christopher turns the tables on butch since i've been thinking about them today. postgame events, i'm not proofreading anything and i'm going to bed !
âHow much farther?â Butch groaned, comically stomping his feet as if they weighed a hundred pounds. No one was laughing. The dog took the lead in this trek across the wasteland, Christopher and his ghoul bodyguard staying close by, while Butch dragged behind. âWatching the flankâ he called it. Christopher had insisted they stay off the roads, less likely to run into raiders, heâd said, wanting to keep his delivery safe. Butch assumed it was actually just to make his life harder, specifically.
âNo one asked you to come.â Christopher said curtly.
âHey, numbnuts, take those plugs outta your ears. I said how much farther.â
Without looking at Butch or his Pip-Boy, Christopher responded flatly, âthirty-six miles,â which elicited an even louder groan from Butch, who turned his attention back to where he was stepping, the terrain felt like it was becoming rockier by the second, and Butch still wasnât as used to it as Christopher seemed to be. He came to a sudden stop after bumping into the Great Wall of Charon, whom he expected a nasty look from, but the ghoul had his gun trained on something.
The dog, Christopher, and Charon formed a bit of a loose circle around a man, standing in a dip in the rocks.
âOh, itâs youâŚâ The man grinned cheekily at Christopher, barely raising his hands above his shoulders. âI ainât looking for any trouble today, hero.â
Itâs just one guy, who gives a shit? Butch thought, though the man was heavily armed, he was also majorly outnumbered, unless he had friends hiding in wait. Even more of a reason not to stir shit. Butch scanned their surroundings, waiting for Christopher to finish his friendly chitchat so they could get a move on, until the sound of a gunshot ripping through the air made Butch nearly hop out of his pants. He fumbled for his own weapon, but it was already over. Christopher held out his smoking pistol, and the man lay dead on the grown, along with his brains.
âWhat the fuck?â Butch sputtered.
âHe was too close to Little Lamplight.â Christopher replied flatly, as if he didnât believe his own words.
Butch looked around to make sure he wasnât the crazy one, but Charon was about as expressive as the dog. âYou just said it was thirty-six miles away. Man, you just killed that guy, dead!â
Christopher whipped around with a wild look in his eye that made Butch take a step back. Thankfully, he holstered his gun, but started advancing towards Butch, dropping one of the packages at Charonâs feet. Butch stood his ground.
âDo you even know why youâre out here?â Christopher demanded.
Butch blinked. ââCause weâre going to the caves⌠the fuck areââ
Looming over him, Christopher leaned uncomfortably close, enough for Butch to feel his heavy, unsteady breath, his eyes nearly bugging out of his head. âYouâre out here because I knew you wouldnât fucking make it. So why donât you do what I brought you out here to do, and fucking DIE!â
Grabbing the collar of Butchâs jacket, they went tumbling to the ground, Butchâs head colliding with the rocks that were nearly breaking his ankles a moment before. His vision blurred, but he could make out Christopherâs silhouette against the overcast sky, and he almost couldnât believe what he saw: Christy Callahan had a fist raised. Butch would have laughed if he had time to, before he felt knuckles crash into his nose. Eyes welling up with tears, he started swinging blindly, occasionally making contact⌠somewhere. Unfortunately for Butch, Christopher was utilizing the half foot height difference between them for the first time, delivering blow after blow with those awkward, spindly, Mr. Handy-esque arms he used to tease him for.
He could no longer hear the nonsense expletives they were slurring at each other over the sound of his heart pounding in his ears, and after a well placed hit to the jaw that made Butch crunch on his own tongue, he finally surrendered, covering his face and head with his arms as heâd watched Christopher do so many times before, but Christopher did not yield.
Suddenly it stopped, and Butch took the opportunity to spit out some of the blood pooling in his mouth. Charon had yanked them apart, in a rare display of free will.
âWho told you to step in?!â Christopher shrieked, stumbling forward to take a swing at the ghoul, who caught the punch and twisted his arm until he cried out. He shuffled backwards, doubled over and nestling his arm close to his chest, whimpering as he drew his pistol, raising a shaking hand to Butch, then to Charon, then back to Butch.
Spitting more blood that he couldnât tell came from his mouth or nose, Butch rasped, âMan⌠you lost it⌠youâre fucking crazy.â He felt Charonâs heel bump him in the leg, but he wasnât even trying to be crass anymore, he had to call it like he saw it.
Christopher stood there a few seconds more, his pistol and his wide-eyed, tearful stare still trained on Butch. A few labored breaths later, he holstered it. Butch waited for some kind of closing statement, one last âfuck you,â but Christopher simply turned around, picked up the package, and kept on going.
As he struggled to his feet, his head swimming from the adrenaline crash, he noticed the ghoul following after him. âYouâre seriously still going with that guy?â
âIâve got a contract.â
