Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The shotgun resting on Hex’s back bounces with every step he takes, his pack jingling as he goes. His footsteps click on the ground and echo off the walls, too loud, but rhythmic and nice all at once. It feels good being back with Dad. He's really missed his father. It’s nice to be able to do stuff with him again, even if it is just simple, menial tasks that no one else will do. Hex is at least contributing to the project in some way. God, he hasn't been in this good of a mood in a long time. Making his way down one of the pipes, he checks the nearest intercom.

“Just a little farther now,” Dad instructs him. “You’re doing great, son.”

“Alright, thanks. I’ll be done in just a few, then.”

The pride swelling in his chest is something he’s unaccustomed to. He hasn’t done a lot in his life to be proud of. He’d broken into the store of medicine in the clinic when he was a teen, and became an addict at 14. A tattoo artist wasn’t a respected job in the Vault. Being in a stable relationship and not married after like three years was frowned upon. But he isn’t in the Vault anymore. He’s a good man, better than what he used to be.

He's clean, three week free of anything that shouldn’t be in his body. Three-Dog praises him over the radio, calls him a Paragon. And now, he’s actually helping complete the work that his mother and father had started. It probably would have been finished a long fucking time ago if he hadn’t come along and kinda killed his mom, but that’s out of his control. What he is in control of is his own two feet, taking him through this pipe system to drain the intake pipes.

It'd been a bitch and a half to find his dad. Tranquility Lane was an even bigger bitch. He’s not one for needless violence, especially towards children, but Betty (Braun?) is (was?) a little shit and it took all his willpower not to punch the little fuck. He felt very much not great having to do all that awful shit in the simulation, but getting dad out had been was absolutely worth it.

Once out of the damned pods, they'd embraced for a bit and chattered, until dad said he was ready to leave, and Hex followed right behind. He was willing to do anything it took to help finish his father's life's work. It’s a good cause, anyway, beneficial to everyone in the Wastes.

The drainage valve comes into view, and he takes a hold of the valve handle. "I hope this is it," he mutters. It should be it. Idly, he bites at the lip ring resting in the middle of his bottom lip. While he’s more than happy to help, these pipe tunnels are really old and smelly, and he’d like to get out.

Hex holds onto the valve as he twists himself in opposite directions, popping is back first. Maybe dad will let him put in the code to activate the purifier as thanks for doing all of this. Not like the code is a secret between the two of them. He twists at the valve in earnest, but it won’t move. He gives it another heft of strength, loosening the rust holding it shut. His hands fell like they’re blistering as he turns and turns against the strength of the rust, but soon the valves stops moving completely. Well fuck. Hopefully that means he opened it all the-

Something catches the corner of his eye, and he moves to look out one on the grates. In the sky, hovering down to land, is an Enclave Vertibird. He ducks down out of view as the alarms start blaring. Panic shoots through him and any semblance of his excitement melts into anxiety.

“Oh fuck, oh fuck!” he hisses, continuing on forward. The doors behind him are undoubtedly locked, so he has no choice but to go further.

They’re everywhere. He whips the shotgun off of his back and fires high, catching two Enclave troops through their visors as he makes his way back. He has to protect his father and the project. He’s got to protect the other scientists, they’re civilians with about as much combat training as the average Wastelander. They’re helpless. Fuck, he has to protect himself, most of all.

He shoots every Enclave troop he comes across. Hex slips in the gore leaking from their suits, but he can’t afford to stop and examine his bruises. Every time, he scrambles up and keeps going. His knees and elbows sting from landing on them repeatedly, and his lungs burn. He skids to a stop in the entrance to the Rotunda, panting heavily, just in time to see a man in Enclave dress put a bullet through Kaplinski's abdomen.

His eyes go wide as he catches sight of his father. James makes eye contact with him, but turns his attention back to a man that he addresses as “Autumn”. James speaks low enough that Hex can’t hear him, but Autumn sternly demands that James hand over the code. His father, always one to placate the angry bull, steps to the console and inputs something that’s way too long to be the code.

Somewhere else behind him, he hears something about radiation. He isn’t sure from who or where, but all of the people in the chamber begin dropping like flies. Autumn injects himself with something, but sinks futilely to his knees.

Dad stumbles and falls, catching himself on the bulkhead. Hex watches in horror, eyes filling with tears, as his dad sinks to his knees.

“Jeremiah, run!”

“Dad?” he calls, stagger closer, his Geiger counter beginning to click at him.

"Run, run!" His father urges weakly, slumping against the glass. Hex starts forward, a harsh, icy terror filling his gut. He can’t lose his father again, can’t lose the last person on earth that still cares about him. He needs to get his dad out of there now, while James still has a chance of living.

"Fuck, Dad no! DAD, PLEASE!"

Li grabs him by his collar and yanks him away with a surprising amount of force, effectively choking him with the fabric. Hex feels his throat close up for a completely different reason as he watches his father slacken onto the ground, and go still. She shaking like a leaf, her voice high and panicked. "Jeremiah- Hex, no! We have to go, NOW! There's nothing we can do for him, we have to move!"

Her tone sounds pained, cracks on ‘move’. His own voice catches and dies in his throat, and when Li lets him go, he moves.

He feels nothing for a moment. The thick lump in his throat remains as he takes down the other Enclave soldiers, following closely behind Li and her group. His dad is dead because of the Enclave. His dad was dead because of those mother fuckers.

Past there is an angry blur of blood and power armor, the stink of hot metal and gunpowder filling his nose. He’s ruthless as he goes. These fuckers are going to pay. He’s going to make damn sure of that. He slaughters everything in a metal suit, makes damn sure that once they’re down, they’ll stay down. His clothing is covered in gore from skewered enemies, and he’s got burns from plasma and laser rifles. With his gun long empty, he switches over to a sword. Up close and personal is good for grief, right?

Li has to grab him after a bit, pulling him out of his daze just a little. Garza's heart is giving out, she tells him, and there wasn’t time to get stims before they ran. Hex doesn't even blink when he dumps the medicine into Li's hand to give him, only waiting until Garza is up and walking again to continue on his bloody rampage.

His sword finally snaps in half from over usage and abuse, and he switches over to his favorite gun: Ol' Painless. The scientists can only watch as he cuts a bloody swath into the Enclave’s numbers, keeping them safe at his own expense.

By the time they finally make it to the Citadel, the anger and adrenaline wear off, leaving Hex exhausted and empty. His limbs are heavy, and he wants nothing more than to lay down die. But he keeps on his feet while Li screamed her way into the Citadel. Whoever is behind the walls concede, finally, and let her in.

Another surge of something runs through his chest, anxiety this time, and he panics. He doesn’t want to be here, he wants to hole up and mourn losing his only family member. The scientists give him a look as he hesitates, backs away. When Li calls his name, Hex follows his father's instructions, only a few hours late.

He runs.

He makes it to Underworld in two days time, having only stopped for the barest of means. Playing on the little league team, and running from Butch in his childhood so often really pays off in his favor. His time in the Wastes has also paid off, because he’s a little more smart about where to sleep and how to stay out of sight.

He’s starving by the time he arrives, badly sunburnt from being out in the daylight for the first time in months. He’s sick from dehydration and exhaustion. Doc Barrows sees him, but Hex refuses to let the doctor patch him up. He only accepts water to stave off the headache he has. From there, he stumbles up to the Ninth Circle and buys some choice drugs from Ahzrukhal, stocks up on as much alcohol as he can carry. No one tries to stop him when he leaves out, traveling to a different part of the museum. He avoid the ferals and holes himself into a tunnel closet, and

The following three weeks are a haze of crippling grief, alcohol, and needles in his veins. An unknown person bringing him food and water every few days, touches his face and tells him he’s a mess. Somewhere in the blur of it all, he finds himself laying on a mattress that wasn’t there before, which by now is saturated in alcohol. It doesn’t matter. He’s miserable. He wants to die, but he’s too much of a coward to kill himself.

He sees his dying father every time he closes his eyes. Drinking himself to sleep prevents dreaming for a few days, and when that stops working, he drugs himself up. It only works for so long, until he had no other choice but to to suffer through it, waking nightly from watching Dad die, over and over again.

When Hex isn’t blackout drunk, he’s barely human in the rare hazes of consciousness. He still doesn’t remember much of anything, honestly. At one point, he wakes with his ghoul mask on, laying in the middle of the kitchen area. The mask is plastered to his hair with dried blood from a head wound he doesn’t remember getting. It takes him twenty long minutes to find his way back to his little closet and used a stim. He has half a mind to take the mask off before it heals to his head, and from there everything is gone again.

Another time, he blinks into consciousness slouched over a urinal with a bad taste in his mouth. His chin and shirt are covered in dried vomit, his Geiger counter lightly clicking. He sits up slightly, unaware of where he is other than it’s a bathroom. Making a face, he spits out a mouthful of gritty tasting water, wondering why he was drinking urinal water in the first place.

He prefers not to think about that.

Day after day, his supply dwindles down as he shoot up and drinks away. His arms are covered in track marks from frequent use of whatever this calming drug he bought is, and he can barely keep his brain coherent. Little by little, what supplies he has begin to dry up into nothing.

Inevitably, he runs out of everything. He forces himself back out into the Underworld to purchase more. He’s fucking rich, he can buy whatever he wants. What he wants happens to be more swill from Azrhukal, but still, he’s got the caps to do it. He ignores the looks from the residents, tunes out their whispering. It’s no secret that his current status is “looks like shit”. He hasn't showered in nearly a month, and getting covered in vomit at least twice has made him pretty gross smelling. Not to mention all the Enclave blood still dried into his clothes.

Barrows emerges from the Chop Shop, looking intent, call for Hex’s attention. Hex wants to brush him off, but the doc lures him in with a promise of some kind of drug. Begrudgingly, Hex enters the clinic.

Keeping good on his word, Doc drugs him up nice and good with some kind of injectable anxiety medicine. Doc has Graves draw a bath and while Hex is calm, it doesn’t take much coaxing to get him to undress and get in. The two keep an eye on him to make sure he didn't accidentally drown himself while he gently rubs blood and vomit from his pale skin, a glassy look in his eyes.

"I can do it by myself, Doc. You don’t gotta watch," Hex tells him, preceding to cover his face with a rag and scrub the rest of the blood away. He cleans off at least month's worth of built up oils and dead skin. He scrubs at his face a second time, and when he looks up, the doc has his (lack of) nose in a book.

It takes a few washes to get his hair feeling clean again and a lot of painful scrubbing to get the grime and vomit out of his crevices. Vomit knows how to get everywhere. His skin feels pretty fucking gross, no matter how many times he runs a rag over it, so he gives hip once he gets more of the peeling sunburn skin off.

He washes his face yet again, with some soap this time. His acne is back and painful as hell. And in addition to that, he now had a scratchy beard growing in that doesn't seem to want to get clean.

Eventually he finished. The bath water is an unpleasant share of brown, and he doesn’t have a towel. Nurse Graves, unfazed by his nakedness, supplies him a towel and some RadAway when he shakily climbes out of the tub. Once sufficiently dried, he’s given a razor and a mirror, much to his relief. The beard goes without a fuss, leaving clean skin behind. He trims down his soul patch as carefully as he can, rubbing the wet hair under his lip when he’s finished. He was been a bit of a late bloomer, so the novelty of facial hair hasn't worn off yet.

"Doc? You the one that's been bringin' me food an' shit?" he asks, pulling his boxers on. He can’t imagine anyone else doing it. Willow maybe, but that wouldn’t make too much sense either. She likes him, but it's not her goddamn job.

"Yes. It was hell finding you, smoothskin. You were gone and Az said that you had bought up all alcohol he had, even his reserve stash. Not to mention the drugs. You were face down in a closet when I found you.” Doc shakes his head, marking his book before setting it down. “Thought you'd overdosed. You were coherent enough to have me help you drag a mattress in there. Said something about fucking your back up by sleeping on the floor. Hop up on the table and hold still."

Hex does as he’s told, beginning to tremble from the cold. Barrows stills him and slips a needle into the crook of Hex’s arm, sending the anti-addictive medications into his system. Hex frowns, rubbing his temples as his system clears. "Holy shit, I feel like shit," he mutters, bowing his head away from the light. "This the part where you ask me a bunch of questions?"

The doctor nods. "Just looking at you, I can tell you're malnourished, and the addictions took a pretty bad toll on your body. Stand up," Barrows commands. Hex slides off the bed and lands on the floor with a faint smack.

Doc prods and pokes at him, muttering to himself for a moment before pelting his patient with questions.

"Yes, I still smoke. No, no sex recently. Um... I ate last time you brought me stuff? Uhh… not sure if you’d call it sleep, more like a perpetual blackout." He shrugs, rubbing his bloodshot eyes. "Still not feeling too good. Not hungry though. I'll eat later."

Doc sighs at him, scowls a little as he begins feeling around Hex’s ribs, trying to evaluate just how bad his body was faring. Not too bad, shockingly, considering just what kind of hell he’s put his body through. Barrows looks up to tell Hex as much.

Hex is quiet, staring off into space with his face pulled into a pained expression. "Am I hurting you?" The doctor asks, moving his fingers a bit lighter. Hex, startled out of his thoughts, shakes his head.

"My dad," he murmurs, his brown eyes flitting to the floor. Doc nods, placing his hands on the other man's shoulder. It’s been playing on the radio since the day after it happened, the day before Hex arrived. Most of the Wasteland knows by now that James Matthews is dead. Fuck. The kid’s 19. Losing someone you love at so young, especially a parent, is damn hard. The doc should know, he's lost everyone.

"Hex, hey. Listen to me. Your father's dead, and you know this. There's nothing you can do about it. No amount of wishing or praying or dreaming is gonna fix that. I know it hurts to hear, but you do need to hear it. He's dead, and you're on the fast track to being there.”

Hex swallows hard, avoids eye contact but nods. “Kinda wish I was. This shit is so hard, Doc. I’ve had just an easy life, and then I was thrown out of the vault and into complete chaos. The Wasteland is chewing me up and I’m just waiting for it to spit me out at this point.”

Barrows isn’t surprised to hear that he’s suicidal. His actions over the past three weeks have more than proved that. “I know, Hex. At this point, you have two options. You lay down and do like you've been doing and join him. That project will be for nothing. He'll be dead, and you'll be dead, and it'll waste away and no one will ever finish it.

"Or… Look at me," he continues, waiting for Hex to look him in the eyes. "Or, you can go on. It's hard, I know. You lost your dad, and that's something hard to get over, no matter what your age is. But you can go on and carry on doing the work that your father left behind and make it your own. You finish his plan to get clean water out and not let your father's life work go to waste. You have to remember, son, you're his life work too. You can go out and save the world and help everyone you can.”

Hex swipes at the tears in his eyes, turning his face away, Barrows isn’t a sympathy crier, but he finds himself having a hard time speaking around the lump growing in his throat.

"You've almost single-handedly made the Wasteland a better place. So why would you throw that away now?”

The man doesn’t answer, so Barrows asks, “What would you be proud of doing?"

Hex hiccups, breathing shallow. His teary eyes are impossible to read. After a moment, he pulls away and starts fiddling with his Pip-Boy, which he had left behind him on the examination cot. Unexpectedly, a radio broadcast began echoing from the machine. Something from an escaped slave named Wernher and a place called The Pitt.

He shuts it off after it plays twice, and he closed his eyes. Lightly wiping at the wet streaks on his face, he steels his voice and tells the doc, "I know what I need to do."

Abruptly, he turns away. "I know what I need to do," he repeats to himself, ignoring Doc and Nurse Graves as he gathers his clothes. Without a word, he leaves the Chop Shop, once again ignoring the in his direction as he passes though the concourse. No one dares to speak to him, wary of the tears and the stony face. No one whispers this time.

He finds his little closet and dresses in the freshest clothes in his bag, then struggles into his Talon armor. Ignoring the bottles and debris from his stint of living in here, he grabs his pack and digs out two little bags, each filled with a measured amount of caps. Shouldering his pack, he makes his way back to the Chop Shop. Nobody dares to look at him this time. Most pretend to be too busy, far too busy to even spare him a glance. But he can still feels their eyes on his back.

He reenters the Chop Shop relatively quietly, dumping the bags of caps on a chair. "Those're for you and Nursie." Shaking his head, he looks away from Barrows.

“Thanks for setting me straight, Doc,” he says quietly. “That was probably just what I needed to hear. I… I know what needs to be done now. So thanks.” Hex nods to nothing in particular, staring at anything but the doctor.

With nothing else to say, he leaves.

Chapter Text

The twin doors to the Ninth Circle open with entirely too much force, banging against the walls. Charon doesn’t flinch, but eyes the entry way. Unflinching, Hex steps inside. He… didn’t mean to slam the doors, but at least his entrance was notable?

Ahzrukhal glances up from the bar, looking at the vault kid standing in the doorway. People here know better than to slam his shit around, but being an outsider, the kid has juts a pinch of leeway. Though, he’s now used up that pinch and better stay on his best behavior.

The little vault shit, looking fresh and squeaky clean, stands there with his jaw clenched. Silently regarding the barkeep. Aww, such a sweet little boy to have such angry in his face. Ahzrukhal doesn’t take the door slamming too personally, he gets lots of angry customers.

Still, he looks to Charon, making brief eye contact, then turns his attention back to the vault man-child. The bartender put on a big smile. He draws a small pattern on the bar, signaling to Charon to be wary. He’s always ready to do business, but the more… volatile customers get a little more of his bodyguard’s attention.

“Ah, Hex, welcome, welcome!” Ahzrukhal greets, lightly waving his hand in a gesture of ‘come in’. “You’ve been my best customer in such a long time. What can Uncle Ahzrukhal do for you? More booze?”

Hex does come forward, letting the doors fall shut with another bang. He stops at the bar, face unwaveringly neutral.

"I want Charon’s contract."

It’s an unexpected request, but one that Ahzrukhal has heard before. Many have asked for Charon’s contract, even the kid has asked once before many moons ago. He was much poorer back then, that's for sure, hardly had enough in his pocket to buy a bottle of vodka. Surely he wouldn’t be asking now if he didn’t have the caps.

“I knew you'd change your mind,” Ahzrukhal says to him, giving the kid a small nod. The ever charming business man, even when faced with an angry looking brat. “Just remember, Charon is a valuable asset to me and he doesn't come cheap. Are you ready to deal?”

Hex rolls his eyes. "Cut the shit, I’m not here to be sold up. I have the thousand caps that you wanted.”

Ahzrukhal has to keep himself from grinning. “Oh, dear boy, that was the old deal. The price has changed. After a lot of introspective thinking, I realized that Charon is even more valuable than I thought, and that he’s worth far more than a thousand.” Lightly clasping his hands together on the bartop, he leans forward. “For two thousand, however…”

The kid remains straight faced, but lets out a loud sigh through his nose. Perhaps he doesn’t have that kind of caps then? Figures. He spent an incredible amount buying booze about a month ago, that’s enough to bankrupt any man.

“Or,” Ahzrukhal says, lowering his voice, “the other offer still stands.”

“I’m not killing Greta for you,” Hex replies, entirely too loud. On purpose, no doubt.

“Then the offer is two thousand. I’ll go no lower.” Rude little fucker, he is. Ahzrukhal much preferred the vaultie when he was a sniveling mess.

The kid rubs both hands down his face, sighing into them once again like he’s annoyed. “You’re a real son of a bitch, you know that?” he asks.

“So I’ve been told. Now, do we have a deal, or are you going to buy something? I don’t suffer squatters here.”

Without answering, Hex finally breaks eye contact and swings the pack off of his shoulder. He digs through it silently for a few moment before pulling out a rather large bag of what sounds like caps. “I had plans to invest this in Megaton, but there are more important things right now,” he says, tossing the bag up onto the counter.

Ahzrukhal takes his time counting it out, restarting once or twice just to piss the kid off. Hex waits on a barstool, quiet and being as patient as he can. Just to return the favor of aggravation, he pulls out a water bottle and drinks out of it. Fuck the ‘no outside drinks’ rule.

After nearly an hour, Ahzrukhal finished up counting and sweeps the caps back into the bag. He looks up to see the kid staring off into space, idly playing with the ring in the middle of his bottom lip. “Well well, young man. Seems you’re a resourceful one.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’ve got caps out the ass. Give me the contract.” The kid breaks out of his daze almost immediately, getting to his feet and holding his hand out like a demand.

Glancing at Charon, Ahzrukhal debates on if he even wants to sell him. Getting a new employee won’t be too hard, but getting one that has Charon’s level of loyalty will be a bit harder. He tries to catch the eye of his bodyguard, but Charon pays him no mind, instead watching two bickering patrons.

Hex curls his fingers in a ‘gimme’ motion. “Hand it over, man. I paid you.”

“That you did,” he agrees. “I am a man of my word. I'll give you the pleasure of informing Charon yourself.”

The paper is tucked away safely in his breast pocket, and he has to be careful getting it out. It’s old parchment, poorly handles with creases, tears, and folds that render it almost unreadable. With its age and the wear and tear on it, it mostly just looks like a piece of tissue paper with some chicken scratch on it. But Ahzrukhal is happy to pass the paper to the kid. Let someone else feed and water that hulking piece of ghoul. Costs too damn much to keep him, now that he thinks on it.

The kid pushes off of the bar, done with their interaction. He’s half tempted to tell him to never come back, but then again, if someone else he cares about dies… well, Ahzrukhal’s bar is always open to those who can pay.

“Talk to Ahzrukhal,” he hears Charon grumble as he’s tucking the caps under the bar. He’s unwilling to open his safe with so many people around that could see the code.

“He actually told me to come inform you,” the kid says, holding the contract up. “I bought this from him.”

“You purchased my contract from Ahzrukhal?” Charon asks, looking genuinely surprised. It’s strange to see emotion on the ghoul’s face, considering the only expression he usually has around Ahzrukhal is ‘I have a stuck up my ass’. “So, I am no longer in his service. That is good to know.”

“Yeah,” the kid agrees. “Definitely good.”

“Please, wait here. I must take care of something.”

Charon brushes past his new employer and approaches the bar, coming to the open end like habit.

“Ah, Charon. Come to say goodbye?”

“Yes.”

Hex gets to watch from the corner of the room as Charon blows the smug look right of of Ahzrukhal’s face. Then, pumps another slug into the corpse just for the hell of it. Blood and bran matter spatter the walls and bar, and shit, there’s even some on Hex’s clothes. The bar patrons all rush around in a panic, shouting that Charon just killed Ahzrukhal.

“Well no shit,” Hex mutters to himself. “So what was that about?” he asks as Charon turns to face him. Both of them opt to ignore the chaos in the room.

“Ahzrukhal was an evil bastard. So long as he held my contract, I was honor bound to do as he commanded.” If Charon had nostrils, Hex is pretty sure his new bodyguard would be flaring them. “But now you are my employer, which freed me to rid the world of that disgusting rat. And now, for good or ill, I serve you.”

“See, about that,” Hex says, rubbing the back of his neck. Charon tilts his head. “I’m actually about to take a really long trip. I don’t think it would be safe to take you with me. But you’ll be okay if I leave you here for a bit, right?”

“Are you certain that this is what you wish?”

Hex nods. “Yeah. I saw him put my caps under the counter, and uh, he’s kinda dead. So they’re yours. It should be enough for you to live on until I come back, yeah?”

He only receives a grunt in response. Raking his hands down his face, Hex tells him, “I should be back in like… two months? I hope. Just take care of yourself, man. I’ll come back for you.”

“What would you be proud of doing?” Barrows had asked him.

As Hex travels on through the night, he thinks. He’s already decided that killing himself isn’t a good answer, so there’s that. He liberated Charon from that old cuntbag employer of his. What else would he be proud of doing?

Chapter Text

Hex looks down at himself, frowning. He doesn’t like this plan. He isn’t even sure it’s gonna work. He doesn’t blend in. The slave rags only cover so much, and his skin…

"Hey, Wernher? How the hell am I s'posed to get in with all my ink?" He asks, gesturing at himself. One whole arm is covered in a sleeve of ink, a half sleeve on other, two on his chest, and many all down his pale thighs. Each are an array of bright, vivid colors. "I mean… I can take my piercings out, but there's no way to cover these up."

Wernher pauses and thinks for a moment. "You can probably pick some stuff up off of a Wildman, just make it look shoddy. Or better yet, rub yourself down with mud. Or do both. How the hell did you get all that, anyways? The ink and the piercings?” He nods his head in Hex’s direction. “Ain’t never seen tats done in color before."

Hex smiles, and Wernher can see the faintest hints of straight white teeth. "See, in the vault I grew up in, I earned the job of tattoo artist. Piercings kind of goes along with it."

Wernher hums faintly and nods. Forgot the kid was a vaultie. "Alright, Hex. This is as far as I can go. You'll have to do the rest on your own. You got that knife strapped to your leg?"

Giving a firm nod, Hex pulls up the ratty skirt to show off the hidden holster. “Armed and ready.”

"Good luck, kid."

"The cure is Marie,” Hex says breathlessly, looking at Midea. “The cure is Marie… and you knew that?

He holds the baby close to him while she sleeps, blissfully unaware of what’s going on around her. His chest aches and twists, a mix of pain, disgust, and disbelief swirling up. He feels sick, knowing what he’s just done. "You didn't even bother to tell me the cure was a baby. Nobody did."

“Of course I knew, you dolt.” Midea shakes her head, turning her back to him. “I also know it's the only chance we had of finding a cure and ransoming our freedom.”

“There’s no ransoming!” Hex says back with force, trying to keep himself from shouting. “They caught me, and her fucking parents are dead! I saw her mother working, they were actually developing a cure, Midea.”

Like an obstinate child, she shakes her head. “If they ever found a cure, do you think they'd share it with us?” Midea turns back around to face him. “Of course not, Hex. Why waste medicine on people you'll just work to death, anyway?”

"But you knew she was a baby, and very fucking politely neglected to mention that. I murdered her parents because I thought I was doing the right thing.” He scoffs, feeling a manic sort of laugh trying to bubble up. “You made me orphan a baby, when they were already working on a fucking cure!"

Midea watches him warily, moving out of the way as he places Marie in a poorly disguised makeshift crib. Hex can’t help it. The laugh breaks out, high and bordering on panicked as he covers Marie’s crib with a blanket. By some miracle, the kid doesn’t stir.

He turns on Midea, forcing words out through the hysterical laughing. “You bitch, oh you bitch! I can tell Werhner knew, but you could have played stupid! You could have gotten out of this okay!”

Backing away as he advances on her, Midea tries to sputter out some kind of reasoning, tries to placate him. But he can’t see any reason, just the red creeping into the edges of his vision.

He’s a good man. He is. Lord knows he’s trying. But this… This isn’t going to work, not at all. Bad deeds don’t go unpaid. Midea doesn’t even have a chance to scream in the time it takes him to get the Man Opener off of his back and swing. Still, with everything that’s happened, he feels a little sick feeling the hot spray of her blood and watching her head roll across the floor.

Hex spares a glance at Marie’s crib, and hopes she’s getting enough cool air in there. He’s got something to attend to.

It’s a massacre. All of the slavers are already gone, so he turns his sights on the slaves. Hex shouts, asks them if they knew the cure was a baby too? The looks of shames and surprise are an answer enough, and they pay dearly for lying. When that’s not enough to soothe his blood lust, he goes after the trogs next. Puts the poor bastards out of their mutated misery. The Wildmen comes after him, too, but they’re put down easy.

Hex combs over the land and takes out anything with a pulse. Anyone and anything. When he’s finally finished, panting heavily and soaked in gore, he finds his way back to Midea’s quarters to check on the baby. It’s silent, and he presumes she’s sleeping. He nudges the blanket off of the crib, and finds her laying peacefully where he left her.

She’s a beautiful baby. Wispy curls of black hair sticking up in every direction, warm earthy skin standing out against the bleached white blanket she’s swaddled in. Marie is so little, tiny even for her age. Hex gazes at her little sleeping body, watching her try to suck her thumb, and wonders what the fuck he’s supposed to do now.

From where he’s standing, there are two options. Neither of which he likes.

He… could kill her now. He can’t just leave her here. He’s certainly pissed, but he can't just leave an innocent infant here to starve or be killed by any creature that he somehow hadn't slaughtered. He could just have mercy, kill her now, and just be over with it. With the death of Marie Ashur, the last inhabitant of the Pitt will be gone, and they'll all be extinct. Probably one of the only known people to ever be born with radiation immunity will be dead. The entire bloody legacy of the Pitt, gone. But the thought of murdering an infant leaves the bitter taste of bile in the back of his throat.

Or, he can take her with him. He knows it’s incredibly dangerous, and he knows damn well that he’s unfit for parenting. That’s evident enough by the destruction left just outside of the door. He’s got no experience with children either, those were pretty fucking rare commodity in the vault. He’s just barely an adult. It’s difficult enough to take care of himself, let alone trying to care for a baby. He hasn’t the slightest idea where to get her new diaper, where to find baby clothes, and how is he going to feed her? Formula probably doesn't even exist anymore. How is he supposed to handle an infant who needed round-the-clock care, when he’s too strung out half the time to remember to feed Dogmeat? Plus the fact that a baby has never been in any of his plans, not even in the vault. What is he supposed to do?

He closes his eyes and lets out a slow breath.

Hex grits his teeth and looks down at her tiny sleeping form. A sudden, hot rush of tears prick at his eyes as he tightens his grip on the Man Opener.

"I know what I have to do."

Chapter Text

A week later, he finds himself leaving Vault 101 again. There’s a little less rush this time, no one shooting at him and threatening his life. Hex is certain, however, that this is the last time his feet will ever traverse the steel floors of the place he once called home. He cradles one arm around Marie, strapped to his chest in a baby sling, while fighting off tears.

"Jeremy… for what it's worth, I'm sorry," Amata says quietly from behind him, her fingers gently grazing his back.

Hex grits his teeth and pulls away from her touch. Facing her, he finds that her eyes are red rimmed as well. “So, what? I saved the Vault, and now you're kicking me out?”

“No, it's not like that.” Amata shakes her head, and he wants so dearly for things to be right again. He’s angry, but he just can’t bear for her to look so sad. “But if you stay, it'll just keep causing more problems. The Vault can't take any more in-fighting. I’m the Overseer now, and I have to do what’s best for the Vault.”

“And kicking me out of the only place I’ve ever called home is what’s best?” he asks, stroking Marie’s hair and forcing down the lump in his throat.

Mutely, Amata nods. “It'll be a while before we're ready to really go outside. But once the Vault is stable again, maybe we'll see you out there.” It ends like a statement, but he can hear the question in it.

“Yeah. Maybe.”

Hex thinks of the way he’s already given Butch the spare key to his house in Megaton and an offer of his extra bedroom, seeing as Charon has taken up residence on the couch. He wonders if he should tell Amata about his house, if she’d like to visit one day. But he knows she never will. The Overseer is too important to do something as stupid as go outside.

Instead, he faces the door. The giant looming gear, with 101 plastered brightly across the door with 200 year old paint. Just a few months ago he was panicking, sleep still in his eyes, hoping the guards would spare Amata as he bolted through the door as fast as his boots would take him. He could still taste the waxy, artificial fruit flavor of Amata’s chapstick, still feel her breath ghosting over his lips. He remembers falling to his knees outside, shielding his eyes from the blinding burn of the sun, with the last lingering heat of her body against his fading.

“So I guess this is goodbye for now.” Her voice wavers, breaks at the end of her sentence.

“For now,” he agrees, eyes trained on the peeling paint on the door.

Still, he hesitates in leaving. He chalks it up to nostalgia, sadness. He wants one more good look at the fucking door that started this all.

“Jeremy?” he hears Amata say, and for a second time, her hand comes to rest on his back. “Jeremiah?”

“Hm?”
She comes to his side, slides her arm down to curl it around his waist. For a few long, silent moments, they stare out of the open doorway into the claustrophobic yet cavernous tunnel leading to the outside. Much like the first time, he dreads the idea of going out into it. It’s noon, the sun with be high and he doesn’t want to expose Marie to that much heat or direct sunlight.

“I didn’t tell you earlier,” Amata starts, her fingers finding gaps in his armor. “I- your baby is cute.”

There’s a lot of unspoken questions in her statement. Hex has known her his entire life, he knows that’s her way of trying to get him to offer up more information. Undoubtedly, she wants to know where Marie came from. He wasn’t out there near long enough to father a child this old. Where did he get her from, and why?

Instead of telling her anything of the sort, he absentmindedly says “Thanks. I found her on the sidewalk outside of a grocery store.”

Amata laughs, though it’s watery and a little thick.

They stay like that for entirely too long, with her head resting on his shoulder, his arm coming to hold her around her waist. It’s been so long since they’ve seen each other, and it’s bittersweet to feel that their love for one another still hasn’t died. Sweet for the dedication. Bitter for the fact that their love will do just as the Vault requires: it was born in the Vault, lived in the Vault, and will die in the Vault.

“What’s it like out there?” she asks, turning and looking at Marie instead of him. “What’s it really like?”

“Depends on prospective,” he answers after a moment. He tells her about raiders, slavers, the Enclave. He describes the creatures and how mutated they are, about the struggles that people go through just to survive on a day-to-day basis.

But he also tells her about the hope. Communities getting bigger and stronger, others lending a hand where it’s needed. He tells her about how almost the whole Wasteland has rallied around him, given him the encouragement and help he needs to get clean water to everyone. He looks down at Marie and tells Amata that there’s always a reason to keep going out there.

Marie makes a noise when he looks at her, her little eyes wide open. Hex smiles and tells her hello, asks her how her nap was? He only gets a burp and another baby noise in return, but it’s enough to satisfy his need to ensure she’s alright.

She’s awake now, though. Which means he really does have to leave. She needs to be fed, changed, and all of his supplies are either used up from his excursion to the vault or back home in Megaton

“If you…”Hex trails off, feeling his throat start to close up. This really is goodbye. “If you ever go out there, I have a house in that little town on the distance. Megaton. Tell either Sheriff Simms or Gob who you are and they’ll let you into my place, no questions asked.”

Amata audibly swallows, and he feels her hand gripping at his armor. She knows it as well. “Of course,” she says, voice hoarse.

Their kiss doesn’t taste like chapstick, or blood from his bitten lip. It just tastes like sadness and regret, desperation for the moment to never end.

But it ends. He pecks her on the lips, one more time, and tells her, “Goodbye, Amata,” without saying that he loves her.”

He can’t hear her reply if she says anything, and has the courtesy to use the outside control pane to close the door behind himself. Little Marie, blissfully unaware of her caretaker’s tears, coos at the blackbirds flying overhead of the rocks outside.

Chapter Text

Lucas accepts Marie from her adoptive parent, his eyes intent on Hex. "So," the Regulator drawls out, settling the tiny child in his arms, "you want me to do what, exactly?" He seats himself in chair at the table, being mindful to not wake her.

Hex settles into a chair opposite of him, looking like he hasn’t slept in days. Knowing the kid, he probably hasn't.

He takes a moment to comb his fingers through his white-blond hair, trying to make it into some semblance of neatness. With his zoned-out look, he seems to be collecting himself.

"You're the only person I trust, Lucas,” Hex tells his honestly, clasping his hands in his lap. “For one, Megaton is one of the safest places I've ever been to. You're one of the most responsible people I've met out here, too, and lemme tell you, I've met a LOT of people. I wouldn't feel safe leaving her with anyone else, or any place else, 'specially with her… gift and all."

"Alright," Simms says, giving him a look. He knows about her radiation immunity, but that isn’t the problem. "I understand that part. But what the hell exactly are you doing that requires me to take your kid? She seems to go damn near everywhere with either you or that ghoul."

Hex sighs and shifts uncomfortably. "I'm going on a potential suicide mission to finish my mother and fathers' life work. I'm gonna do my best to come home to her, but if I die, I trust you with her. You have a kid and he's honestly the most polite little boy I've ever met, so obviously you know how to raise a kid."

He breaks eye contact. "And besides, we know what I had to do to keep Burke from destroying the town."

“So, what exactly was so important that we couldn’t discuss it in Megaton?” Hex asks, looking around Burke’s suite in Tenpenny Tower. It’s pretty fucking swanky, if he’s being honest. He likes the place alright, minus the bigots.

“I desperately wanted out of that cesspool, little bird,” Burke says from behind him, shutting the door before coming up behind Hex. He brushes a hand up Hex’s hip. “The matters I wanted to discuss, however, were a little too delicate to be traversed in that filthy little town.”

Hex is about to ask what Burke means, and politely request he keep his hands to himself, when a kiss is lightly brushed to his neck. He freezes in place, more out of surprise than anything. The mouth comes to his skin again, and a moment later, another hand is on his other hip.

“There are certain things that I want in this world,” Burke says lowly in Hex’s ear, and ah- yeah, uh, that’s an erection pressed to his butt. “I want to see Megaton destroyed, but I’d like to see you more, my lovely little song bird. Is that a price you’re willing to trade for?”

Hex tries to stutter out a way to tell Burke to go fuck himself on a rusty sawblade, but some fucking how ends up facedown in his bed, sore as fuck and confused.

Of course, the moment Burke falls asleep, Hex steals his silenced gun and blows the man’s brains out. He takes a long bath and loots the bedroom after, just kind of trying to forget that there was just a dick in his butt. At least the guards aren’t tipped off about the death when he leaves. Makes getting out a lot easier.

Simms cringes a little bit. He knows. Hex personally requested some extra patrols for a while, and broke down as to why after a little bit of prodding. Lucas let out a long sigh, looking down at the dozing child.

Hex has tied over a dozen ribbons of all different colors into her hair, marking off the little puffs of curls. She’s got a tiny, hand-sewn teddy bear stuck firmly in her grip. He has no doubt that it’s Hex’s handiwork.Kid’s a miracle worker with needles, judging by his piercing, tattoos, and mended clothing. He was called a 'tattoo artist' in his vault, apparently.

Sighing again, Lucas rubs his face with a free hand. He isn't cut out for this shit. He's 41 for fuck’s sake. He's already got a kid, his wife long dead because of a Talon merc. He sure as shit doesn’t want anymore damn kids, but Hex has saved the town. As much as he doesn’t want to admit it, he does owe the kid. But this is something huge. He’ll be caring for a child, possibly permanently. A baby.

Simms sighed, looking up to meet Hex's chocolate eyes. "Boy, you better come back. I already have hell keeping Maggie and Harden apart. I can't handle repeating this with a little girl."

Hex's whole body relaxes, his body seeming to melt into the chair. All the worry seems to drain from his small frame, making Simms remember just how young the vault kid was. Not even 20 yet, is he? "You're a godsend, Lucas.”

"Okay. I have her clothing in this box," Hex says, patting the box he's just set down. "It's little onesies and shit, and some for when she gets bigger. All her diapers are in here too. Uhhh…” He pauses and looks around. “I have another one full of her toys that I'll bring over in just a minute. Teddy bears are her favorite, but especially the one she's got now. His name is Ticker."

Hex glances at the boxes and mumbles something to himself. "Oh! I have her formula stuff in there too. I put some hair stuff in there, and got some other toys. I'll be right back, gonna go get the other box." He leaves out before Sheriff Simms can get a word out, and comes back almost as quickly with another worn cardboard box in his arms.

They chat until the sun began to go down, Hex seeming to get more fidgety as the day bleeds to night. It’s pretty common knowledge that he really only travels under the cover of darkness. Something to do with his pale skin, still sensitive from a life underground, just like his eyes.

Simms watches Hex pace the lower floor, looking at the child he’s now reluctantly calling his daughter. "I'm not ready to leave," he hears Hex say, turning his attention away as Hex picks up his little girl.

Hex holds her close, feeling the heat of her tiny body against his chest. Marie has fallen asleep pretty quickly, out like a light and drooling every-fucking-where. He rocks her for a moment. In the little bit of time that he's had her, she has become his everything.

The weight of the whole world is on his shoulders, and the weight of his whole world is in his arms. Though he’s not proud of what he did in the Pitt, he… doesn’t exactly regret it, either. Marie was always meant to be his daughter. If it weren't for her, Hex wouldn't be where he was. He'd probably have died of an overdose by now, especially after the incident with the Vault.

Marie’s the sunshine in his life, and he wouldn't trade her for anything. He’s got to come home to her. He has to.

He sets her down in her makeshift crib, and looks up at Lucas. "I have a letter for her, if I don't come back. For when she's older." Glancing away, he reaches into a pocket of his well-worn pants. He plucked it out and offers the crude envelope to the sheriff. "Thank you. So much," the boy murmurs, barely above a whisper. With a deep breath, he leans down into the crib, pressing his lips to her forehead. "I love you, Marie."

Simms turns his back to give the kid a little privacy, and a moment later, he hears the front door close. Hex is gone when the sheriff looks around for him.

Chapter Text

Hex sighs, looking down at the faded paper. The lines of his handwriting are clear enough, concise in his best penmanship. He can hear Charon somewhere upstairs, faintly humming in that scratchy voice of his, some song about happiness and warm guns. It’s a nice distraction from what he’s doing, and he closes his eyes.

But soon enough, Charon falls silent. The sound of a gun being put back together echos out over the open space of the living room, and Hex has no choice but to go back over what he’s done. In two days, he makes the trip. He makes the trip to the last stand at the purifier, to finish what his mom and dad started. He’s taking Marie to Simms tomorrow, because he can trust Lucas.

This has got to be done, though. For Marie’s sake. For his own conscience. Hex lets a slow breath out of his nose and rereads the letter for the thousandth time.

Marie,

Hi sweetheart. My name is Hex. I've arranged to have Lucas Simms to give you this letter when you’re a little older, but you probably call him dad. I'm your adoptive father.

If you're reading this, then it unfortunately means that either I'm dead, or I, for some reason, wasn't able to come back home to you. I swear if that's the case, it wasn't intentional.

I'm sorry you never got to know me. I wasn’t always the best man, but I tried. I wanted to be a good man, and you made me want to be a better one. I wanted to be a good father to you, an even better man than my dad. My dad's name was James. He died sabotaging Project Purity, so that a terrible faction called the Enclave couldn't overtake it and put some stuff in the water that would kill everyone. I never got to know my mom, Catherine. She died having me. She was a good woman, from what I've heard. My mom was the one who started this whole chain of events that shaped my life into what it is, just in the pursuit of clean water.

The Project Purity thing? That's where I went. For the last stand to reclaim it from the Enclave. Hopefully, there's clean water all across the Wastes now. I don't doubt it if that's where I met my end. The radiation was bad last time I was there. I don’t regret a thing, either way.

Now, I have a truth to tell you. You may be wondering why I'm your adoptive father. I’m ultimately not proud of what I did but... I killed your biological parents.

They were slavers, in a place up north called The Pitt. Before I go any further, please, NEVER visit there. It’s not safe. Please, for your own sake, stay away from it.

Back to your parents. They knew of your radiation immunity. The two were using you to develop a cure for the inhabitants of the Pitt, who were all mutating and dying. Your parents were taunting the slaves, knowing that they could use you to increase labor in hopes that they'd get the cure. I mean, they made people fight to the death for their amusement. Their people were dying and mutating due to terrible diseases, and they were playing around and torturing slaves just because they could.

I sided with the slaves, because I wanted to help them. See, they knew you were the cure, but I didn't. I figured that since they were just saying 'the cure', that you were just a vial of medicine that the slavers were withholding. And when I found that you were actually a baby, just a little thing that fit in my arms, I snapped.

It was wrong of me, and I’m sorry you never got to meet your real parents. But I think it’s for the best you got out of there. You’re too perfect to have been left there and been raised as either a walking cure or brought up to be a monster.

I don't know what Lucas has said your name is, but the one you were born with was Marie Ashur. The one you have at the current is Marie Matthews, but if he changed it, it's Marie Simms. What an extraordinary little girl you are. Three different names, and three legacies to go with them.

Obviously, you know that you're immune to radiation. I’m also sure you’re old enough to know not to tell anyone. I told Lucas, and that's enough to know. You have a very rare, unique gift, but the only person you should trust with this information is a man named Doc Barrows in Underworld. He's a ghoul, like Gob. He's a good person. If you decide to tell him, give him this note. All I ask is that you don't travel alone. It’s way too dangerous out there for you. There should be a man named Charon in town, a big ghoul. He was my bodyguard, and is yours now. He’ll take you.

If you ever decide to go, I’d like you to stop at Vault 101. There’s a woman there by the name of Amata, and is what they call the ‘Overseer’. She was my first love, and I’d like for her to know I’m gone.

I hope you know, Marie, that I love you so much. I haven’t been your parent for very long, but in just the short amount of time I’ve had you, you've become the light of my life. I've only ever really loved a few people in my life, but I think I love you the most of all. You are the best thing to ever happen to me.

With this note, there should have been another piece of paper. It's a contract, the contract for Charon’s employment. Be good to him, sweetheart. Take good care of that contract, and even better care of him.

This is probably a jumble of a letter, and I’m sorry about that. I’m also sorry I’m not here to answer any question you might have. But it’s getting late, and I’ve already rewritten this a dozen times. I don’t have the time to do it again. I’ve got one last thing for you, though.

Once, Doctor Barrows asked me what I would be proud of. Being your father makes me proud. Giving clean water to the Wasteland will make me proud. What will make you proud, Marie? Do it. Do what would make you proud. Be the best you that you can be.

Be good, kiddo. I love you Marie. -Jeremiah Matthews.

P.S. There’s a bible scripture that’s been passed down to me, the scripture that started the whole thing with clean water. It was my mother’s favorite, and my father passed it to me. ‘I am the Alpha and Omega, the beginning and the end. I will give unto him that is athirst from the waters of life freely. Revelations 21: 6’

My favorite, however, is Psalm 147: 4. ‘He determines the number of the stars; he gives to all of them their names.’

You’re my star. Marie.

Chapter Text

Rumor has it that Hex is dead.

Lucas doesn't doubt it. Three-Dog has been crowing on and on about it since it happened weeks ago, talking about Hex’s great sacrifice, but not giving much more detail. The Brotherhood wouldn't give any information on him, either. Clean water is being distributed through the wastes now, though, due to said sacrifice. There’s less Mutants, Raiders, Slavers, Talons. The Wasteland is a much better place because of Hex Matthews.

But Lucas Simms is left with Hex's newly, and yet again orphaned baby. This is… going to be a challenge, especially since he’s aging. He'll be 51 by the time she turns 10. Too fucking old to be raising babies. Goddamn Hex and his being a damn hero.

He sits at the kitchen table the night the news first breaks, long after Harden and Marie are in bed. Lucas gives the envelope a long look, with Marie’s name delicately written on the front. He’s not supposed to give it to her until she’s a teenager. Fuck. Rubbing his eyes, he thinks about how she shouldn’t have to have this letter at all. She should have her father.

Deep in the night, well over a month after Hex had gone, Marie wakes up crying once again. She was pining for Hex, and Lucas knows it. Harden did the same thing when his mother died. He had no idea what to do then, and doesn’t know what to do about it now.

Eventually, after a lot of rocking and soothing, he gets her back to sleep. Sighing softly, he closes his bedroom door behind himself before going to check on his son. Harden is still dead asleep, letting out almost comical snores. He’s been pretty good about sleeping through Marie’s nightly crying, at least, because Lucas doesn’t think he could handle two cranky kids at once.

"I need a cigarette," he mutters, pulling on his duster. Being as quiet as he can be, he slips out the door into the cold desert night. The pack he finds in his pocket is already half empty, and he’s pretty sure that Harden is stealing them. Got to set the kid straight on that and tell him it ain’t good for him, maybe try to quit himself. But not tonight. Lucas plucks out a cigarette and clamps the filter between his teeth. He lights it, inhales, letting the smoke fill his lungs.

If Hex doesn’t show up in another two weeks, or at least if he doesn’t send a message, he’s giving a new deed to that big ghoul friend of Hex’s. Charon, he thinks is the name. Big guy takes care of little things around town to keep himself busy while Hex is gone. Lucas isn’t going to complain. Walter is too damn hold for handyman shit anymore, and the ghoul has all the time in the world, it seems.

He sighs and leaned against his home, smoke billowing from his nose and mouth. What a mess all of this is. Some big chaotic mess that just keeps chewing things up and refusing to spit them out. Just keeps eating up more and making the mess worse.

His cigarette has nearly burnt down when Stockholm raises his hand in a greeting to someone outside the gate. Even though it’s a friendly gesture, he still draws his sidearm. It’s rare, but Stockholm has been wrong before. Ain’t common for folk to show up after nightfall. The gate screeches open just a moment later, and two shapes amble in through the dark. It’s impossible to clearly make out whoever it is, though one is leaning heavily on the other.

Once they’re under the light, he gets a better look. One has neat, dark hair, the other with shaggy light hair. It’s still too dark to see their faces, but by their sizes and statures, they appeared to be males. He can see the tiniest of glowing embers from their own cigarettes.

The shaggy haired one, still leaning on the dark haired one, turned his head up in Simms' direction. He grabs at the other man's sleeve. Says something that Lucas can’t hear.

The dark haired one shoves his friend, but not so hard as to dislodge him. Light haired man might need medical attention, judging by the way he’s practically being carried by the other.

Uncaring of the way other folks may be sleeping, the dark haired one loudly asks, “So’s that the guy or what?”

Again, he can’t hear what the other one says, but he shushes his friend. They here for him? Aw hell. Shot’s gonna wake the whole damn town. Lucas cocks the hammer on his gun, keeping it in the shadows so nothing reflects off of it. Hurt or not, the light haired one could be dangerous.

“You’re fucking heavy, nosebleed,” he hears the dark haired man grunt, shifting the weight of his companion. “Like a compact Grognak.”

The men start to make their way up the ramp straight to Lucas, moving slowly. Light haired one, upon closer inspection, looks like he can barely pick up his own feet. He’s got a real weak demeanor, and it doesn’t look faked. Seems exhausted.

Still. Lucas would much rather go back inside with the kids and get to sleep, but he’s got a duty to protect this town. The two stop at the bottom of the ramp, and the weaker of the two pulls the cigarette out of his mouth, ashes with a shaking hand.

“Come on,” the more abled complains, though it sounds good-natured. “I’m fuckin’ tired man, let’s get this over with. I’ll go do it if you want.”

Simms gets rid of his own cigarette, though it’s only half smoked. What are they coming to do?

Now that they’re closer, he hears the light haired one grumble, “I got it, I got it. Quit your bitching, Butch.”

Dark hair- Butch- groans again. “I’m tired, man.”

“And you think I’m not? You’re gonna be in bed in like ten minutes. Shaddup.”

The voice is… familiar. Not in a bad way, either. Enough that he puts his gun away and calls down to them as they once again lag on the ramp, under a light this time. “What’re you here f-”

Lucas stops. The light haired one smiles up at him, looking like he’s dead on his feet, but in good spirits. “Well I’ll be damned,” Lucas mutters, getting a good look at his face under the light.

Hex's eyes glittered in the synthetic fluorescence of the bulb.Exhausted, weary in the line of his body, he still manages to look happy. "I'm here for my daughter."