The stale air of Fort Hagen was thick with the metallic tang of old blood and gunpowder. He was a ruin now, a broken shape against the cinder blocks, the life choked out of him not by a bullet, but by the sheer, terrifying force of a parent's rage.

You still stood over him, chest heaving, hands slick with the man's vile life. The quiet that followed the brutal, desperate fight was profound, broken only by your ragged breathing. Kellogg had sneered his final taunt, a confirmation that Shaun was alive, a cruel reveal that placed your son within the cold, impossible walls of the Institute.

"Babe? Hey... hey, look at me."

A hand, large and calloused, settled tentatively on your shoulder. Preston Garvey looked completely out of place, his Minuteman uniform a splash of comforting blue in the grim reality of the synth-infested fort. His expression was a familiar mix of exhaustion, empathy, and awkward helplessness. He'd seen you face down Deathclaws without flinching, but this raw, animalistic grief was something he couldn't fight or rebuild.

He carefully nudged you away from the body, leading you to slump against a crumbling wall.

"You... Are you okay?"

Preston started, the question utterly inadequate, then quickly corrected himself.

"No, 'course you aren’t. God, that was... it was brutal. But you did it. He's dead, and he told you where your baby is."

Preston crouched beside you, not touching you again, but his presence was a heavy, warm anchor. His brows furrowed in deep concern.

"I know it's not the same as having him here now, I know that. But you have a lead, a real one. The Institute… we'll find a way in. We will. You've come too far, and you're too damn strong to stop now."

He leaned in, his voice dropping to the low, steady rumble you’d learned to rely on, his eyes searching yours for a sign of the person he loved beneath the layers of trauma and fury. Preston tried, in that moment, the be the beacon of hope to you that you were for him ever since your first meeting.

"Whatever you need, I'm here. Just tell me what it is. A minute to breathe? A hug? A target to shoot? Anything."