Chapter Text
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Brennen scrambled through the bloody dirt and snatched up the dropped pistol, then rolled to the side to avoid the raider’s grasp. Even hurt, the guy was quick. He crawled after Bren and grabbed at him again, getting ahold of his boot this time. Bren tried to kick him off as he continued to clumsily crawl backward through the brush. He struggled and ended up sliding out of his boot, then awkwardly got to his feet and hopped farther away.
He pointed the weapon at the young raider, feeling like he had the upper hand, but the kid threw his boot at him instead of giving up like he should have done. Brennen deflected the boot clumsily, nearly fell backward as he tripped over a rock, and held the gun up again.
“Stop!” Bren yelled at him.
He had the gun, the raider should have given up… But the kid continued to try and stand himself up on his hurt and bleeding leg and go after Bren relentlessly.
Tripping himself up over another large rock as he moved backward, Brennen held the gun out further and waved it a little, “I’m fucking warning you! Better stop!”
The raider collapsed on his injured leg and tried to stand himself up once more, “you been fuckin warning me… Gimme my gun and I’ll show you how to use it…”
Brennen had no idea how to deal with that. “I don’t want to hurt you, just give up and walk away--”
“Fuckin kidding me?” The raider motioned to his bloody thigh.
“I mean…” Brennen lowered the weapon a little and the kid chucked a handful of dirt and rocks at his face then came at him again.
Brennen stumbled backward, fired a blind shot, and heard the raider yell. He spat dirt from his mouth and managed to get enough out of one eye to see. The kid was sitting in the dirt cradling his upper arm.
“You fuckin shot me, you little shit!”
“I told you,” Brennen raised the gun once more.
“Don’t act like you meant to, you’re a fuckin hazard. You’re gunna hurt yourself with that thing.” The raider attempted to pick himself up once more but didn’t go after Bren this time.
“Just stay down, I’ll walk away.” Brennen waved the pistol.
The raider ignored him and got to his feet after a moment of struggle, then he just stood there tightly cradling his bleeding arm and glaring icy blue-eyed daggers at Brennen.
As things started to calm down, Bren could think more. He wanted his boot, but it was behind the raider kid. Or, rather, he was probably a teenager. An older teen. Maybe young twenties like him -- Bren couldn’t tell. It didn’t seem to matter, though, the guy had killed his two caravan guards just as well as an adult would have.
He circled slowly around the raider in a very wide arc to try and get his boot and the kid stepped back, closer to it.
Okay… Fine then. Maybe he could come back for it later. As well as the rest of his things in the cart. Brennen sighed to himself and backed away from the raider a few more steps, still holding the weapon up. His arm was getting tired, he had a deep bleeding cut on his brow, scrapes on his chin and knees, and his foot already hurt from stepping on several rocks, but he tried his best to play like he was perfectly fine. Show an animal weakness and it’ll strike. The raider had lost quite a bit of blood and the wounds had to hurt, yet he was standing there looking like he was mostly fine. Maybe his parents had taught him the same thing about animals and weakness. Do raiders even have parents?
Brennen wiped more dirt from his eye and smeared blood across his face from the head wound. He needed to fix it, but he also needed to get the hell away from the raider. As soon as he turned his back on the kid, he’d probably come after him once more.
There was nothing out here other than a busted up cabin, a shed, and too many damn rocks.
And a huge yao guai.
Bren watched the thing snuffling around in the distance behind his cart and the raider. It must have heard the commotion and smelled all the blood. Well… Maybe the bear would kill the raider and he wouldn’t have to worry about the kid anymore.
Kind of a crappy way to think about it, but that was the way of the world. Besides, that little asshole raider just killed Bren’s caravan guards and would have killed him, too. Let the shithead get eaten by a bear - Brennen didn’t care.
Except… He kind of did care. A little.
“There’s a… uh…” He motioned with the gun and waited for the raider to turn around and notice before he hop-limped to the cabin to bar himself in.
“Gimme a fuckin weapon!” The raider called to him.
“Fuck you!” Bren yelled just before closing the door.
- - - - - - - - - -
Raze watched the bear sniff the air a few times and come closer. It was moving slowly, lazily, probably not starving. He limped to the cart and started rummaging. The dumbass trader had to have something useful. They always had a first aid kit somewhere. Except for when they didn’t. He tossed things he could reach over his shoulder as he kept an eye on the bear.
Scrap, pots and pans, empty bottles, a fucking typewriter for some reason - all useless junk. Why didn’t he have good chems, at least?
He did manage to find a bottle of rum, though - That was useful. Raze immediately guzzled down a quarter of the alcohol. He had to do something for the fucking pain. He’d killed the first guard easy, but the second was a handful and ended up using Raze’s own damn knife against him, jamming the blade into his thigh, then the thing busted off against the bone. Still in his leg. What a shitty knife. Fuck, it hurt.
Raze had been overly cocky and now he was paying for it so he had no right to complain. He shouldn’t have taken on two guards on his own… And for what? A bottle of rum? Stupid fucking trader.
The bear came closer and let out a few warning grunts, postured a little, then stood over one of the dead guards off to the side. The brahmin attached to the cart started freaking out and lurched forward, pulling the cart out from under Raze and he fell when he tried to hang on. Stupid fucking cow.
Then the bear grunted some more and moved a little closer. It hopped up on two legs and dropped back down.
Raze waved a hand at it and struggled to his feet, “relax, Fluffy, I ain’t interested in your meal… You can have it all.”
It grunted and did a short charge when Raze moved and he took that as his cue to get the fuck out of the bear’s dining hall before the thing decided to add raider brisket to its plate. He grabbed the trader’s boot and scrambled away as best he could on the wounded leg.
He pounded on the door, “lemme in.”
“Find another house,” came the reply from inside.
Wow… The balls on this guy.
“I got your boot,” Raze held it up as he peered in the window.
The trader was pointing the gun again, “leave it on the porch and go.”
Raze blinked stupidly at the man. When he got in there, he was going to have to get the gun away then beat that asshole to death with this boot.
He turned and looked at the bear. The animal grunted at him and swiped some dirt in his direction. Then the dumb cow pulled the cart into the front yard for safety, which interested the bear even more.
“Let me in,” Raze softened his voice, “I’ll play nice.”
“Go away.”
“I ain't sure if you’re aware or not,” Raze clenched his teeth, “but there’s a goddamn bear out here now let me the fuck in you little shitstain! I will burn this fucking place to the ground if you don’t open the damn door!”
Okay, so maybe he’d lost his head a bit. He took a few breaths to calm himself, dropped the boot upright on the porch, then had a few more swigs of the rum.
- - - - - - - - - -
The raider outside had stopped pounding on the door and yelling… Maybe he really would burn the house down. That’d be stupid - this was the only shelter around and if he burned it, then neither of them would have a place. But who knows how raiders think, they’re all batshit insane and do things for no reason. Was he starting a fire? Brennen carefully peered out the window and couldn’t find him. Maybe he left.
Bren moved to get a better view of the front yard, leaning carefully to the side to try and stay hidden.
Then the window exploded in a shower of glass as a large object was thrown through it into the cabin.
Brennen jumped back and fell over the sofa, dropping the weapon and nearly pissing himself. He scrambled to his feet, found the gun under the coffee table, then turned to see the raider crawling in through the busted window.
“What the hell?!” Brennen yelled as he pointed the gun at the kid once more.
He clumsily made it halfway through then fell onto the floor inside.
“Told you let me in.” The raider remained sprawled out on the floor among the glass shards and typewriter he’d thrown.
Brennen motioned to the window, “now the bear’s going to get in! Good job, dumbass.”
“Bear’s eating your cow,” he said quietly and closed his eyes like he was going to just take a nice comfy nap there on all that glass.
“No!” Brennen moved to be able to see the front yard again and stepped on a shard of glass. “Fucking… Shit! Where’s my boot?”
The raider chuckled, “you told me to leave it outside.”
“Yeah, well I also told you to go away and yet here you fucking are!” He stepped wrong and the glass shard jammed further into his foot.
Brennen sucked air between his teeth and hopped to the couch to try and pull the glass out while still working to point the gun at the damn raider.
- - - - - - - - - -
Brennen carefully moved around the cabin, looking through dressers and cabinets to find something to deal with his wounds. He found a cloth and wearily made his way to the bathroom, still trying to keep an eye on the raider.
The kid was still sitting there in the glass trying to deal with his own problems. He used a shard of glass to cut his pants away from his leg and poured rum over the wound, making Bren flinch sympathetically. He could see metal sticking out of his thigh. Not good. The raider wrapped the cut leather of his pants around the bit of metal sticking out and steeled himself to pull it out.
“Don’t do that!” Bren said from the bathroom doorway.
“Don’t do what?” He glanced down at the metal, “I can’t leave it in there…”
“But if you yank it out, you’ll do more damage and it’ll bleed more.”
The kid stared at him. “You a fuckin doctor?”
“No… But my dad is.”
He grumbled and, again, made to pull the metal out. Whatever. It wasn’t Bren’s problem. He told him. If the dumbass raider did it anyway and bled to death, oh well. He watched him and went about cleaning his head wound and face up. The first aid kit on the bathroom wall had a roll of gauze and tape, but not much else.
As Brennen fumbled trying to unroll the gauze with one hand while still trying to hold the pistol in the other, he heard the raider yell loud. It startled him and his stomach knotted. The kid had pulled the metal out, just like Bren told him not to do. And now he was bleeding even more because of all the alcohol he drank. Good. He’d probably die soon at that rate.
The kid began wrapping the top of his thigh in material he’d cut from his pants. He should have done that first. Now he was starting to look pale as he worked through the blood and pain to try and tie a tight tourniquet.
Bren sighed and tossed the rolls of gauze and tape at him. The raider ignored it.
“Use it, stupid!” Brennen got irritated.
Why was he even irritated? He wanted the damn raider dead or gone. But he was so young… When the guy wasn’t trying to kill him, he looked even younger. His dark tan face was round, his short black hair was uneven and messy, and he was lanky like a younger teen and he was sitting there bleeding to death looking like a pathetic child.
The raider finally took the gauze and wrapped it tightly over the bleeding hole and taped it. At least he knew how to do that much. He fumbled with the gunshot wound on his arm and made a decent wrap, then he half-crawled across the cabin to the bed.
Bren watched him struggle to get up on the mattress and lay himself down after finishing off the remainder of the rum. Okay, maybe he’ll just pass out. And probably still die. That’s a peaceful way to go…
Brennen carefully hop-limped around the house and found a skirt he could tear up to use as wrapping on his foot, and some adhesive to close the cut over his brow, then he rummaged around some more.
The bottom dresser drawer had some weird things in it that Bren suspected were more for adult bedroom activities. Some skimpy clothing, a pair of handcuffs, big phallic-shaped objects, a bottle of cooking oil… He almost blushed at the stuff. He took a strip of cloth that was probably a blindfold and tucked it into his pocket. Strips of cloth were always useful - one could never have too many. Then he thought for a moment and grabbed the handcuffs - those seemed to trade pretty well because of the little mechanical parts.
He sat in an armchair in the center of the living area that faced the bed and waited a while, unsure of what he should do. Maybe the bear wasn’t out there anymore. How long had it been? Felt like hours… Probably only been ten minutes. That’s how time always seemed to work. Brennen found a broom and struggled to sweep the glass away while still holding the gun, then he carefully peered out the window again.
His brahmin was definitely dead. He’d just got her and she’d cost a ton of caps… Damn bear.
Speaking of which, Bren couldn’t find the bear. Maybe it left. Good. He went to the door, took a deep breath, and slowly opened it a crack. No bear. He opened the door a little wider and found his boot right outside where the raider had left it.
He smiled to himself then carefully stepped out onto the porch and bent down to grab his boot - and the bear lifted its head up from behind the cart then charged at the door.
Bren grabbed the boot and fell back into the house, kicking the door shut. He scrambled to his feet and shoved a wooden chair under the knob as if that’d keep a bear out, then went to work pushing a bookshelf in front of the broken window.
The raider chuckled quietly, “bear’s still out there, huh?”
“It’s not even eating anymore!” Bren grunted as he moved the heavy shelf, “why won’t it go away?”
“Cuz after eating half a cow, what would you do?” The raider waved a hand around, “take a fuckin nap.”
Perfect. How long do bear naps last? Maybe he could sneak out a back window or something…
He sat down with his boot and paused. Then sniffed it.
“What the--” He took another tentative sniff and the raider started laughing loudly.
Bren scowled at him, “did you piss in my boot?!”
The kid laughed more until he started coughing.
Brennen angrily threw the boot at the raider, then immediately regretted it. He did need the footwear. What an asshole.
The raider shoved the boot off the bed and Brennen stood to go get it, then thought better when he saw the kid looking at him with one eye - pretending not to. Bren was too smart to fall for that. So he liked to think, anyway.
So, for now, he just sat back down in the chair… With one boot on.
- - - - - - - - - -
Raze felt weak, but he figured he must be fine - he was still alive, after all. And his leg stopped bleeding. Mostly. Maybe there was some good dope in the house. He eyed the trader, who had been staring at him the entire time. Raze sat up and the guy flinched and raised the gun again. Persistent little shit. The only real danger was that idiot freaking out and pulling the trigger on accident. He didn’t seem to have the balls to actually kill anyone or anything on purpose.
“Stay there,” the trader held the gun out and pointed it to the bed then back to Raze.
“Or you’ll what? Wound me some more?”
“No, I’ll kill you.”
Raze laughed. He couldn’t help it - that was one of the best jokes he’d heard in a long time. He awkwardly pushed himself to his feet and the trader stood, too. The room spun violently and he nearly fell back onto the bed but just barely managed to stay upright. Maybe he had one drink too many. Or not enough - his leg still hurt and he was still conscious. The only good thing about the searing pain in his entire leg was that it kept his mind off the pain in his arm. It was just a graze, but the thing stung and hurt. May as well have just been shot through.
He started laughing at the whole scenario going on, which made the trader even more jumpy.
“I’m just…” Raze pointed to the shitter room, “gunna go take a piss.”
“Like hell you are!” He attempted to hold the gun higher and out more as if that would make it more threatening.
“Guess I could just…” He motioned to the trader’s boot next to the bed.
“No!”
“Well then…” Raze shrugged then stumbled forward toward the shitter.
“No,” the guy repeated and held the weapon out as far as he could reach.
Dumbass.
Now close enough, Raze lunged clumsily at the man and tried to pin his outstretched gun arm and they struggled. The pistol was dropped and the trader kicked it under the sofa as they fought. Raze tried to pull the glass shank from his belt he’d made while on the floor, but it was immediately knocked from his hand and smashed. The two of them wrestled, nearly falling a few times as they knocked the TV over, an end table with a lamp, and then an entire shelf full of crap.
Then they ended up falling together on the bed, Raze underneath the bigger man, as they fought to hurt each other.
The trader got one of Raze’s arms up over his head somehow and hit his wrist with something. His head spun as he continued to struggle. He tried to grab at the asshole once more and his arm was stuck. Metal on metal clinked and the trader scrambled clumsily away from the bed to get the dropped gun.
“What the piss?!” Raze tugged frantically on the binding then blinked stupidly up at his wrist and the bedframe. The fucking asshole managed to handcuff him to the bed. And not in any fun kind of way.
He jerked and tugged on it some more, as if that’d open the cuffs up somehow, and yelled out a string of cusswords that may as well have just been one very long word.
“Stop struggling, you’re going to hurt yourself,” the trader warned.
“I just wanted the gun… But now… You fucking fuck… Imma gut you and strangle you to death with your own intestines when I get this off!”
He backed further away, “you were going to kill me.”
“Can you fuckin blame me?!” Raze yelled and his voice cracked as he panicked in the cuffs.
“I haven’t done anything to you. You’re the one who attacked my caravan. I tried to get away.”
Raze stopped struggling so much - the metal around his wrist was starting to painfully cut and bruise.
He eyed the trader and calmed down a little, “if you guys saw me first, you woulda killed me. If you knew how to work a fuckin gun, I’d be dead.”
“I know how to work a gun.”
Raze snorted, “prove it.”
“Don’t make me.”
“I bet you never killed a damn thing in your entire sheltered life,” the raider taunted, “you wanna know how many traders I killed?”
He frowned, “no… That’s messed up… And I’ve killed things.”
“Maybe on accident, you fuckin hazard.”
The trader glared.
Raze glared right back.
Then the guy sat back down in the chair.
“Let me outta here!” Raze struggled against the cuffs again.
“Fuck you.”
“I’m going to shove these up your ass and yank out your--”
“Seriously?” The man motioned to him, “you need to calm the fuck down. Your big talk isn’t going to intimidate me.”
Raze huffed, “don’t tell me what I need to do, you little pissant. You need to learn how to use a gun and kill me cuz seriously… When I get outta here…”
His head spun more and his stomach lurched. Struggling was a bad idea for several reasons. He leaned as far over as he could and managed to aim the vomit off the side of the bed.
“Gross!” The trader winced.
“What… You expect…” Raze hung half off the side of the bed miserably.
He felt like utter shit. If he wasn’t injured and weak, he woulda kicked that guy’s ass. And maybe being completely wasted didn’t help much.
- - - - - - - - - -
Brennen watched the kid struggle like an animal caught in a trap. He had a momentary pang of remorse for cuffing him up, but it was short lived. That guy tried to kill him. Again. He needed to stop thinking this was some innocent teenager and remember the raider was dangerous. He’d let his guard down. The only thing that saved him, probably, was that the guy was so hurt and drunk.
How was he even still alive and able to fight like that? It was almost admirable. Bren remembered a time when an injured mongrel got stuck in Bunker Hill. It didn’t mean to and probably didn’t want to be there at all, but it was lost, confused, and injured. The thing looked like it was about to die, but as soon as it was cornered to kill, that mongrel tore into several folks and nearly killed a couple of them.
This raider was just like that hurt mongrel dog.
The kid rolled back over on the bed and closed his eyes, then opened them again and stared at the ceiling. Probably too drunk to close his eyes. What a stupid idiot - His life was in danger and he got drunk. Raiders made no sense.
Bren stayed in the chair watching him for a while. He wanted to just leave, but that bear was out there and now he’d cuffed this kid to the bed. He couldn’t just leave him there like that… Could he? Maybe if he left the key on a table across the room it’d give him enough time to get far away. Though, that raider was pissed the hell off and might hunt him down just because he was angry. Maybe if he left the key outside somewhere…
Hours passed and Bren continuously checked the yard. The bear was still out there lazing about. Why wouldn’t the damn thing just leave?!
He plopped down in the chair again and started to get sleepy as the sun set.
Can’t sleep. Can’t take eyes off raider.
The kid had dozed off then woke up after some time. “Bear still out there?”
“Yeah…”
The raider nodded in acknowledgment.
“When’s it going to go?” Bren asked quietly, mostly talking to himself.
“The thing about bears…” The kid rolled to his side as much as the handcuffs would allow, “they’ll stick around so long as there’s food. Your cow was a fatass.”
Brennen rolled his eyes, “great… So… Days?”
The kid snorted, “probably.” He pointed, “gimme my gun and turn me loose… I’ll go kill it.”
“Funny.”
“Fine, go kill it yourself then,” the raider shrugged.
After a couple minutes, Bren asked, “is there any other way to get the bear to go away?”
The kid shrugged again, “take all your clothes off and run out there wavin your dick at him.”
“Anything that won’t get me killed?”
He laughed, “oh, well you didn’t specify.” The kid pretended to think. “Nope.”
“Great…”
“Hey…” The raider propped himself up on one elbow, “I really do gotta piss…”
“No you don’t.”
“Yeah, I do…” He persisted.
“I’m not uncuffing you,” Bren pointed at him.
“Fine… But for real this time…”
Brennen looked around the room. What was he supposed to do? He didn’t want the damn kid peeing all over the cabin - it already smelled like blood and vomit and kinda like pee from his boot… He got up and went to the kitchen and found a pot. Bren moved toward the bed and held it out as far as he could without getting too close and the raider stared at him.
“Take it,” Brennen tossed the pot onto the bed.
The kid rolled his eyes and didn’t even hesitate before fumbling with his belt and pants with his one free hand.
Brennen turned away to give him privacy but clenched his teeth with anxiety until he heard the kid pissing into the pot. At least he wasn’t peeing in his boot. Again.
He heard the pot get set on the floor so he turned around and sat back down in the chair. He was so tired.
To stave off sleep, Bren started talking more.
“Why are you a raider?”
The kid stared stupidly at him.
Bren rephrased his question, “why not be a trader or farmer or something respectable?”
“Why are you a trader?”
“It makes good money,” Brennen shrugged emphatically.
“Why do you need money?” The raider wrinkled his nose as if he’d said some sort of dirty word.
“To get food and clothes and stuff.”
“You’re a fucking moron.”
“No, you’re a moron,” Bren shot back childishly.
The raider glared, “no… you are. Why work so hard just to have your shit taken by raiders? Dumbass.”
“Why are you guys assholes and take our stuff?”
He rolled over onto his back. “Because it’s easy. You’re easy. You dumb fucks work hard to get all this stuff, and we take it. Easy. You’re stupid for working so hard.”
Bren snorted, “yeah well if someone didn’t work for it, what would there be for you to take?” And then he shut his mouth quickly as the raider laughed.
“That’s the world for you, huh?”
“You’re an asshole,” Bren growled. He had nothing else to say about it.
Until about ten minutes later when he started nodding off again.
“We work hard to provide for our future and families. We have family,” Bren pointed.
“So do we.”
“I can’t even imagine what your childhoods must be like… Raised by feral ghouls would be better.”
He opened his eyes, turned his head, and stared at Bren. “Ouch… Dickwagon.”
“You have kids?”
“Me specifically? No… But you’re an asshole and I don’t wanna talk to you no more.”
Brennen suddenly felt bad. “Okay, fine… So you have kids. Raiders have kids. How does that even work?”
“How the fuck do your kids work?”
“You know,” Bren made a hand motion, “like normal…”
The raider stared at him.
“Like how kids… Work… Like… Parents teach them things and they grow up and do… Stuff… I don’t know. We have normal families.”
“We got normal families, too,” he shrugged, “people teach kids shit and they grow up and do stuff,” he echoed back.
“You teach your kids how to raid, though,” Bren said quietly, “why not teach them how to do honest work?”
“You teach yours how to be stupid tools, why not teach them how to be free?” The raider waved a hand in the air then rolled on his side facing away from Brennen as best he could with the handcuffs.
How could the raider just roll over facing the wall like that? Wasn’t he worried? He didn’t seem to show Brennen any respect, even though he had a weapon. He didn’t even seem to care much about the bear outside busting in through the door at any moment. Was he just crazy? Maybe he had a deathwish. Were all raiders like that? Did they have no respect for anyone or anything?
Bren sank down in the chair. It was a comfy chair and he started to doze off again, then snorted himself awake and sat upright. Can’t sleep.
The raider was trying to adjust himself on the bed to allow for the awkward restricting angle from the cuffs. Bren stood up to pace around the house once more, then sighed to himself and grabbed one of the couch pillows and tossed it at him.
The kid glanced at him over his shoulder then took the pillow and stuffed it under his head. That looked much more comfortable.
Again, why did Brennen even care? He shouldn’t. Though, seeing the kid’s torn up bleeding wrist from the cuffs made him feel a little bad. He’d hurt him. No - the dumbass hurt himself from struggling so much -- It wasn’t Bren’s fault.
“How can you sleep?!” Bren finally blurted out in utter frustration.
“I’m stuck to a bed,” the raider mumbled, “what else am I gunna do? You ain’t gunna kill me and if something else kills me then I guess I die... Best get some sleep and be well rested for my death.”
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
