Work Text:
When he tried to trace back the moment he knew something was wrong with him, there was the far enough third person perspective from a faint memory.
He was laying in his bed with Paul, he couldn’t remember what they were laughing about, dumb stuff probably, about a broken nose from baseball or the latest comic they got their hands on, but he just remembered looking at him.
Smiling, laughing, eyes focused on the ceiling with cheeks a faintly red.
They were kids, they were laughing, they were just laughing and he felt sick because of it.
He had stopped laughing then, the worried expression of Paul being masked by the looming presence of the person in the doorway. His father’s cold expression staring straight at him while he sat quickly on the bed.
Paul wasn’t in his memory anymore, he was cowering by the bed, hugging the corner while the figure still loomed in the door, there were no screams, no shouts, just staring, and James stared at him until the covers weren’t helping hide his trembling form, they were just to avoid acknowledging the shape that never quite left.
It didn’t, he could be in his class and whenever he stared a little bit too long at his classmates, or in the cafeteria with no one around and just his thoughts were there to linger. And the shape never left those dark corners or dim lit hallways, it was always there, always.
Despite the irony, there weren’t many dark places where it could linger in the wasteland, he learned that many things could jump out from anywhere soon, so the shapes that could occupy the spaces drowned those eyes.
That all changed when he found his father, when the Enclave came and he watched the cause of that shape crumble under the radiation.
He felt more sick after that, even in the moments of danger, of the head biting ghouls and the too close to his liking bullets aimed at his head, the thoughts lingered, and with those thoughts came the shadow.
Now he knew where the shapes hid, because they don’t change, not like the shadow that continues to linger even in bright buildings.
He hears the fizzle of eggs from the kitchen downstairs, no doubt Wadsworth’s doing, it makes his stomach grumble, a complaint he tries to ignore, a futile effort only enhanced by the groans that escaped him as he stretched his body. He needed to change that mattress somehow… somewhere there was a nice mattress that didn’t leave his back a plank made of knots and chains.
The metallic floor complaints under his weight, and the stairs just add to that symphony as he makes his way downstairs, the oily smell from the fried eggs and the whining of Dogmeat by the door when she notices his arrival.
“Morning Wadsworth, hey girl” He smiles, ruffling the head of the dog as he opens the door to let her do her business.
“Morning sir! Sunny-side up eggs with toast and a hot cup of coffee” The robot floats with his breakfast to a small table he had put on the corner, he smiles a little, sitting by the table and breathing in the warmth of the food.
The coffee looked brownish, probably caffeine mixed with milk to hide the flavor, and the bread had definitely seen better days, but he took bites anyway.
A knock on the door took his attention away from the hard to swallow breakfast, and when he went to open the door he was greeted by the taller ghoul he had come to call his companion for the past months, carrying what appeared to be bags of food as he made his way to the kitchen, Dogmeat also scurried back, jumping on the couch and just laying down.
“You’re… early” He commented, his gaze lingering as the other just looked back.
“Too early boss?” He chuckled, it was one of the few habits he didn’t enjoy about Charon, no matter how long it’d been, the other always seemed to need to justify the why of things.
It was a work in progress, but he was trying to get a mutual trust across, not only in the heat of danger.
“No no, just commenting, don’t worry” He patted the other’s back as he took the plate of breakfast and passed it back to Dogmeat when Wadsworth wasn’t looking.
“I wanted to check up on you sooner, you know, after the highway” There it was.
The memories of it were fuzzy, blurry at best and nonexistent at most, yet the slightly cut hands from the plate were a reminder of it nonetheless, and the goodnight rest after it were all he needed to know to deduce that Charon had done something to help.
There they were, thoughts, his neck alerting him of tiny little ants under his skin that danced at the feeling of something by the kitchen.
It was a bright day, a side look all it took to confirm what it was hiding by the fridge.
“The highway, yeah” he smiled, sitting by the couch and starting to pet the dog that claimed the furniture as hers “Charon I’m alright, just, bad memories”
“Memories don’t just cause that boss, you looked as if a Deathclaw was staring right at ya, and I’ve seen you stare at one right in the eyes” He was standing in front of him, the presence too big and looming for him to even look up.
“It was just a reaction, I’m fine, see? Picture of health” They didn’t have time to be discussing this, not with the enclave under their noses, not when they still needed to find the G.E.C.K, certainly not with It watching.
In these cases, he was glad for Jonas, despite his loyalty to his father the guy always had time to help him through one of these overreactions, as they both had taken to calling it.
“If it was nothing you wouldn’t have trouble explaining it to me, would it?”
Crap. Shit. The petting became faster. A little voice in his head screaming at him to just throw him out, it could’ve been so easy to do so, the rational part of his brain that agreed with that screaming voice whispered.
You aren’t in the vault anymore, a looming presence was only reserved for little spaces.
If he did however, he could be losing him, like it happened with Paul, like it happened with Amata, it would happen again and again and soon enough it would happen with Charon or Moira.
He only sat by, in silence, his ragged breathing, Dogmeat’s calming one, and the slow and well paced one of Charon the only thing keeping him grounded.
The shadow only stared back.
“...I’ll leave, I’ll be back later” No.
No he didn’t want that, he didn’t want to be left alone with it.
He grabbed the other’s hand shakely, throat tight and almost unable to properly breath.
“Stay, please” A plea, the second time he had said it in his life.
The ghouls' eyes became soft, looking back at him, he never could really read them.
Now, it felt like he knew.
“I can't explain a lot of it, I don’t know why it happens” They walk back to the couch, Dogmeat giving them space as the two took seats on opposite sides.
He tries.
He was 16 when it happened, a recurring nightmare when dreams were too blissful he was sure they would make him sick, they already did, that’s why he had them.
He was working in the cafeteria, a side job to spend less time with his father and more with Amata or whoever came to talk. It happened to be the baseball team. Paul was with them.
His jumpsuite was down, tied around his waist with only a white shirt below, he was laughing with the other’s as he sat in a booth by the corner. His eyes met him for a moment.
He dropped the plate, he wasn’t sure why, he only threw it out and excused himself to go back home, no matter the shadow that was waiting for him it was better to deal with it in his room than in the kitchen.
It wasn’t the shadow in the living room that awaited him, rather the curved figure of his father staring straight at him upon his arrival.
It was an accident.
When he’s around, everything is an accident.
You make it an accident. Sick.
He makes you sick, don’t you see?
Sick.
But he doesn’t tell Charon that last part, he doesn’t have time to tell him, he barely finishes the part when he drops the plate before the ghoul is just holding him softly and tightly like he was just a little leaf about to be blown away by a gust of wind. He stays in silence, his hands trembling as gentle circles are soothed on his back by the ghoul's fingers.
It's with a gentle press towards the other that starts making him shake even more and eventually just causes a gurgle of sobs to leave his throat. Quiet humming from a raspy voice is the only thing that tethers him to the now away from the before.
"I'm here boss" he feels his weight distributed on top of the other, lying on the other's chest, his respiration a calming wave.
His hand moves slightly up, to where the arm starts to curl around his back, and he moves one away and towards the couch, slowly lacing his fingers with the ghoul.
It was the first time he didn't felt sick.