Megaton always smelled of iron and dust, but after a week on the road, it felt like home. The walls of rusted sheet metal loomed, the watchtowers hummed with the mutter of rifles, and Ash felt the knot in his chest loosen as he passed through the gate.
Crow clapped him on the shoulder. "Good work, kid. You've got a place with my caravans anytime. Don't squander that."
Ash only nodded, pulling the brim of his new hat low. He turned down the familiar path toward Craterside Supply.
The bell over the door jingled.
Moira Brown's voice carried from behind the counter, bright as always. "Welcome to Craterside Supply, where every hazard's just an opportunity! What can I—"
She looked up.
Ash stood in the doorway, coat long and dark, hat shadowing his eyes. Dust from the road clung to him, but the revolvers on his hips gleamed clean, polished, deliberate. He looked older than when he left — not in years, but in weight.
For a moment, Moira forgot her practiced smile. Her words caught. "...Ash?"
He tipped the brim of his hat in a mock salute. "Back from the road. Still breathing."
Moira blinked, then rushed out from behind the counter. "You—look at you! You look like—like some kind of drifter out of an old story!"
Ash smirked faintly. "Maybe I am."
She circled him, tugging at the coat sleeve, brushing dust off the brim of his hat. "This is new. And those guns—did you use them? Did you—?"
Ash's gaze flicked toward the revolvers, then back to her. "Yeah." His voice was quiet. "I used them."
Moira paused, her smile faltering at the weight in his tone. But then she brightened again, as if refusing to let the shadow linger. "Well! You came back, and that means you'll live to use them again. And you're going to tell me everything about Rivet City."
Ash chuckled low, shaking his head. "One story at a time, Moira. One story at a time."