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.
Request: “Hi! I liked your deacon imagine. Maybe you could do another one about him? He and Sole are going undercover and it requires them to get all dressed up in formal clothes. Deacon gets flustered when he see Sole all gussied up for the first time?”
“I think I hate you.” Sole called from behind the curtain that hid them from Deacon’s view.
“Don’t lie to yourself, you adore me.”
Sole sighed loudly. “I’m rolling my eyes. I hope you know that.”
“You’re breaking my heart over here.”
Sole smiled to themself and continued to get dressed. Deacon had requested them to be his partner in an undercover mission for the Railroad. There was some evidence that the Institute was interfering with life in the Upper Stands and Desdemona wanted the resident disguise expert to go investigate. Mayor McDonough had encouraged a formal night at the Dugout Inn, which had offered the perfect opportunity for Upper Stands residents to come down from their houses, and in turn, for the Railroad to get intel.
However, formal attire wasn’t exactly part of Sole’s every-day anymore and they were already struggling to get into the outfit Deacon had provided. They had cleaned themself up and fixed their hair before even attempting to get dressed, and now one of the buttons on their top was stuck and they couldn’t fix it. “Deac’, I think I need your help.” They sighed again.
“Well, come here so I can help you.” Deacon laughed, obviously enjoying their struggle.
Sole pulled back the curtain and stepped out, a bit nervous about their appearance. It had been a long, long time since they had gotten even slightly dressed up; it wasn’t as if Raiders cared how attractive they were in the middle of a gunfight. They glanced up from where they were struggling with their button and waited for Deacon to redirect his attention.
He was slipping a gun into his waist coat when they cleared their throat. He buttoned his holster and lifted his head to lock eyes with them and immediately had the breath knocked out of him. Deacon stared silently, taking in their appearance, his mouth slightly open. “Uh, Deacs?” Sole asked quietly.
“Right, yeah. You look- I mean- wow. Good. Great. Uh, you ready to go?”
“Deacon, I need help. With the button?” Their expression turned confused.
“Of course. Yep. That’s why you… okay, sure. Which one?”
“This one, above my hip. You’d think decorative buttons would’ve died out by now.” They finished their sentence in a mutter.
Deacon inhaled sharply, scanning them again, before stepping forward. He was a brave man but his experience with the Railroad didn’t exactly prepare him for this. They were still looking down at the offending button when he approached, barely half a foot between them when he stopped. They dropped their hands to their sides, and looked up at him, their nearness catching him off guard. It was a struggle with himself to look away as their eyes glittered from the light the nearby lantern was casting. Something- whatever they bathed in, something in their clothes- smelled warm, clean, and distinctively of them and it was unbelievably distracting. “Deacon.” They said quietly, a crooked smile growing on their face. “The button, please.”
He cleared his throat. “Right.”
It was a small struggle, though he didn’t know whether that was due to the button or how Sole watched his every move, but eventually he got the button secured in its place. When they moved away he found himself able to breathe properly again and watched as they turned to look in the mirror leaned against the wall. “Thanks, Deacon. What do you think?”
He struggled to get a grip on his usual put-together façade. “You look fantastic.” Nope, that was a little too breathless to be his usual humorous flirting. “Not as good as me, of course, but you’ll get there someday.” There we go.
Sole rolled their eyes and tried to hide their grin. “Of course not. No one could look as good as you do.” They quipped back.
“Aw, Boss. If you’ve fallen for me I won’t blame you, it’s only natural.” He dragged himself back into his usual conversational rhythm.
Instead of replying with more sarcasm, Sole instead turned to look at him properly and scanned his appearance. After a beat they quirked an eyebrow and allowed their grin to reappear before they turned back to the mirror and fixed their collar. Oh God, it was gonna be a long night if that’s how they were gonna act. He couldn’t help but wonder if they’d later need help undoing that button.
