Chapter Text
The measure of a man is what he does with power. – Plato
~
2265
The water glimmered under the low sun and lapped over withering feet. It was blissfully quiet. Noise scared the fish, his pa always said. It wasn’t easy catching the creatures, but every bite was the reward for patience. Most fish had gone extinct after the war. Those that survived looked nothing like the ones in the books. They were dull in colour with two heads and countless numbers of fins and fleshy growths. Nonetheless, when paired with an appetiser of Rad-X they made for a nutritious meal.
After hours of nothing there was at last a tug on the line. Little toes wiggled in excitement. “Pa! I’ve got one!” John exclaimed.
Patrick secured his fishing rod into a crack on the dock and scooted over to his son. “Hush boy, or you’ll lose it,” he warned.
The man waited with bated breath as his son reeled in the catch. It was a big one. When John dropped the fish to the wooden dock it flopped around pitifully before them, suffocating under the collapse of its numerous gills.
“I think you’ve got the biggest catch of the day!” Patrick congratulated as he picked up the scaly creature and pulled the makeshift lure from one of its mouths.
“Yes!” John fist pumped the air. “I can’t wait to show ma. And Guy is gonna be so jealous.”
“Now, now, John. That’s not the attitude.”
Patrick dropped the fish into the bucket with the other two. Its mouths opened and closed frantically and it squirmed desperately over the fleshy bodies of its brothers.
-
“If I hear you’ve been throwing tatos at Old Man Gibbard’s brahmin again, you’ll be grounded,” Patrick warned.
“I told you. It was Adam’s idea.” The taller, rounder brother rolled his eyes.
John poked at the mashed gourd on his plate. The boy was just tall enough for his head to see over the table. He glanced across the table at Guy, who sat with a stern look across his face.
“I don’t care whose idea it was. First thing tomorrow you’re marching right over there to clean up and apologise.”
Guy groaned in protest. John sniggered at the reprimanding, earning him a dirty look from his brother.
“Knock it off, John,” Martha scolded quietly.
“Yes, ma.” When Martha looked away he poked his tongue out at Guy.
His older brother glanced at their parents to ensure neither was watching before flipping the bird in response. The boys continued to pull faces at each other until their father noticed the quiet commotion and called an end to it.
John broke away a piece of flesh from the day’s catch. The meat was tough. Not as tough as brahmin or radstag, but according to the books, fish from before the war was soft and succulent. Still, the reward was delicious. Even more so because it was bigger than any fish Guy had ever caught.
--
2266
“You’re such a little tato boy!” Guy teased.
“Tato booyyy!” His burly friend echoed, tightening the headlock.
John struggled to break free from Adam’s grasp. His hands clutched desperately at the larger boy’s arm; he could feel the pressure increasing over his jugular, transferring into his eyes and ears. Any tighter and he would surely pass out.
“Nghh!” Bare feet flashed into view. Dust spread as he kicked and squirmed.
“Fucking hold still you little mole rat,” Adam hissed as he wrestled to keep the smaller boy in position.
A hand grabbed at the collar of his sticky, wet shirt, letting a rush of cold air run down his back. The gust lasted only a moment when it was promptly replaced by something warm and soft. Guy and Adam laughed in unison at the younger brother’s unfortunate position. He struggled some more and felt the heavy blow of his brother’s hand strike his back. Warm sludge spread out across his skin. The smell of another rotten tato made his stomach turn.
“Stopp!” John choked out.
His eyes opened long enough to catch a glimpse of a blackened tato coming at him. The rotten pulp invaded his mouth and nostrils. Lips pursed, John struggled harder under the feeling of Guy’s hand smearing the putrid muck across his face.
Then, it stopped.
“Let him go,” Guy said. “I’m bored. He’s boring.”
Adam’s grip loosened. There was a rush of blood to the head. John stumbled to the ground, wiping the black and brown sludge from his face. Flecks of rotten tato sprayed from his nostrils as he coughed and spluttered. He could hear Adam laughing above him, but Guy remained in his sudden and silent boredom.
“C’mon, let’s get out of here,” Guy told Adam. “See you at home, tato boy.” He shoved at his brother’s head before leaving.
John remained on the ground wiping the chunks from his face and flicking more out from under his shirt. The stench of organic rot permeated his skin. Last time he had been ganged up on and smeared in rotten tatos it took three days for the smell to dissipate.
When he was satisfied that his body was free from most of the larger pieces, John got up and trudged the short way home. As the shack came into view, John scouted the surroundings for any sign of his mother. There was nobody to be seen. He made a dash towards the river, stripping off his soiled clothing and submerging himself in the cold water. Fingers scrubbed frantically through his shaggy blonde locks, rubbed at his face and shoulders in a desperate attempt to remove the stench.
“John?!” Behind him rang his mother’s voice. “John get out of the river. What is going on?!”
He turned around to find Martha holding up his spoilt shirt. Hand on hip she waited for her son with a stern look on her face.
--
2267
John picked at his nails. His heart raced in his chest as low level anxiety simmered in the pit of his gut. Inside the shack it was deathly quiet; a stark contrast to the gunfire and screaming that echoed beyond the trees. Guy’s shoulder brushed against his as the older brother twirled a combat knife between dexterous fingers. John watched the silhouette of the knife as it danced across his brother’s hand, the blade occasionally catching the moonlight peeking through the crack in the curtain.
“Are you ever gonna to show me how to do that?” John asked in a hushed voice. The boy reached the sensitive skin under his thumb nail and moved on to picking at the next.
Guy stopped his trick and shifted himself to face John. “Hold it between your thumb and forefinger-”
“Hold on I can’t see,” John whined squinting through the dark.
His older brother let out a feigned sigh. “Here.” He shoved the handle into John’s hands. It felt warm and heavy in his little grasp. “Hold it-”
“Guy!” Martha interrupted with a hiss from across the room. “Don’t teach your brother to play with knives. And especially in the dark!”
“But I’m so bored. Why can’t I be out there with pa?”
In the dark John could make out the figure of their mother as she sat facing the door, double-barrelled shotgun poised across her lap. She remained silent, ready to defend against yet another raider attack. Outside the fighting continued. More gunshots. More screaming. A cackle of manic laughter. Some cussing and threats.
John felt the knife slide from his hand as Guy took his prized possession back. It would remain another trick for another day. Shadows danced over the walls as the quiet between them slipped by. He continued picking at his nails while Guy resumed his enviable knife tricks. The dull boom of a grenade erupted in the distance causing John to jump a little. The boy was met by the comforting arm of his older brother.
-
The old woman, although her behaviour was so kind, was a wicked witch, who lay in wait for children, and had built the little house on purpose to entice them.
“John, dear, come inside please.”
Martha’s voice jolted his focus from the book. He sighed. The return to the real world brought with it the smell of burnt tato crops from the previous night’s assault. He tucked the scrappy bookmark between decaying pages and slammed the book shut. The fate of the story’s siblings would have to wait. John clambered off the shack steps and into the family home where his parents were waiting. He took a seat on the old couch beside his brother.
“Boys, your mother and I have been talking,” Patrick started. “We’ve made the decision to move to Diamond City.”
Martha fidgeted with the scrappy tea towel in her hands.
“Finally!” Guy fist pumped. “Somewhere good!”
“What?!” John exclaimed. “But I don’t want to move.”
Guy jabbed him with his elbow. “Nobody cares what you think, mole rat.”
“Now, now boys.” Patrick gestured for his sons to settle down. “We understand it’s a big change. But we’ve been considering this for a few weeks now. After last night we’ve decided it’s the best thing to do.”
“Tatos grow back!” John protested.
“It’s not about the crops, John,” his mother replied with a sigh. “We just want you boys to be safe. Your father and I will find work. You two will go to school. There are better opportunities for you both.”
“But I like it here! Why can’t you just fight back?!”
Beside him, Guy groaned and rolled his eyes.
“It’s not as simple as that, John. You’ll understand when you’re older.” Martha continued to twist and fidget with the towel.
John’s heart sank.