Crane Stimson looked at the weathered plasma rifle in his worn hands with forlorn.
He walked over to the shattered window and reflected on his decrepit surroundings. Even after entering into this new world over three years ago, being the sole survivor of vault 111 still filled him with a strange guilt. despite this, Crane still looked upon the wasteland with mixed feelings, like the love-hate relationship between siblings. the old-fashioned, decrepit cars filled him with sadness and he turned away from the window, choosing to rather sit on a ruined couch in the center of the living room.
He felt a wet nose rub on the back of his hand and he let go of his weapon to pet Dogmeat's soft head. The figure of Cait could be seen on a thin sleeping bag positioned on the floor. lantern's light cascading over her curves as she slept, wearing Crane's military jacket that was a couple size's too big for her petite body.
Crane gulped, looking away from the woman and glanced at his own reflection in the dirty mirror to his right. Compared to before the bomb's dropped, Crane had become something of a brute. Along with a body littered with scars of every kind, he had picked up an unhealthy love of whiskey from Cait and his friends in the Commonwealth had called him Bull. The stupid name was apparently due to Crane's tendency to lose himself to a blind rage, seeing red when someone said or did the wrong thing. Crane wouldn't deny it.
Crane stood up and approached what was once a door before it had been blown from its hinges, dogmeat followed with an excited wag of his tail. Crane stepped over the splintered door, its coat of red paint turned a washed-out pink after bathing in the sun for years.
The moon shone like an angelic orb, sending the reflected sunlight over the dark world below. Crane loved when it his turn to take watch- Cait deserved to rest more than him after all.
Crane's long, blonde hair was pushed back by a pair of goggles as to keep it from falling over his olive eyes. He subconsciously itched the scared tissue around his left eye and the side of his head. Dogmeat sat patiently on the doorstep beside him, eyeing the moon with intelligent eyes.
"Why are we here boy?" Crane began to voice his dark thoughts to his canine companion like he did every night.
"With the things we've done, the blood that stains our hands and..." He looked at the canine as he licked his chops. "Muzzles." His lips tugged into a sad smile.
"We don't deserve to be alive..." He looked back up into the night sky, "and Yet we still are."
Dogmeat gave a quiet whimper and nudged the denim of Crane's jeans with his nose- an attempt to console his master's hollow heart no doubt.
Crane sat down, leaning the plasma rifle against the wall while Dogmeat laid his head on Crane's lap with a content breath through his snout.
"At least we've gone through it together, huh boy?"
A gust of wind rippled the man's white t-shirt and with it, the reminder of an approaching winter.
Soon enough, Dogmeat fell asleep to a light scratching behind his ear. It wasn't long before Crane began to doze off as well- slipping into a deep slumber shared with his old friend.
So much for keeping watch.