Chapter Text
The first time he saw Duncan, he hadn’t seen his face. The trekk back to the Capital Wasteland had been long and arduous, accompanying a caravan that would make its stop in Rivet City and, then, MacCready and Deacon would make their way to Big Town. Deacon had heard of Big Town while he had been in the Capital Wasteland trying to create a new life away from the UP Deathclaws, but he had never gone there himself. Owning your own place was hard enough already, and to leave it unattended gave too much room for various dangers to take its place.
Big Town, as much as he knew then at least, was this dying settlement with walls closing in on itself and the number of settlers dwindling down to what he expected to be zero. But, by the time he’d left earshot of the place, he figures that something must’ve happened because- now, walking onto the bridge making its path towards a large gate that had walled in the settlement- he saw something so alive and new. On the wall next to the gate was a guard post looking down upon the bridge, and for a brief moment a rifle had been pointed directly at the two of them, but it soon lowered in recognition.
“RJ?” Blue eyes blown wide, with the slightest twitch of the left one, and then the twitch of his cheek to follow suit. Remnants of a sort of addiction, Deacon concludes, and MacCready waves his hand in greeting. They’re clearly friends, or at least some level of close acquaintance. He remembers MacCready had mentioned being the mayor of Little Lamplight, so maybe this was one of the kids he was in charge of. “You know, I thought you were gonna come by sooner. What took you?”
“New employer,” he answered, the gates being opened and letting him in. “This isn’t him, by the way. This is… a friend.” Deacon waves, following closely behind and it was far clearer on the inside than out that Big Town had somehow been resurrected into what it is now. Down the road is a line of refurbished houses, and a campfire sat in the middle where the roads in different directions met. Signs were hung from certain doors to indicate places of interest, such as the clinic or the bar. Homes had scattered decorum, some patios featuring chairs to look outside with and others had drawings on display at the windows.
Some passersby waved hello to MacCready with a certain air of familiarity, something Deacon had noted to be quite adorable when a few even exchanged handshakes that included complicated moves or the occasional welcome back, mayor in a mocking tone to suggest that MacCready was a just ruler but equally insufferable. Some children were scattered about here and there, playing or some such, two of which with handmade slingshots firing rocks at stacks of old cans. Deacon remembers hearing that this town was the worst place to be, that it had become a death sentence more than a settlement. All he can see here is life.
MacCready came to a stop at one particular home, knocking on the door and waiting for a response. Deacon shuffled quite uncomfortably in wait, some distance from the door, and when it had opened he heard the sudden and playful oof! that came as a result. “Daddy!” Small little arms wrapped around MacCready’s legs like a vice, and then came a weary little laugh like tears were being held back. MacCready kneeled to Duncan’s level, wrapping his arms around as well, and Deacon was trying his best not to cry. He’d never seen MacCready so happy.
Later, Joseph had invited them in for dinner and a place to sleep. There was a lot that had happened in Big Town since the last Deacon had heard it's rumours; the infamous Lone Wanderer had come by here a few times before, about the same time Lamplight had been run by MacCready, and taught the prior settlers self defence. Not Joseph, nor MacCready, nor anybody that had lived in Lamplight prior knew how bad it had been here. In fact, they considered it some distant heaven, a place that adults went to live better lives. Joseph used to be a teacher there, in Lamplight. Now he teaches at the school down the end of the road, with all the knowledge he’s accrued from experience, old holotapes, recovered textbooks, and the likes.
He knew Lucy, though she didn’t live here. When MacCready had come by Big Town after leaving Lamplight, he didn’t stay long, at least not long enough to warrant his own residence. Instead, he quite liked being a bit of a wanderer, picking up odd jobs, having irregular hours. It was how he met her, on the way to the Commonwealth on Gunners orders, finding her cornered by raiders. They’d become friends soon after, and when she asked what he did for a living he’d told her he was a soldier. That gift she carved for him after making it safely to Diamond City with him was the only thing he cared about for weeks.
Occasionally they came by Big Town, for restocking on things when on the way somewhere or just to say hi to some old friends. MacCready didn’t explain much about this time of his life, but Joseph gladly supplied that MacCready had been so head-over-heels that he used having been a mayor as a point to impress her. She laughed and teased him about it to no end. It was probably about the third time they visited Big Town when MacCready had suddenly stopped visiting, and Joseph suspects it was then that MacCready was pregnant with Duncan, but never asked nor did MacCready confirm it. He only mentioned this to Deacon when MacCready had gone off with Duncan to see the bedroom the kid wanted so desperately to show off.
“I can see that look on your face,” Joseph says, finishing the rest of his beer, raising his eyebrows at Deacon. In return, the spy makes a show of pretending to look around, then pointing at himself. “Yeah, hey, don’t pretend like you’re good at hiding it. RJ tries to pretend not but he’s… like a little brother to me. And I know that look on his face too. You two are madly in love.” Joseph laughs around a cigarette, blowing smoke out the window as Deacon watches.
“What, don’t approve?” It’s said in a joking manner, because it’s clear Joseph is looking out for MacCready, but some part of Deacon feels like nobody in this town likes him. Not that anybody’s shown him reason to think so; it’s something he’s learnt to assume when anywhere new, as a Railroad agent. “Thought my charm would’ve won you over too.”
“Hey, no disrespect, you’re just not my type,” he jests, putting the cigarette out on an old ashtray balancing on the repaired windowsill. “I won’t bore you with the whole take care of him bit. I think you’ve got that down already if you’ve walked all the way here from the Commonwealth with what looks like absolutely nothing to gain.” There’s a loud squeal of joy from upstairs, followed by a more adult yell of triumph. Seems like MacCready is giving Duncan the tickle of a lifetime. “But… yeah, I think I’m just gonna say that. You probably know this already, but RJ likes to pretend he can handle the entire world and not give two shits about it.”
Boy, does Deacon know that. It’s something they’re both quite apt at, pretending that everything is fine whilst bullets whiz past at alarmingly close ranges. But they’re both always so damned terrified of it all, not just the possibility of death at all corners ( though that was a pretty big thing ) but of what they’d leave behind. Deacon has tried to convince himself to have nothing, to leave nothing, but since the Commonwealth’s newest celebrity got out of the fridge, he’s rediscovered a sort of found family he equally can’t stand and can’t be without. MacCready is one part of it.
“He’s fragile, you know? Like, real fucking sensitive. I think all of us Lamplighters grow up to be.” Yet, Joseph says it in such a way that MacCready should be considered a special case. “Don’t ever take him for granted. Alright? Because I know he’s a stubborn piece of work. The guy was a terrible kid- not like he was evil or anything. But he’s… tough to work with sometimes. Great leader, even better shot, but, you know him, right?”
That night, there’s no other room for them to stay; instead, they all cozy up in Duncan’s bed. It’s a regular twin-sized mattress, a bit big for a three-year-old but just the right size for MacCready. It’s hard to fit them all together but, once they’re all settled, it’s like slotting puzzle pieces just right to make a picture. Surrounded by various repaired toys and little crayon drawings with increasing skill level ( there’s a few stitched plushes here and there, and MacCready has called dibs on the plastic dinosaur ), Deacon has never felt more at home.
Duncan is in the middle, where it’s safest for him, and MacCready is to his left on his side, snoring something fierce. Earlier, Deacon had offered to sleep on the floor or perhaps the couch downstairs, but the comfort of a cozy bed next to the two people that mattered the most to him in the world was too good of an offer to turn down. Not to mention, MacCready had a habit of hooking their legs together, and Deacon missed that feeling on their way over here. Not many places to camp on the road to Big Town, after all.
A number of Big Town’s residents are around to say goodbye to both Duncan and MacCready- and, to some extent, Deacon- at the gate a few days later. MacCready exchanges some hugs, handshakes, and Tunnel Snakes Rule! with varying degrees of laughter ( it’s not something they seem to completely understand, but find it funny anyways; he wonders if it’s an in-joke amongst former Lamplighters or something else entirely ). Lastly, MacCready turns to a weathered thirty-something sitting in a chair, a security helmet pulled up to reveal tired eyes.
Though, something about them seems to suggest he’s gotten worse sleep than this. He shakes MacCready’s hand with a tired smile, wishing him well. “Take care of yourself, Dusty,” comes the response, and MacCready slips a small cloth bag on the nearby table, in such a way that Dusty wouldn’t be able to tell until they’re long gone. MacCready’s accrued a reputation for being hamfisted with caps, but Deacon knows more than anyone that it’s a habit born of necessity and not greed. “See you later.” Someone else might’ve heard that as a common phrase; Deacon hears a promise.
For most of the trip back to the Commonwealth, Duncan is asleep on MacCready’s back. He hasn’t healed entirely from the sickness, with lingering splotches of his skin looking more akin to bruises than they did before. An eyepatch is over one eye, presumably because it’d been swollen shut, but Joseph had mentioned that there hadn’t been any pain since the cure had been administered. Deacon can see Duncan better this way, with his face up against MacCready’s neck, blissfully unaware of the terrors lying in the cracks of the Commonwealth.
He looks a lot smaller than he’d expected; Duncan is this little three-year-old blotchy looking kid, with dark matted hair that sticks out at every odd end, tan skin ( save for the splotches that serve as remnants of his disease ), and round little cheeks. He used two hands to hold most things, and Deacon can’t tell if that’s just a thing three-year-olds do or if it’s another thing being sick has done to him. MacCready kicks a rock across the road and Duncan stirs slightly but seems to settle back into sleep.