Young Writers Society

Hi! So this isn't linked to any of my other stuff (plot twist) this is a quick Fallout 4 fanfic i cooked up instead of sleeping :D yay! Hopefully it makes some sense without context, but it might help if you've played the game before haha- let me know if you'd like any context and I'll put something down in the comments/ footnote 

The supply lines had been disrupted only hours before, causing the whole of Sanctuary to take arms and find the centre of the issue. The problem was certainly common, probably the fault of a submissive courier halted in their path by a hoard of radroaches, driven to the brink with nothing but a 10mm at their side. But Danse wasn’t a stranger to cowards, and was not about to start caring about them now.

The Nuka-Cola braced on the dusty island was turning lukewarm, its taste turning putrid in his mouth as he drank its last remnants down with a sour expression on his face. Certainly a better taste than irradiated water, if less beneficial for his health; something had to tide over his boredom, and his loneliness. As much as the constant bumbling noise bored down at his senses, the many people of Sanctuary were a pleasure to be around, acting as a cool balm to his still recovering mind and a way to put himself back into a true community. Nothing like the cold, unloving world I was taught to believe in. With all the liars I was told to trust. He took the brown, empty bottle back in his hands and rubbed a dried splodge of dirt from its side before tossing it over to the bin.

“Paladin Danse.”

The voice made him sick.

As per natural instinct, he stepped down from the bar stool, and with deadly speed, pulled the laser rifle from his side, aiming it straight into the face of Arthur Maxson. To his disappointment, the man didn’t even flinch, looking down the barrel of his gun with a blank expression over his tired face. Heavier bags lined his eyes, which no longer had the same fire of ambition burning within them. Perhaps even sadness dragged at the Elder’s face, perhaps… guilt.

“Why are you here, Maxson? Come to try once more at my life?” Danse’s harsh tone washed over him like some sort of tidal wave, bringing his brow into a furrow. He stepped back lightly, putting two calloused hands up to air in a silent defeat. Despite his best efforts to remain calm, his finger twitched by the trigger, begging to be let loose, to turn the man to dust in a matter of seconds.

“Please. I don’t want to hurt you, Paladin-”

Stifling a cruel laugh, Danse muttered, ”I’m not one of your little Brotherhood sons-of-bitches anymore. Don’t call me that again.”

Pain flustered over Arthur’s face, an alien expression. As much as Danse tried to banish all his pity, it rose up inside of him like an uncontrollable beast, no longer quiet nor unspoken. Despite everything, despite all the pain he had caused, for at least a moment in time, he saw the man’s regret.

No. This isn’t right; remember how he hurt you. Remember how he ruined everything you ever stood for, trampled it under his own foot.

Cursing under his breath, Danse lowered his weapon, looking upon the weary Elder in sympathy. He felt his own eyes soften, his hatred all but burnt out with the gentle pitter patter of rain outside of the house. “I’ll ask again, Arthur. Why did you come back?”

“I didn’t drag myself all the way to this hole to bring you to the Brotherhood. I hope that’s clear. But I feel that after everything I put you through… I owe you an apology. You lost everything because of blind prejudice, because of the ways vested in our codes. You lost everything because of me. And I’m sorry that it had to end this way.” Once confident, he struggled over his words, his voice choking in his throat. He felt himself shudder at the unadulterated emotion coming from such a cold-blooded killer, the façade of a soldier all but worn away. The tenseness left his muscles, every aspect of his training fading for that brief moment.

“It's alright, Arthur. I have found myself without the Brotherhood. Now I know what I truly am, synth or not, I would never choose to go back.” Danse flinched at his own comment, seething when he heard them spoken aloud.

“Danse. As Elder, as the hope of my forefathers, you were a price I had to pay to help end this war. But if there was any other way, I just wanted you to know that I would not have hesitated to pick it. I thank you for what you've done."

Straightening his back, Arthur sighed, smiling if only subtly towards him. His pride was damaged, visibly too, and his eyes were darting across the messy room, gathering the broken pieces of his shattered ego silently. "The Prydwen will leave the Commonwealth tonight. With the Institute destroyed, our plights here are done."

Shit.

He already felt the departure as a tear in his armour, hearing the rush of the airship overhead for the last time; with it left every painful memory, but also those of joy. Every thought of Cutler, and the damn sacrifices they made to keep each other safe aboard that ship Tears burnt his cheeks, betraying his ever stoic manner.

"Of course," Danse smiled, looking to the skies emptily, "that would be expected."

"I'm sorry."

A strong hand clutched around his back, freezing him solid. Before he could even react, the Elder was away from his body, now halfway across the room and half angled to leave. In a last show of bravado, Arthur thumped his closed fist against his chest, lifting his chin in his strange show of respect. Danse heard the words before they even touched his lips, the motto burned into his memory.

"Ad Victoriam, Paladin Danse."