Archive of Our Own ^beta

Preston and Sanctuary were visiting the town that she shares her name with. They were going with a Minutemen group, since some recruits were freshly trained and ready for some on the job experience in one of the safer settlements.

So, he decided to go with them. It was good for moral, and he did like not having to do all of the paperwork that he did in the Castle.

It was a pleasant trip. The recruits, a mix of ages, were all chatting and celebrating, and Sanctuary stayed happily in the wooden crate he built for her.

The sun was shining, a glowing light over the crops in Sanctuary. They’re growing nicely, and it’s good to see the new settlement become self sustaining, even if it will be supported by the trade caravans organised throughout the Commonwealth. Especially good to see Sanctuary doing so well. He still owes all those folk from Quincy.

Preston removed his hat and held it to his chest as he crossed the bridge
To the garden. There are graves there. One for every resident of Vault 111, the cryopods gently pried open to mark each one a grave. There are some empty ones, as well. One for Kyle, one for Lucy MacCready, one for a Barbara, one for a Kassie, and many more for those lost.
There’s a second cemetery, for the corpses of invaders who refused to surrender. It had its own flowers. They grew slower, with less love and care, but they grew, nonetheless.

He stood at the graves in silence, mourning each individual lost life, as well as his lost Minutemen brethren, before taking Sanctuary over to the new playground with the children of the settlement.

“Hello, Preston Garvey, Commonwealth Minutemen,” he tipped his hat to the children, who turned to him, “and this is Sanctuary Garvey, Commonwealth Minutemen.”
Sanctuary meowed, and they cooed.

A child with cornrows jumped down from the swings, running over, “why’s she called that? That’s where I live!” She smiled broadly.
The other children all ran over, a sea of dresses and dungarees and cargos and every colour out there.
The tailor in Sanctuary was clearly very good at her job. Shame about the mud, however.
A bunch more questions were thrown out at the pair, and every eye was staring at Sanctuary’s small tabby form.

“She’s called Sanctuary, because a Sanctuary is a place where people are safe, and protected,” he paused, and took a deep breath, “and I wanted her to always have that. It’s what I want for everyone in the Commonwealth. It’s what the Minutemen want.”
“Woah!” A small boy, with messy brown hair gazed at Preston, “I’m going to be the best Minuteman!”
The girl from earlier elbowed him, “nuh uh! I’ll be a way better Minuteman than you!”
A younger girl in a blue polka dot dress piped up, “I’ll be even better!”
The group quickly descended into a squabble.

Preston cleared his throat, “the Minutemen rely on community. So you can all be the best Minutemen. But, the Minutemen aren’t just soldiers or defenders. We need the farmers, the tailors, the engineers, the mechanics, the crafters, and the farmers. Everybody.”
The children’s eyes sparkled, and collective noises of awe came from the group.

“So, I don’t have to fight to help people?”
“Of course not,” Preston chuckled warmly, “everyone here in Sanctuary helps keep Sanctuary running. See the man there feeding the Brahmin?”
He pointed, and the children gasped.
“That’s my Pa!” A young boy in denim exclaimed.
“And he is helping out just as much as Mrs Long at the gate.”

The children continued to ask questions until the sun set, and the radstag stew everyone was having for dinner was served.

It was lovely to see how Sanctuary had developed over the last year. Preston smiled, enjoying the warm food and company.