Chapter Text
When Codsworth first meets him, he's in a straight-jacket, shock collar, and steel chains held tightly by armed guards who flinch with every small twitch.
Mum paced frantically in the kitchen undoing and redoing her blonde bun countless times.
"Mum?" He asked apprehensively; she didn't reply. Mum was a stoic and unwavering woman, one who never showed fear or timidness. He didn't know much about the patient, only that he had to be restrained around Mum. The three, fresh scars down the left of her face were testaments to that danger. He knew that Mum had done things to the man that were unethical if the phone calls she had with the man's previous doctor had any truth.
"He was supposed to be let out over 20 years ago," came the quiet static over the phone.
"The studies we undertake help save lives. Its blood is immune to disease and radiation - every vial and elixir sent to our troops protects America."
Mum returned from her work (she would never answer any questions; he never really knew what she did) one day, shaking and covered in bandages. Whatever she did, the man hated her for it. From what Codsworth gathered, he escaped his bonds and attacked her, and she survived by the skin of her teeth.
Codsworth feared that the man attacked her in more ways than one when Mum had given birth to his son. Mum assured him that, no, she wasn't raped, she had his child as part of her studies. It showed, too - she had no love for little Shaun, only interacted with him to take notes and statistics.
When the man arrived at their quaint little home, Codsworth nearly deactivated himself in anxiety.
What reason was there for the man to be so restricted, so chained and controlled? Mum had to leave the house while he was there, one of her assistants was taking her place and opening the straight jacket.
To Codsworth's horror, the man was there to meet Shaun. To say that the robot resisted would be an understatement. The armed soldiers assured him that the man could not cause any harm to the baby. If he even twitched wrong, the shock collar would go off.
Inside Shaun's room, as the man was shoved to sit on the floor and the 1-year-old was taken from his crib and handed to the man who had to be covered head-to-toe in shock collars and chains, and scars from God knows what, Codsworth felt fear on a human level.
The man stared blankly at the small bundle in his broad arms, eyes observing but never really processing. Shaun babbled and stared back, so unafraid. He climbed up his terrifying father's chest, grabbing at his crooked and scarred nose, smiling and giggling.
The man's eyes focused. And he smiled.
It was a slow, awkward, almost unnatural thing on his face, sitting so brightly amongst scars and faded tattoos. He watched his baby as Shaun seemed to recognize his dad without ever meeting him. His grin went from ear to ear, a mouth of sharp and gnarled teeth.
In the space of a few seconds, the man went from horrifying to human. His eyes were bright and aware, his face expressive and just as curious as the little boy in his arms.
Codsworth's motor fired up when the man moved his head and his jagged teeth towards Shaun. Then, the man only nuzzled instead of biting, nosing at the child's cheeks and forehead with the gentleness of a man who shouldn't have been in chains.
He hummed and made soft, gentle noises in his throat as he played with his son, sweetly peppering kisses into the thick, wavy red hair Shaun got from his father. Shaun chirped and giggled and curled up in his father's arms.
The soldiers whispered to each other, some confused, some in awe, some sympathetic of the man on the floor covered in chains while he played with his baby.
The guards stepped outside to speak with Mum's assistant, leaving only the robot to watch the man and his son.
"Well, I'm certainly glad you two get along so well, sir! A young boy needs a father, after all." Codsworth said in his usual cheery tone, attempting conversation with a man who couldn't speak. The man looked at him, and the way he looked at the metal robot was different from how he looked at the child in his lap or the soldiers who dragged him around by steel leashed. No love and affection, but not afraid or wary. He was listening, aware that the Mister Handy spoke to him, unable to reply but able to engage.
"If I must say, little Shaun is quite the handful - metaphorically, of course, I don't have hands - it is rather surprising how well-behaved he is being for you, mister...?" He didn't expect the man to give a name, but it was another attempt at treating him like a person and not an animal. Much to Codsworth's surprise, the man stopped playing with Shaun, and shakily, clumsily, attempted to sign his name. He didn't have the hand correlation to make the letters correctly, but Codsworth picks up 'Jesse.'
~~~~~~~~
When Preston meets him in the museum, where the lights show what dusk hid in shadow, he almost shoots him, thinking the rescuer is another raider.
On the way to Concord, Preston and his group heard a roar from the north-east. It's was as loud as a nuke, echoing to every corner of the 'Wealth, and it went on for ages. Whatever it was, it was angry. It wasn't a Deathclaw - not reptilian enough. Like a really ticked off dog.
It reminded Preston of Marcy's scream when Kyle...
He heard raiders screaming down below. Flesh ripping, bones cracking, trailing throughout the museum and stopping just outside the door. Preston didn't want to open the door, but he did. And fired a round at the man standing just outside of it.
"Why, I say!" A tinny voice huffed from behind the man. "Shooting your rescuer is rather impolite, you know!" An indignant Mister Handy's eye peeked out from above the man's shoulder.
It was then that Preston realized - he just shot at the guy he asked for help. "Sh*t!" He recoiled. "God, sorry, man. Thought you were one of...them..." Preston trailed off, the dimly lit room showing and concealing all the wrong things. The blood staining the man's arms up to his elbows glittered sickly, dripping down his claw-like knotty fingers onto the floor. His hollow, bony face exaggerated the sharp jaw, cheekbones, and those piercing, sunk-in eyes that didn't blink, scars that seemed to move on his skin like waves amongst faded cultic tattoos. The grey jumpsuit sealed the deal on the 'campground murderer' package.
Marcy and Jun huddled together, staring at the horror of a man. Sturges didn't seem to notice, worrying at his sore knee after Preston fired and scared the hell out of him, causing the mechanic to jump and slam it into the desk. Mama Murphy didn't care, either.
Preston cleared his throat. "Anyway, sorry, just a little jumpy. Thanks for the help, though. Glad to see someone willing to lend a hand around here, for once."
"Oh, it was no trouble, sir! It's good to see civilized, well-mannered folk for a change." The robot chirped, speaking for the man. "Oh, forgive us, we didn't introduce ourselves - I am Codsworth, and this is Mr. Jesse. And yourself?"
"Nice to meet you. Preston Garvey, Commonwealth Minuteman - the big guy at the terminal is Sturges, Mama Murphy's over there on the couch, and the other two are the Longs, Jun and Marcy. We could still use more help if you aren't too upset after I shot at you. "
"But of course! We'd be happy to assist, Mr. Garvey," Codsworth said. The serial-killer-esque guy, Jesse, just stood there, tilting his head and seemingly sizing up Preston. "But if I may trouble you with some questions; have you seen anyone with an infant recently? About 1-year-old, red hair? Mr. Jesse is looking for him, the poor thing was stolen out of his mother's arms."
Preston's winced. Kidnapping in the 'Wealth was common - it just wasn't usually kids. Any parent worth their salt would kill or be killed before anyone took their child. "Uh, no, sorry, haven't seen any baby. We'll keep an eye out if we get out of this."
"Oh, well," Codsworth sighed, "I'm sure we'll find him. Now, what is it you and your group need, Mr. Garvey?"
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The survivors of Quincy trudged through the chaos of torn limbs and bullet casing left by their new and strange ally.
It didn't take long to reach Sanctuary. Preston checked once, twice, three times that everyone was settled and safe before flipping a couch up-right and passing out for the night. Sleep had been a luxury he couldn't afford.
Speaking of luxuries, when he woke up the next morning, he pinched himself hard enough to bruise.
The dilapidated houses lining the streets looked nice. Almost prewar, frozen in time like nothing had touched them, such a far cry from the open walls and rust. A large garden down by the river glowed softly, illuminated by the rising sun. A radio beacon, water purifiers, power lines to every building.
What the utter f***?
He jumped off the couch, slipping on the ratty rug on his way out the door.
Outside, he pinched himself again - he was not complaining, it was just...how? And when? A flash of blue cover-alls in a house down the street caught his attention, and the Minutemen rushed down the swept pavement.
He body-slammed the door open, frantically looking for someone to explain the sudden changes. "Sturges? Sturges, you in here?" He called into the empty room, cleaned of litter and debris. The mechanic poked his head out from a room down the hallway.
"Morning, Garvey! Sleep well?" He beamed, seemingly oblivious to the new developments.
"Did I sleep- how long was I out? This doesn't even look like the same place!" Preston gestured to the proper wall where there was a giant gap the night before. "This house looked like a Deathclaw charged through it, and now there's a wall that's an actual wall and not sticks tied together! Have you slept? Did you spend all night working?!"
Sturges chuckled, sliding his hands in his pockets and leaning on his heels. "Yeah, looks great, right? Almost like that Covenant place down east. I woke up about...three hours ago, maybe? That guy from Concord was working on generators and getting us some clean water. But he spent most of the night fixing up the place."
"What time is it?"
"9 a.m."
"You're f***ing with me."
Sturges laughed, slinging his arm over Preston's shoulders and taking him outside. "I don't know how he did it, or where he got the resources, but this place looks great. We've got some walls and fences near the bridge, different kinds of crops growing, even have a radio beacon near that big tree up the street."
"And that guy, Jesse, did all of this in a few hours?"
"I don't think the robot did it."
"Where is he now?"
"I think he's working on turrets down by the lake."
Preston shouted a 'Later, Sturges!' over his shoulder as he ran to find Jesse.
-
Sure enough, the guy was calibrating a shiny turret. He was covered in oil, paint, blood from the night before, mud, and a plethora of substances Preston didn't even want to know about.
"Hey, Jesse!"
The speed at which he snapped his head towards Preston scared the living Jesus out of the Minutemen. Jesse didn't seem startled, though. Preston guessed he was just really jittery.
He was staring, but it wasn't in the way he did at the museum, his eyes weren't screaming 'I will eat your kidney.' He seemed almost normal.
Preston pulled the brakes on his train of thought. His mama did not raise him to think of people that way. Jesse had a few issues - issues were completely normal. That didn't mean he was dangerous or any less of a person. Hell, Preston had met 'normal' people who were messed up in ways he didn't think possible; Jesse being quiet and little too comfortable with gore was nothing to worry about.
The man in question tilted his head and frowning, noticing Preston's odd pause. The Minuteman cleared his throat. "You did all of this," He gestured to the abandoned town behind him. "in just one night?" Jesse half-shrugged. "God, we're keeping you. Y'know..." He pondered for a moment, considering the crouching man. "I know you've done more than enough, but I have another favor to ask..."