"It's all over, but the crying~

And nobody's crying but me~"

The tinny sound of the Pip-Boy radio made its way across the wasteland. Yamcha hummed along to it as he walked down the road. Any normal wastelander wouldn't have done so in such a brazen fashion. Danger was around every corner and it was unwise to broadcast your location with music. Yamcha found he didn't really care. He was more than a little buzzed, on both alcohol and chems, and swung his bat around haphazardly to the music. Who wouldn't after what he'd just been through? At least getting killed outside and fighting was better than drinking himself to death at a run down settlement somewhere. Returning to the Vault wasn't an option anyways. Not after the way he left.

"Friends all over know I'm trying~

To forget about how much I care for you~"

He started to hum louder. Then he began to sing. If he was going to be found anyways he may as well try to have a good time before it happened. He stumbled a bit over over a hole in the street. The ruined city wasn't the kindest environment for a drunk man. He continued singing along as he passed through the darkened alleyways. The sun had set a while ago. A warm glow caught his attention. There was a wall of some sort blocking the road ahead. Small fires burned from within. Yamcha grimaced and changed course. It looked inviting but he knew better. That was the place everyone called Hangmans Alley. He may feel like dying but he'd prefer not to do so to Raiders. He didn't want his remains on display for the world to see, thank you very much, especially with the Vault so close by. Someone he knew could find him.

"It's all over but the dreaming~

Poor little dreams that keep trying to come true~"

Vault 81. His home for so many years. The nostalgia almost made him turn back. There were still people who cared about him in there. He pressed forwards none the less. With Bulma gone... there was no point. His singing grew off key as his emotions started to swell. She left him for a Raider, of all people. One who had nearly killed him at that. He had the scars on his face to remind him of what would happen if he tried to get her back. He kicked a can out of his path and screamed the lyrics of the song until it hurt to breathe. After so long she had left him so easily. He had done so much for her and now none of it mattered. It wasn't fair. Nothing in the wasteland was. He was starting to think that dying would hurt less. He held back tears and put his all into the next verse of the song.

"It's all over but the crying~

And I can't get over crying over you~"

As the tune faded out Yamcha turned off his radio. A perfect song to end things on. He heard something approaching from behind him. It looked like he'd get the fight he wanted sooner then expected. He centered his baseball cap and readied his bat. Whoever was following him was in for one hell of a battle.

"I can hear you out there. No need to be sneaky." Yamcha called out into the night. He braced himself for battle. The rustling grew louder as the something approached. Out of the alley shot a small figure. It was faster then Yamcha's drunk mind could comprehend at the moment and slammed into him. He was surprised to find that he hadn't been stabbed, or tackled to the ground, or blown up, or harmed at all. No, he realized slowly. He was being hugged.

"I found you!" said a cheerful voice. Yamcha felt a chill run down his spine as he recognized it. He pushed himself out of the hug and knelt down.

"Puar?! What are you doing here?!" he exclaimed. The child in front of him beamed.

"I came to help you! No grownups were gonna go so I had to!" she said.

"That's really sweet and all but you need to go home. It's dangerous out here." Yamcha said nervously. Puar couldn't be out here. She'd never fought anything before.

"It's not that bad. I have you! And this!" Puar said as she gleefully lifted a wrench Yamcha knew she must have taken from the construction area of the Vault. "For the bad guys. I also got my tools an' my blanket."

"I can see that." Yamcha said. Puar was indeed carrying what she claimed. Her tool bag was strapped to a belt around her waist and her blanket was tired underneath her chin. Yamcha spotted the "kitty ears" sewn onto the top and knew this blanket was Puar's favorite. She obviously didn't plan on returning to the Vault. He sighed and placed a hand on her shoulder. "We need to get you somewhere safe. Then we're talking about this."

"... carry?" Puar asked. She held out her arms. Yamcha gave her a small smile and picked her up.

"Always. C'mon kiddo." he said. He stood and started scanning the area for places to hide. All his commotion from earlier hadn't drawn any attention yet but if it did now... He shook off the thought and started walking. A few minutes later he found an empty building that still had all its doors.

"This will work." he mumbled and went inside. The sign on the front had declared it as the Holy Mission Congregation. Yamcha had heard in the Vault history lessons about churches being a place of sanctuary. He hoped that belief held true nowadays. He placed Puar down and sat on a nearby pew. "Alright. Puar, please listen to me. You're a child. It's too risky for you to be in the outside world."

"Nu-uh! I'm seven!" Puar argued with crossed arms. "And the caravans have kids with them!"

"Those kids grew up in the wasteland. They've been taught how to survive out here. You haven't." Yamcha explained. He opted to not mention the occasional slavers that passed by. "It's still dangerous for them too. No one is safe out here. Not even me."

"But... I gotta help you rescue Bulma!" Puar protested. "That's why you left, right? You're gonna be a hero!"

"Puar... Bulma doesn't need saving. She got a new boyfriend. Trust me, he's strong enough to protect her. She went to stay with him." Yamcha said quietly. Had the Vault staff really not told the kids why Bulma left? Sure, she didn't like children much but they were sure to notice her absence.

"She did? Then... why did you leave?" Puar said.

"I..." Yamcha started to say something, hoping whatever came out of his mouth was a good explanation, but a noise from nearby cut him off. It sounded... close. Too close. As in whatever-made-that-sound-is-right-behind-me-close. He stood up and raised his bat. It appeared that his bad luck was starting to get worse as he found himself face to face with a feral ghoul. He buried his bat into said ghouls face as hard as he could. It went down but more snarls and growls from the area indicated there were more.

"Fan-fucking-tastic, a whole congregation." Yamcha thought as he hastily tugged his weapon out of the dead ghouls head. Puar whimpered and grabbed the back of his jacket. He tired to put on a brave smile and readied his bat again.

"Don't worry Puar. I'll protect you from these guys." he said. Puar nodded and held him closer. He began to slowly back towards the door. If he could get Puar out of there then she could run back to the Vault. A second ghoul jumped at him and he took a swing at it. The hit connected with a crack and it dropped. "When we get to the doors I need you to run as far away as you can, okay? Run home."

"What about you?" Puar said.

"I'll be fine. Just - " Before he could finish his sentence a third ghoul rushed at him. He didn't have any time to react and its teeth were soon buried in his shoulder. He yelled and shoved it off of him. A hit from the bat took it down but Yamcha already felt his whole arm burn with pain. He didn't have much time left before it became useless. He used his other hand to swing the bat outwards in a defensive arc against the remaining ghouls. He felt his back hit wood and kicked open the church doors. "Go, now!"

"But-"

"GO!" he shouted as he took a wobbly swing at a ghoul. Puar wiped away tears and started to run.

"I'll get help! Don't die!" she shouted.

Yamcha didn't have time to respond as the remaining ghouls struck. A well timed sidestep sent two of them face first into a wall. He took out the legs of the next one and then cracked the bat across its jaw. He tried to keep their attention as he moved further into the church. He couldn't have them going after Puar.

"Come on! Bring it!" he shouted. The two remaining ghouls that had previously run into the wall ran at him in tandem. One went after his already bleeding arm and the other missed. Yamcha screamed with pain but let the one on his arm stay. He knew the limb was useless at the moment so the other ghoul was the bigger threat. He brought the bat down on its head. The impact was forceful enough, and bat so worn, that the weapon broke. Grimacing, Yamcha raised the splintered end he had left and drove it into the last ghouls neck. He pried it off his arm and let it fall. All the ferals were dead now.

"Dammit..." Yamcha swore with gritted teeth as he collapsed onto the floor. He dragged himself into a sitting position and leaned against the front of the pulpit. His right arm lay limp at his side and was the source of the ever growing pool of blood around him. He dug into his pocket with his good hand and pulled out his last hit of jet. If he was gonna die slow he was gonna make the best of it. Once he inhaled it he felt an instant sensation of calm run through him. He let the empty container drop and exhaled slowly. The mist from the jet formed lazy spirals in the air around him, lit by moonlight coming in through broken windows. He could feel himself getting weaker. At least Puar was safe. The drug soon took hold of him and time seemed to blur. He wasn't sure if he had been there for seconds or hours. Just when he thought it was all over he heard something come inside. Maybe it would end his pain for him.

"... here!... help... please..."

Yamcha could barely make out the words but he knew that voice. Why was Puar back? She was supposed to be at the Vault. Soon there was a shadow standing over him. Much too big to be Puar but he could spot the blue of her blanket out of the corner of his eye. She was here but with someone else. The shadow came closer. It smelled like gunpowder and... noodles? It had to be a person. Yamcha jumped slightly as he felt the cold metal of a stimpack needle suddenly stab his injured arm. All he could manage was a weak cry in protest. The stimpack went to work right away and he could tell the wounds in his arm were already closing. It didn't stop him from drifting off anyways. The last coherent thing he could make out was the word "Rest" and the sensation of being lifted up. Then everything was dark.