1. Bullet

Dad was a doctor, so of course Sara knew what Stimpaks were. It was just the whole "stab myself in the neck when it's a fucking foot-long needle and my neck totally isn't a foot long" part that creeped her the hell out. Fucking raiders and bullets and all that nonsense; it was days like this where she wished she'd stayed in the Vault. But then there was that whole "killed my best friend's dad thing" and suddenly the whole idea wasn't so appealing.

"Hold still," Charon said, prying open the Med Kit and fishing out one such syringe of doom.

"If this hurts, I'm firing you." Sara insisted; managing to keep her humor just on the edge of her voice as she took in how goddamn sharp the thing was. "Oh, wait, you're a slave, right? Kind of? Uh," She swallowed, eyeing it. Dad always knew how much she hated it; always tried to avoid it whenever he could. "What's the contract slave man-servant thing? Because Argyle didn't do any of this shit. Do I monologue or whip you? I'm open to suggestions."

Maybe it was a mercy doing it fast, or maybe it was revenge that took away his patience, but Charon stabbed her squarely in the neck with the needle. Pain blinded her before she could speak, and after that, soothing heat filled her and she didn't remember what she wanted to say.

2. Lesson

"Angle it up more; you only brace with your shoulder – you don't aim with it." Charon told her and his mangled hands tipped her barrel upwards.

Sara shifted her grip around the Chinese Assault Rifle, actually listening to his instructions. The last few raiders she'd shot had taken thirty rounds of her ammo, and only about ten of those actually made contact with them. Charon had bitched and moaned – as much as he could manage, but that was his way; his particular brand of blank fleshless face had bitchiness written all over it when he was upset – about having to take all the fire sprayed in their direction. That led them to this stretch of land near Megaton, with Charon's hand on her back and his other one managing the barrel of her rifle.

"Don't panic, just hit your mark." He instructed. Sara looked up at him, realizing just how close they were. "Panicking gets you killed, understand?"

"You know, on the "getting killed" scale, I think I'm doing a little better than you."

He gave her a look; the running joke about his appearance and age didn't require a punch line. It was too common for that.

"I'm several hundred years old." He tipped up her sagging barrel, "You're barely out of diapers. Get your barrel up."

Sara smiled and lifted the tip of her Chinese weapon; she was making progress on her marksmanship, and he was making progress on his sense of humor. Worth it.

3. Wind

Sara wound the cog one last time, lips pursed tightly together. It clicked with final sound of victory, and Sara's hands shot up. "Did it, motherfuckers!"

Charon glanced up from the guns he was cleaning to see Sara still at her workbench. Ever since Moira had installed it and Sara had located enough caps (aka Charon kept her alive long enough to locate enough caps) to buy the schematics, she'd been restless at the thing. She lifted the Rock-it-Launcher from her table, wheeling it around.

"I had to wind it pretty tight, but it's looking good, right?"

Charon nodded, looking at how clean the pieces she'd assembled were. He was impressed. But… "Is it loaded?"

"Of course not!" Sara defended with a look. "The instructions never said how to do that. I'm going to have to play with it later and figure out how; gonna be a bitch, because this thing here is in the way-" Sara said, looking down on the large baseball in the chamber. "I don't even know what it's for. …Wait. Shit."

There were many holes in the walls of Sara's Megaton home, but the making of that particular hole almost made one in Charon.

4. Resurface

"Nevermind! Really, never-fucking-mind any of that! Fuck Super-Mutants, and their hunting rifles." Sara gasped, crawling out of the tainted water and onto dry concrete. "Dicks!" She wheeled around to scream across the small river. A volley of rifle rounds shot in her direction and lost momentum, falling into the water short of her in response.

Her leather armor poured water from its nooks and crannies, and the audible sound of her draining onto the ground only further illustrated how thoroughly soaked she was in the irradiated water. She glanced at her Pip-Boy and at the really sad-looking figure looking back at her in the same tainted-green color she was feeling.

Sara looked away only long enough to grasp onto Dogmeat's tail, hauling him onto the concrete beach as he barked and thrashed, trying to break free and dive back into the Super-Mutant fray. "Give it a break, you over-achieving mutt. Mommy loves you no matter what your kill streak is." She fell to her knees, dragging in a breath, glancing at her animal companion. "Don't tell Charon about this."

5. Winter

"Is that… snow?" Charon asked, looking up at the tint of white flakes descending around them.

Sara stepped out of the abandoned building beside him, shuffling their newly-found loot into her pack. "What? No way; the nukes messed up the weather patterns."

It was moments like these he realized how well-educated children of the Vault were. Back when snow fell normally and nukes were a crazed conspiracy theory, the rumor had been Vaults were these unnatural cage for test subjects. Vault 111 had proven that, no doubt, but the random Old World knowledge Sara spouted out reminded him there were benefits to be found also.

If only his family had been the chosen ones. They'd have been saved from all this chaos.

Then Charon wandered to the side, glimpsing around the old shack which had obscured their view. "Spoke too soon." He said, and Sara gave him a look. He took in the sight of fire reaching to the skies and that familiar green haze drifting towards them. Tenpenny had found someone else. "It's Megaton."

A/N: I'm in an abusive relationship with this game because it won't let me leave. I always come crawling back.

So I owed saraisahugenerd some SERIOUS FANFIC after missing her birthday and being a bad message-replying friend. And it had absolutely nothing to do with the utterly creep-girlfriend style geek I've become after the announcement of Fallout 4. Just like it had nothing to do with me buying Fallout 3. Again. And postponing work to play it. Again.

Nothing.

So rather than embarking on a 200,000 word series, I decided to cheat/explore-writing-techniques by trying this "100 prompts" idea. 101 for nostalgic reasons. More chapters will come. Enjoy, and please R&R!