging it around them, trying to burrow within the warmth. “What about you?” They asked.
“I’m going to get water to put out the fire. Your spare clothes are in a pot over the fire to warm up.”
Deacon slowly got to his feet, his own bones chilled from the storm. “Are you serious?” Sole asked, staring up at him, their face barely visible from underneath his jacket.
Deacon paused. “What?”
“Don’t fuck with me. I’ll propose right now, Deacon. No hesitation. Did you actually warm my clothes for me?”
Deacon threw his head back in laughter. “Check for yourself. We can plan the wedding when we’re not in some moldy corner of the Commonwealth, Boss. Now get up, we need to get going soon.”
Sole watched him leave the house in poorly disguised awe before peeling themself off the floor. They stretched and jumped a few times, trying to get their blood circulating for warmth, before stepping over to the fire. Sure enough, there was a metal pot over the fire with their clothes in it. They pressed their hand to the top of the pile and found it toasty warm, sending a shock up their arm.
“Deacon!”
A few moments later, Deacon poked his head in the doorway. They stared at him for a moment. “Do I need to ask Desdemona for permission to propose first?”
