Notes: Damn, it's been a while since I've written fanfiction. It's been about three years since I last updated on this site, and man do I miss writing fanfics—especially Fallout fics. Reflecting back on when I first started writing Fallout fanfiction way back in middle school gives me nostalgia like crazy; therefore, I decided to start up again (now that I am out of high school) and bring me back to my fanfiction roots—Fallout.

So I've been re-playing Fallout 3, and it was like I was back in my old house, stomach aching on the floor in front of the TV, sweat dripping from my brow, pillow caught between my arms, and eyes interlocked with the screen entranced and sucked into the Capital Wasteland. Yeah, Fallout 4 has been out for about two years, and I could be writing fanfiction on that, but Fallout 3 has always been my favorite and hell, Tunnel Snakes Rule!

I'm definitely rusty; however, I HOPE it tops my cringe-worthy middle school writing and punctuation. For this story, I took the liberty of taking one of my old fanfictions that I cherished, and I re-wrote it with a better portrayal (I hope) of my OC Clive— whom was my first experience through the Wasteland.

Chapter 01: Ten

Butch threw his arms up as she pinned him to the ground and raised her fists.

"Take it back!"

"Yeah, why should I?"

"I said take it back!" Tears welled in her eyes as a salty warm tear hit his bruised cheek. She jerked her arm backward as if to enhance the threat.

"Tch, whatever. Fine." He cocked his head to the side. His furrow eyebrows cascaded over the top of his blue eyes— eyes that never left her face and stared in scrutiny.

She placed her hands onto the floor to push herself up, and Butch let out a snicker, "I thought so. Why don't you cry home to your mommy? Oh that's right, you don't have one."

Her lips stuttered as if she had a sharp retort, but all she could say was a terse remark, "S-shut up!"

The Tinnitus whine in her ears gradually became louder and enveloped her sense of hearing. Looking about the other children who surrounded them cheering and jeering alike in high pitched voices, she began to feel her fingers grow antsy and rigid. "W-what's happening?" She spoke incredulously, but she could not hear herself. A deep heavy weight encumbered her chest and stomach, and it felt like someone was pushing against her. Her face contorted into a twisted grimace, and her eyes stung with a burning sensation while tears engorged her vision.

The choir had hushed and began to dissipate as a tall figure accompanied by a much smaller one approached her and gently shook her shoulders. "Clive?" the muffled voice repeated several times. She could only close her eyes and clutch her numb fists.

"I didn't do nothing! She hit me!"

Clive felt hands wrap around her legs and carry her off to a place far away.

. . .

Butch pressed a glowing switch and the mechanical door flung open with minimal noise.

"I'm home," he murmured and slowly rose his head. He gazed around the dark room and found his mother asleep on the couch faintly snoring. Pushing past bottles littered on the floor, he pulled a blanket collapsed on her feet over her body. He stepped away, but heard a hoarse yet soft voice call, "Butchie?"

"Mom?" There was no reply but only quiet breaths and occasional snores.

Making his way to the bedroom, he kicked off his boots, slumped on the bed, and curled between the sheets. His head burrowed deep in the confines of the pillow, and he let out a breathless sigh as his body soundlessly shook.