Chapter Text
From the very beginning, when you could barely walk or talk, you’d been taught to fear the dangers lurking on the surface above Vault 101. The ruins of the world were riddled with an encyclopedia’s worth of horrors, such as radiation-borne diseases, mutated animals, and other sorts of monsters — some of them all too human, just like yourself.
It had all been terrifying to think about as an infant, but as you grew older, curiosity and doubt began to override your fear. Everything was speculation, as far as you were concerned. Sure, you’d been shown your fair share of informational holotapes made by Vault-Tec, but there was never any footage of the wasteland itself. The radroaches that occasionally snuck into the vault were the only real proof you had, but those were easy enough to deal with, more of a pest than an actual nightmare.
Your father never gave in to that hysteria like the rest, instead proving himself to be a more rational, albeit brutally honest, teacher. He was a scientist, after all, even if he worked as a physician, mostly tending to small wounds and aching molars. There were some doubts he himself had planted in your mind, little offhand comments here and there you overheard him sharing with Jonas, but they didn’t always concern the outside world.
Your inquisitive nature often got you into trouble, especially with the Overseer, who didn’t like your habit of asking too many questions that were none of your concern. He was always cordial to your father, but he was never very good at hiding his contempt for you. He didn’t want you influencing his daughter, but despite his numerous protests, she still insisted on being your friend – The only close one you had. For her sake, he eventually refrained from saying anything, but his glares in your direction were always scathing. If your father wasn’t willing to do anything about your meddling, well… He would have to take matters into his own hands, eventually.
And so came the day that a frantic Amata shook you awake, the shrieking security alarms piercing your eardrums. At her wide-eyed, panicked look, dread immediately ran through you in a flash of hot and cold. Your head spun from the remaining dregs of abruptly interrupted unconsciousness, but you sprang out of bed like there was a fire that needed to be put out. It wouldn’t be the first time someone accidentally started one, but you couldn’t understand why you’d have to be the one to take care of it.
But before you could even ask…
“Your dad is gone,” Amata said, tightly gripping your shoulders so you’d understand the severity of the situation. “My father’s men are looking for you. You have to go before they find you.”
“Wait, what? Where did he–” You started to ask, but she cut you off.
“He left the vault.” Her hands slid down your arms to grasp your own, her eyes brimming with tears. “And–and they killed Jonas. I thought they were going to question him, but then they just started beating him and wouldn’t stop… Oh, God. You need to get out of here, I can’t let them get you, too.”
The initial confusion you felt devolved into a whirlpool of emotions you had no time to dissect. Had your father really just up and left you like that? With no word or warning? No, that wasn’t his style… Something clearly wasn’t right.
You didn’t want to make any direct accusations, but you couldn’t help but suspect Alphonse had been the one to finally chase him out. It would explain why Jonas had also been taken care of, to ensure the trail wouldn’t lead back to the Overseer, but you knew Amata would only jump to her father’s defense if you brought up your suspicions.
Numbly, you nodded once in understanding and took the pistol she offered before enveloping her in a tight hug. Whatever came next, you weren’t sure you would ever see her again. The heartbreak from that would probably come to haunt you later, but your eyes were dry when you disentangled yourself from her.
Only one thing was clear: you had to go after your father. There was no other choice, death hovering at the threshold either way. You figured if you were about to face it, you’d rather it be out in the open, where the monsters would look nothing like the people you’d grown up with.
“Promise me something,” you said, squeezing her fingers as you swallowed hard. “Don’t let them get away with it. Don’t let him get away with it. Jonas didn’t deserve any of that.”
“I-I promise,” she said, squeezing your fingers in return. “Come on, there’s an emergency tunnel in my father’s office you can use. Nobody else knows about it, so you should be safe once we make it there.”
The two of you snuck through the corridors like thieves in the night, killing any radroaches you encountered and skirting around security guards who didn’t hesitate to shoot on sight. You had no choice but to shoot back, even if your stomach lurched every time a bullet hit its mark. The extent of Amata’s rebellion ended just as soon as she picked the lock to let you into her father’s office, and she embraced you once again, tighter than before. You wiped her tears away, and she kissed your cheek, but neither of you was actually able to say goodbye.
You were left to your own devices, and after hacking the Overseer’s terminal, a descending spiral staircase appeared underneath his desk. You thought it would be much harder, leaving the only home you had ever known, but when you got through the tunnel and finally saw the sunlight and the barren, desolate world unfurling before you, you felt a thrill like never before. No one from the vault would pursue you out there, of that you were sure, and while it was a comforting thought, it was also a little disheartening. In the end, you supposed the Overseer had gotten everything he wanted.
You swallowed down those bitter feelings for the time being and braced yourself for any possible attacks instead. Looking around, you spotted a ramshackle – though surprisingly ingeniously built – settlement in the distance. It seemed as good a place as any to start your search, but the thought of all the territory you still had to explore beyond it was both daunting and exciting.
One thing at a time, you told yourself with a sigh. Gotta stay alive first.
——————————
If there was one thing the Capital Wasteland had taught you so far, it was to never share too much information. Clearly, everyone could tell you were a vault dweller, what with your armored jumpsuit sporting the number 101 on the back like a target. It was immediately assumed that you were naïve and clueless as a baby mole rat, which wasn’t entirely untrue, but you were not stupid by any means. Well, most of the time, at least.
Despite a few weeks passing, the search for your father was slow going. You had to be more selective about who you asked questions to, since most people you encountered were either trying to kill you or too preoccupied with their own issues to be of much help. You, in turn, had taken it upon yourself to help the latter, at least to the best of your abilities. You’d even managed to get a small house in Megaton in return for your skills, which cemented your status as a surface dweller in your mind.
A part of you could also not deny that you were angry at your father for basically abandoning you. It was very possible that he was in trouble and it had all been involuntary, but that didn’t mean it hadn’t felt like a betrayal, to a degree. Shame often accompanied your anger, but it was not enough for you to hasten your mission to find him. There was still so much to see and experience, and you selfishly did not want to give any of that up yet.
Especially not after meeting your faithful, four-legged companion, Dogmeat. You’d found the mutt in an old scrapyard fighting off some pestering raiders, and the two of you immediately bonded over a mutual loneliness. His company had quickly become a comfort you couldn’t fathom parting with. He had been with you through some of the worst parts of traveling through the city’s ruins, always spotting trouble before you arrived to meet it, together.
And if for some insane, improbable reason, you were forced to return to the vault with your father, you wouldn’t be able to take him with you. It wasn’t really a risk you were willing to take, however guilty it sometimes made you feel.
Presently, Dogmeat was busy sniffing out a large, dusty statue of a woolly, tusked creature you’d never heard of before. You were in the remnants of the old history museum, which was said to house Underworld, a small settlement of ghouls. Your curiosity had been piqued when Gob, the bartender at Megaton, had told you it was once his home. It certainly hadn’t been easy to find, but that made it all the more gratifying to stand in its cavernous main hall.
Your eyes were trained on the giant skull guarding the doorway to Underworld, its empty eye sockets staring back at you. You weren’t necessarily afraid of proceeding, but you were definitely a little nervous. Gob was the only ghoul you had met so far, and he was always friendly since you hadn’t immediately cursed his very existence. Even if you were still getting used to his kind, you didn’t feel any aversion towards them, as most other people did. You suspected ghouls would be just as wary about any strange human, but you hoped they wouldn’t be downright hostile to you.
With one long, fortifying breath, you nodded with determination. The echo of your sharp whistle bounced off the walls, and Dogmeat quickly skittered back towards you, tongue lolling.
“Come on, boy, we’re almost there,” you said, giving him an affectionate scratch between the ears. “Maybe we can find somewhere decent to bunk for the night, hmm?”
He barked excitedly in response, making you chuckle. He fearlessly bounded ahead of you, leading you through the double doors into a darker hall. A few stragglers took notice of you immediately, stopping in their steps to stare with both curiosity and apprehension. You smiled kindly any time you met someone’s eye, but they all seemed too shocked to return the gesture. Some scurried away while others continued to gawp, and you took it as a sign to keep it moving.
There were two sets of stairs leading upwards, but before you could decide on one, Dogmeat began to climb the one on the left-hand side. You followed behind him, jogging a little to keep up as he excitedly ran over to a room at the end of the hall. Pre-war music faintly drifted towards you, growing louder and clearer as you drew closer.
You read the sign outside before slipping past the doorway — The Ninth Circle. A bar, by the looks of it, slightly nicer aesthetically than Moriarty’s, but with a less inviting energy. Perhaps it was the leer of the man behind the bar, or the tense, low conversations of the patrons. Dogmeat skidded to a halt, attracting the attention of a few of them, and you hissed a little reprimand for his hastiness. The last thing you’d wanted was to cause a scene.
You noticed a small movement from the corner of your eye, and you turned to see the tallest, broadest ghoul you had ever seen. Not that you had ever seen a regular human of his size either, but his appearance was undoubtedly more intimidating. His icy blue glare was directed at Dogmeat, assessing how much of a threat he might be. You placed a hand on your companion’s head as both a subtle mark of ownership and a placating gesture.
The ghoul’s eyes flicked up to you, his expression remaining impassive, and then looked away, dismissing the two of you as a mere nuisance.
“Welcome, smoothskin,” the bartender called, an easy confidence in his drawl. “Don’t let Charon there scare you. We just don’t see new, pretty faces like yours all that often. Though you might want to keep an eye on your dog while you’re around here.”
You looked over at him — A wheezing ghoul in a worn-out suit that was probably meant to make him look suave. His crooked, seemingly friendly smile had an edge of sliminess to it as he leaned against the bar. You immediately had an uneasy feeling about him, but since you didn’t want to be impolite, you approached.
“This is Dogmeat,” you said, gesturing at him, and subsequently introducing yourself. “What’s your name?”
“Ahzrukhal, at your service,” he said, grin widening. “Tell me, what brings an unmarred young lady like yourself to Underworld?”
You shrugged, figuring the truth was vague enough to tell him. “Just passing through. Seeing the sights, you know.”
He chuckled indulgently. “Well, it’s not exactly the prettiest vacation spot around here. But while we have you, how about you celebrate with a drink?”
“Um, sure…” You said, glancing at the unmarked bottles behind him. “What do you have?”
“For you? Hmm…” He pretended to think about it for a moment, his face lighting up conspiratorially. “Ah, I know. I’ve got some quality moonshine reserved for the most special customers. Top shelf stuff, I’m telling you, imported all the way from Point Lookout. I don’t just dole it out willy-nilly.”
You nodded, smiling as eagerly as you could. You expected him to make a move to pour some for you, but instead, he stared at you expectantly. Your smile wavered uncertainly. Then you understood — he never mentioned the drink being on the house. Heat crept to your cheeks as you took out a handful of caps from a hidden pouch on your belt, sheepishly offering them to him.
“Is this enough?” You asked.
This time, he outright laughed, joined by a few others who had been eavesdropping, making you flush with embarrassment. You still weren’t very good at gauging the prices of things in the wasteland, and you strongly suspected he was the kind to take advantage of that. After all, he’d deliberately withheld the price of his top-shelf stuff.
Ahzrukhal clocked your frown and the subtle movement to put your caps away. He cleared his throat and immediately switched gears to placate you.
“Oh, don’t get all upset, smoothie. I didn’t mean to offend you,” he said, setting a cup and a large jug of clear liquid on the counter. “You’re just a breath of fresh air is all. Tell you what, that’s enough for two drinks. Something tells me that’ll be enough for you.”
Again, he wasn’t wrong there, but you couldn’t help being stubborn. “So now you’re saying I’m a lightweight, too?”
“Oh, ho,” he chuckled again, raising his hands in surrender. “We’ll see if you can prove me wrong.”
With a small, imperious-sounding huff, you handed over the caps and slid onto a high stool. You took the glass he pushed your way and sniffed it, immediately wincing as it burned your nostrils. Was that gasoline? Already, you wanted to gag. You’d had much milder stuff like beer and wine back in the vault – even some vodka that one time Butch stole a half-empty bottle from his mother’s stash to share with you – but never anything that reminded you of literal motor oil.
You glanced uncertainly at Ahzrukhal, and you swore that if he had eyebrows, they would be raised in amusement. You really couldn’t back out now. Well, here goes nothing.
Holding your breath, you brought the smudged glass to your lips and tipped your head back. Your first mistake was to try to swallow it all in one go, your throat immediately protesting at the intense burn. You tried desperately not to cough, accidentally spilling some of it down your chin. When you finally got it down, your body momentarily tried to rebel against you, saliva alarmingly pooling in your mouth. But miraculously enough — and with a few deep breaths — it stayed in your stomach.
“Holy shit,” you rasped, covering your mouth at the unintended expletive.
Ahzrukhal and the surrounding patrons roared with laughter, louder than before. The drink had an almost immediate numbing effect on any sort of shame you might’ve felt. Instead, you found yourself grinning lopsidedly at their amusement, feeling a little more accepted. Warmth slowly spread to the tips of your fingers and toes, your muscles relaxing. Beside you, Dogmeat flopped onto the floor, panting anxiously at all the commotion.
“I’m sorry, but that was… that was just awful,” you said, wrinkling your nose.
“Hey, I never said it tasted good, but it does the job, doesn’t it?” He said, refilling your glass. “And don’t forget you’ve got a second one right here.”
“Ugh, I don’t know if I can…” You stuck out your tongue in disgust, crossing your arms over your chest and turning your face away petulantly.
“So you’re going to decline my generosity, huh? You should know there are no refunds.”
You thought about it for a moment, pursing your lips in both annoyance and what you could tell was an incoming bout of stupid bravery. You caught the eye of one or two patrons who smiled encouragingly, perhaps wanting more of a show from you. At that moment, though, you didn’t really care — Screw it! You were already there, weren’t you? You might as well make the most of it.
You slowly uncrossed your arms, acquiescing, a treacherous smile tugging at your lips. In his corner, out of your notice, Charon grimaced.
“Alright, but I’m going to be drinking this much slower,” you said, taking the glass.
“Now that’s the spirit,” Ahzrukhal said, slapping the counter approvingly. “You know, maybe you will prove me wrong after all…”
But you, in fact, did not prove him wrong.
Even if you tried sipping it over the course of another hour, the moonshine was so strong you soon felt as though strong waves rocked your body to and fro. You tried singing along to a Pre-War song you recognized on the radio, getting reprimanded by Ahzrukhal for fiddling with it in the process. One of the patrons even tried to get you up to dance, but everything immediately started spinning, so you just slumped back down on your seat.
At one point, when you got warm enough, you unzipped your vault suit a little, revealing clavicles and the beginning of your sternum, and Charon did not miss the lascivious look in his employer’s eyes. His own gaze strayed momentarily, but he looked away just as quickly when Ahzrukhal glanced in his direction. Smoothskins were such a rare sight for him, he couldn’t help but be curious, especially when you were clearly so different from most of the surface dwellers he had to deal with in his rare runs to Northwest Seneca station.
He noticed you sneaking a few glances at him, just as curious, but he didn’t meet your eye once. Already, he knew Ahzrukhal would use it to get under his skin later, and he didn’t want to give him even more to go off of. It wasn’t like he wasn’t already aware of everything he couldn’t have, so he didn’t need the constant reminders.
Once your second glass was empty, you tried to reach down to pet Dogmeat and nearly fell out of your stool, causing you to laugh uproariously as he scrambled out of the way just in case. That was enough of an indication to Ahzrukhal that you were done for the night. The last thing he needed was a smoothskin passed out in her own vomit in some corner of his bar, driving out the rest of the clientele.
“Go on, Charon, be a gentleman for once in your life and escort this young lady to Carol’s. Make sure she gets to her room safely,” he instructed, entirely too amused.
“Wait, I don’t have a room,” you said with a gasp, mentally berating yourself for not having explored more before getting piss drunk.
“Then make sure she gets one, with her own caps. And get her some water, won’t you? I don’t want Carol complaining to me tomorrow.”
Charon grimaced but nodded, pushing off the wall and making his way towards you. With an urging grunt, he grabbed your arm and started to pull you out of the bar. You stumbled after him, Dogmeat at your heels, both of you trying to keep up with his long strides.
“Whoa, hold on there, the floor’s… moving? Do you feel it, too?” You slurred, glancing up at him with confusion.
“Keep going,” he said, unmoved.
His grip on your arm tightened as he shoved you past the doorway, with absolutely no tact at all. Was this supposed to be him being a gentleman? If so, then you wouldn’t want to imagine how he behaved normally.
“I’m going, I’m going, j-just slow down!” You squeaked, but he didn’t listen, trudging along to the other end of the hall.
Another expletive escaped you as you stumbled over a large piece of debris, collapsing against his side. Charon lost what little patience he had at your swaying about, so he wrapped a strong arm around your midsection and threw you over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. You yelped, momentarily disoriented, legs kicking in the air. Then you giggled nervously as Dogmeat barked, jumping behind Charon’s back, trying to reach you.
“It’s okay, boy, we’re just going to sleep,” you said reassuringly, waving him down.
“Stop squirming,” Charon snapped.
“Sorry,” you mumbled, letting your body go slack.
His grip adjusted to hold your thighs down, a low, warning growl in his throat. One of his hands gripped high up the meaty part of your thigh, the tips of his fingers dangerously close to the curve of your ass. The small, innocuous contact stirred warmth low in your belly, but in your drunken confusion, you didn’t think too much about what it meant.
Carol blinked at the two of you as Charon walked into her small establishment, her eyes wide. It wasn’t every day that she saw him outside of the Ninth Circle, much less carrying a drunken human girl. Well, truth be told, he was never near any sort of girl, but that was another matter entirely. For a moment, she wondered if she was having a strange dream.
“Ahzrukhal told me to get the smoothskin a place to sleep,” Charon said, not bothering to waste time with a greeting.
“Oh dear, er, it’ll be one hundred and twenty caps for a bed in a secluded corner,” Carol said, trying to snap out of her shock.
“Um, I can pay if you put me down,” you said, tapping his shoulder.
“No, just give me the caps,” he said, making you scoff.
His grip loosened infinitesimally, and you clumsily fumbled for your pouch, shifting your hips in the process. He grumbled impatiently as you twisted to place the pouch on his free hand, and you groaned as you slumped against his back once more, head spinning. Hopefully, you weren’t drooling all over his armor.
“Why did Ahzrukhal do this to the poor thing? Her kind can’t drink like us, that’s for sure,” Carol said.
“He does as he likes.” Charon shrugged. “Get her some water, too.”
Carol clicked her tongue in disapproval, watching him count the caps before handing her the required amount. She grabbed a bottle of water and led him to the far corner of the large room, where a makeshift screen made out of scraps offered a semblance of privacy. She hovered for a moment, waiting to see if anything else was needed, but Charon grunted, glancing dismissively at her.
As she reluctantly took her leave, he dropped you on the thin mattress, knocking the breath out of your lungs. You winced, face pinching as Dogmeat started licking your nose.
“Jesus. Thanks for the free concussion…” You wheezed, clasping Dogmeat’s face between your hands to keep him at bay. “I don’t remember knocking me out being part of your instructions.”
Charon ignored you, opening the bottle of water and crouching next to you. He reached down to pull you up into a half-sitting position, one large hand cupping the back of your neck as he brought it to your lips.
“Drink,” he ordered.
You stared at him, doe-eyed. His heavily scarred face, now much closer to yours, was as impassive as ever. His unnaturally bright blue eyes were the only thing you could focus on, as well as his firm, dominating grip that kept you in place. It wasn’t until he insistently pressed the mouth of the bottle against your lips that you remembered what you were supposed to do.
You took small sips as he tipped it, making sure you drank at least half of it. Then, as suddenly as he’d grabbed you, he let go of you, tossing your pouch beside the mattress. You fell back, head rolling to one side so you could keep looking at him as he straightened to his full, imposing height. There was something about the angle that made your imagination trail down a darker, headier path, intensifying the heat beneath your navel.
Somewhere at the back of your head, the voice of reason reminded you to behave yourself, though shame hadn’t caught up with you yet.
You swallowed hard, opening your mouth to thank him for getting you there, but he spun on his heel and stalked away before you could form the words. So strange. You couldn’t get a read on him at all, other than his obvious temper.
He was not one for conversation — or propriety, for that matter — that much was clear, but you didn’t think you were the worst drunk he’d ever had to deal with. Maybe he’d just had a bad day? Not that it gave him the right to take it out on you…
I’m gonna cut you off right there, the voice of reason spoke again, though much fainter, leaving the warmth to linger pleasantly.
It was hard to keep your eyes open, your thoughts quickly losing coherency. It was no use to keep trying to ponder over it when you’d have enough time to figure out what his deal was in the morning. In the meantime, you slipped into a heavy, dreamless sleep as Dogmeat curled up against your side.