How would the companions of fnv react to the courier taking a bullet in the head and just walking it off like it never happened
You mean like in the game, Fallout New Vegas (2010), where the courier gets shot in the head 😛
TW: Blood, needles
The courier and their companion didn't spot the sniper until it was too late. The wind that had been at the pair's backs all morning turned suddenly, and with it came the distant crack of a rifle. The first bullet whizzed by and buried itself in the dirt, but there was no cover to seek, no rock to put between themselves and danger. The courier turned, sprinted over the sand, flung themselves out in an effort to shield their friend from danger - and the force of the second shot as it went through their skull sent them flying, cutting their trajectory short. They tumbled to the floor of the Mojave in a tangle of limbs, motionless.
Arcade Gannon: "Six!" Arcade was on top of them in an instant, scanning for the clean cut of the bullet's entrance and the jagged edges of its exit wound. He ripped open their collar and tore off his coat, searching the pockets for stimpaks, Med-X, anything that might be of use in this-
The courier's hand seized his arm, stilling his motions. "Arcade," they gasped, wincing as they worked out the syllables. "Leave it. I'm- I'm-"
"Don't talk." Arcade shook their hand off and extracted a syringe from one of his inside pockets. He'd jabbed it into their shoulder before the courier could resist, depressing the plunger fully before tossing it aside. "Look at me," he insisted, holding their face in his hands.
The courier's eyes were fluttering, but they stilled and came to focus on him after a moment or two. Blood was leaking down the side of their head, dripping over their ear into the desert sand. Arcade was in no way ready when they slapped his hands away, sat up, and fired a single shot toward their distant aggressor.
When no further fire was returned, they slumped forward, cross-legged. "I'm okay," they claimed, holding a hand to their forehead. Already, the flow of blood was slowing. "I mean it, just... give me a minute. You really didn't need to waste a stimpak on me."
"You-" Arcade ran his fingers through his wavy hair instinctively, forgetting that his hand was covered in blood and dirt. "You can't- that's not- how are you-?"
They shrugged and climbed to their feet, only slightly unsteady. "Not the first time I've been kicked in the head."
"That's..." Arcade shook his head, without taking his eyes off of them. Their wound was receding, fading before his very eyes. Stimpaks didn't regrow bone, not like that. "You're... that's impossible."
The courier gave him an exhausted smile. "Oh, man. You don't know the half of it."
Craig Boone: It took only a split second for Boone to drop to the ground, weigh the variables, and fire off a responding shot. He knew even before he felt the kick from his rifle that he hadn't missed, and the enemy sniper collapsed beneath their blind.
The NCR's finest shot left his rifle behind as he scrambled toward the courier, keeping low in case the attacker had a spotter that was about to take over. None did, but Boone kept glancing that way anyway, hesitant to even pop his head up. As such, he was completely unprepared when the courier's hand shot out and grabbed his wrist.
"Six." Boone ducked even lower and grasped their hand. "Stay with me."
"Not... going anywhere," they reassured him, before spitting some blood into the sand. "Did... can..."
"They went down. You'll be fine. We'll be fine."
The courier squeezed his hand harder. "Thanks. Can... can you help me up?"
They were already pulling themselves off the ground before Boone could stop them, and he let them claw their way up his arm to his shoulder. He shifted a bit to help them get their feet under them, but he couldn't take his eyes off the gaping wound in their head. Its red-and-white edges were familiar, seared into his memory. There was no way they would be standing for long.
The courier sighed, and they turned their face into the breeze, up to the hot sun. Boone remained silent as they opened their mouth, shivering slightly with each deep breath.
After a minute or two of this, they opened their eyes. Gingerly, they let go of Boone and felt the hole in their head. It already looked smaller. "Okay. I can manage. Let's move."
Something inside Boone's chest broke a little more. He turned back to where his gun had fallen before the courier could see his face.
Lily Bowen: Lily bellowed in rage, and the seething power of Leo overwhelmed her. No sniper could hide from a grandmother's protective wrath, and the nightkin thundered off into the sandy basin, moving at roughly the pace of a charging deathclaw.
When Lily returned some time later - calmer, dustier, and just a bit bloodier - the courier was sitting up. They had uncorked their canteen and were sipping at it thoughtfully, grimacing a bit with each swallow. They had more blood on their face and clothes than Lily, but their head wound was already fading into a scar.
"Pumpkin." Lily swept them up before they could say anything, lifting them off the ground and into a tight embrace. They hugged her back, half-squashed as they were, and only began to protest when Lily lifted their feet clear off the sand in her relief.
"I'm okay, Lily," they reassured her, straightening the nightkin's sunhat as she gently set them down. "Honestly."
Lily looked them over skeptically, raising each of their arms and tilting their head from side to side. She ran her large fingers over the crown of their skull, careful not to touch where the bullet had caught them. "You shouldn't be on your feet, dearie," she scolded.
The courier felt the scar's edges, then waved her off. "I mean it. I can walk."
Lily put a reddened hand up in the air. "Don't argue with your grandma. Pack up your things."
The courier grumbled a bit, but they began to stow away the various items they had spread out while waiting for the nightkin's return. When they were finished, they looked up at Lily and raised an eyebrow. "You know, this is just going to make me easier for snipers to see, Lily."
Lily knelt down on one knee. "And Leo will take care of them, too. Up you get."
Grumbling, the courier swung themselves onto her shoulders, settling in for the mandatory piggyback ride.
Raul Alfonso Tejada: Raul's attention went first to the hired gun on the horizon, and the aim of his pistols was true. When he was certain his enemy wasn't getting up again, he turned to where the courier had fallen and sighed. It wasn't the first time they had thrown themselves into the line of fire to protect him. He knew the story for practically every scar they had gained, since they'd woken up in the Mojave - but this one looked as if it might be their last.
As if to prove him wrong, the courier opened their eyes and gasped, taking in a breath of hot, desert air. Raul swore profusely and dropped his guns, sliding to the ground next to them. "Six, mírame. Sí, keep your eyes open."
"Are they..." the courier coughed, red on the sand. "Did you...?"
"Sí." Raul nodded and wiped some blood from their face. "Ay, Six, deberías-"
"I am fine." The courier spat out more blood and grimaced.
"You are not fine, you are spilling all over el desierto-"
"I am. Just slap a bandage on my head and give me some time to bounce back. Please."
Raul squinted up at the sun overhead, dismayed, and crossed himself. "Dios," he muttered, before reaching into the courier's pack for the pair's medical supplies.
As the old ghoul wound a length of gauze around his companion's head, the courier struggled into a sitting position and began to flex their joints, one by one. They were cycling through their fingers by the time he was finished, touching the tip of their thumbs to each one as if testing their fine motor skills. "Not bad," they said, clearly pleased. "Not bad at all. Took me un mes y medio to get back to normal after the bullet in Goodsprings. I'm improving."
Raul groaned and stood up again. "Órale, si tú lo dices," he said, holding out a hand to help the courier to their feet. "Maybe you should work on improving your standing with the locals instead, Six."
Rose of Sharon Cassidy: "Oh, fuck." Cass went pale, and her shotgun suddenly felt entirely useless. She chucked it to the side and went for the courier's fallen gun, firing wildly in the direction of the sniper.
One of her shots must have snagged them, as no further response followed. Cass waited three seconds before throwing the courier's gun on top of her own, then sinking to the ground to look at her companion's devastated head. It looked bleak, red and white and pink in the worst way.
"Six?" Cass asked gently, entwining their stiff fingers in her own. "God, Six, don't check out on me now."
The courier's hand twitched, then curled around hers. They squeezed her - once, twice. A low groan fell from their lips, and they rolled onto their side with considerable effort. "Fucking hell. Ugh."
Cass grinned. "Two for two?"
"Nope. Kill me now, please. Everything hurts."
Cass chuckled. "You were wishing you were dead an hour into this trip, Six. Guess the Mojave was listening."
"Guess the Mojave couldn't finish the fucking job." The courier swore a bit, eyeing the horizon where the sniper's bullets had come from. "Did you get them?"
"Maybe. Probably." Cass began rooting around in her pack. "You need some chems?"
"No."
"Good, because all I've got is liquor." To illustrate her point, Cass pulled out a bottle of bourbon and uncorked it. "Your brain's looking a little less exposed than it was a moment ago. Want a drink?"
The courier sighed. "Unfortunately, I'll pass. I don't think I have enough blood left to help my liver out."
"Suit yourself." Cass took a swig and surveyed the surrounding desert. "Aw, look. We've disappointed the buzzards."
Veronica Santangelo: With a strangled cry, Veronica dove for the courier's fallen body. She didn't have a gun, and even if she did, she wasn't a great shot, but there was a shallow dip in the sand that could maybe hide them from view if she just-
She hit the courier's chest with a thump, and the two rolled together into the tiny ditch. Veronica's power fist came off in the process, stuck in the sand, and the courier's canteen, weapons, and a few cans of food from their pack joined it. The Scribe's hood fell down, allowing sand to fall into her hair, but Veronica ignored it and lay still, listening for more shots and groping at the courier's wrists to find a pulse.
"Ouch," the courier mumbled, to her utter surprise.
"Six!" Veronica hissed. When they raised their head in an attempt to look around, she tried to push it down again, but hesitated to touch them in case of prodding their wound. "Six, how in the world are you conscious right now?!?"
"Maybe I'm not," the courier replied diplomatically. "Maybe this is a dream, and you and I are- aw, fuck, this hurts too much to be a dream, never mind."
Despite their dire straits, Veronica rolled her eyes, amused. "Don't talk. If that bullet's still in your head, you might jostle it or something."
"Is that your professional medical opinion?"
"Do I look like a doctor?"
"Have you met many wasteland doctors, Veronica? You're basically just one step down from Arcade's usual getup."
"Sssh." Veronica fumbled around for a stimpak to jab in them, and she awkwardly withdrew one from inside her robe. She plunged it into their hip, eliciting a yelp of renewed pain from the courier. "I don't know how you're even alive, but seeing as you are, you get to help me figure out how to deal with that sniper."
"Oh, wonderful."
ED-E: In an instant, ED-E was at the courier's side, nudging their face, their hands, their chest with its front speakers. It cooed and beeped, tilting its dome around with unmistakable concern in its manufactured tones.
"Ohhhh, ED-E," the courier murmured, giving the eyebot's chassis an affectionate pat. "We have got to stop doing this."
ED-E blatted its agreement. In the bot's experience, taking even one shot to the circuitry was undesirable. Two was absolutely asking for a lifetime of functional issues.
The courier's hand dropped again, and the sniper eventually moved on. The sun began to sink overhead, throwing up a parade of warm hues that colored ED-E's shinier parts. As each color grew cooler, ED-E monitored the courier's vitals and scanned their wound intermittently. It was closing, knitting new tissue and bone in a way that the robot had never witnessed before. The courier slept, breathing evenly with the odd ragged exhale as the pain waned.
When the sun finally dipped below the desert's end, ED-E switched on Radio New Vegas. Nat King Cole was singing, and the long-dead performer's voice worked its way into the courier's dreams. "Take me out of this world tonight..."
The courier's eyes opened, and they smiled up at ED-E. "Not yet. We've still got some roads to walk, buddy."
They struggled to their feet and retrieved their fallen belongings. Together, the pair resumed following their trail. ED-E switched its light on, illuminating each cactus that they passed with curious suspicion.
Rex: Rex began to bark wildly, snarling and snapping as he turned in circles around the courier's body. When further threats failed to appear, he dropped his nose to the courier's head to sniff the wound. Blood, bone, the metallic intrusion of the bullet, but shot through with the heady scent of adrenaline.
Rex whined and nudged the courier's hand - once, twice. Slowly, their fingers curled, and they raised it to pat the wet snout that was begging them to wake.
"Good... dog," they managed, before they dropped their arm again.
Rex whuffed and nudged them again. "Sssssh," the courier urged him. "Gotta... play dead."
Rex's head went up. The unfamiliar smell that the wind had carried to him was still there. He sat down, threw his head to the Mojave sky, and let out a mournful howl.
After a few more howls, the sniper's scent began to fade. Rex watched the spot it had come from thoughtfully before rising again to lick the Courier's face.
"Ugh." The courier sat up and shooed him away. "Good job as usual, but between you and me, I'm getting really sick of doing this."
