Deacon and the Sole Survivor came across several places that would work as shelter, but they eventually settled on a small shallow cave. The dead forest had grown thicker as they traversed through, but there was flowing water nearby and a distinct lack of Mirelurks or Bloodbugs. So they decided it was satisfactory enough.

After scouting the area and establishing some sense of comfort and safety, Deacon and the Sole Survivor began to relax. Sole pulled off his pack and let it drop to the ground loudly. He groaned as he stretched his newly freed back, the lack of weight on his shoulders was blissful.

He began to rummage through his sack, looking for food. They hadn't actually sat down to eat since even before the Deathclaw attack. Sole was glad they decided to split the food between their packs for instances such as this, but he was also worried that the food inside Deacon's would attract animals to the abandoned clothes, and more importantly, the junk and weapons inside. They'd spent forever collecting the materials that they'd need for some repair work and construction at the safehouse. He pulled out a box of sugar bombs, and smiled lightly when he looked up and saw Deacon standing near the entrance of their little hideout. He was leaning against the cave wall, staring at the Sole Survivor thoughtfully.

He looks a bit tense, Sole thought to himself.

After a beat of silence of the two of them watching each other, Deacon took a couple steps forward and began to speak, "Hey while you're still poking through that thing, you mind if I borrow a shirt? This one got a bit roughed up, and well, my stuff…"

Deacon trailed off, hands held helplessly in front of him.

Sole beamed at him, and started digging around again, sugar bombs set aside and momentarily forgotten. The inside of Sole's bag was a mess, jumbles of junk in every nook and cranny, along with various food items and ammo. Junk started spilling out of pockets of his bag, evidently Sole stored his extra clothing at the very bottom, and his lack of organizational skills made it an ordeal to reach. Deacon shuffled forward and opened the box of sugary puffs and popping a few in his mouth while he waited, watching Sole's hands as they worked deftly.

Usually Deacon would be making fun of his companion's hoarding tendencies, but with the calm that'd settled, the adrenaline from earlier had quickly dissipated. There wasn't anything to quell the throbbing pain from the lines that covered his back, which put a damper on his usual good spirits. When he would otherwise be standing watchfully, he was languid. Though his exhaustion would easily go unnoticed by anyone who wasn't used to his nuances.

Finally, the Sole Survivor grinned as he presented a collared grey button down. Its edges were a bit frayed, and a button was missing, but besides that it was in surprisingly good condition. Deacon smiled in return and grabbed it.

"Thanks, I'd promise to take care of it, but…" he trailed off as their fingers lingered slightly when they touched. He coughed before continuing "That's not a, uh, very easy promise to keep… considering our line of work."

He quickly backed away and walked stiffly towards the entrance of the cave. Sole chuckled, starting to put away all the random things that had fallen out out of his bag.

Once Deacon was outside and out of view, he pulled off his wig and folded his glasses as he walked. It'd be hard enough getting his shirt off without worrying about those getting in the way. When the small creek they'd discovered earlier was in view he started tugging off his shirt. The fabric brushed against the breaks in his skin, and he hissed through his teeth at the painful pull. There'd be no saving this shirt, what wasn't ripped and torn was splotched in blood. Despite that, he had hidden it quite well from the Sole Survivor. Which was alarmingly easy as the man lacked any sense of perception.

Deacon couldn't see how deep the wound was, but if the amount of blood on his shirt was any indication, he'd gotten off lucky. If it was even an inch deeper, or at a slightly different angle, the Deathclaw could have permanently disabled his right arm.

He slowed his pace as he made it to the creek's edge, and knelt down to cup some water in his hands. It was irradiated, just like the rest of the water in the area, but he needed to wash off. Dried blood was crusted onto his back and he didn't want to get it on Sole's shirt.

The water was cold, goosebumps were forming along his arms as he poured it down his back. The familiar tingling of radiation buzzed along the watery tracks. He figured he could use a dose or two of radaway later if needed.

He carefully traced the three long lines along his back, from the top of his right shoulder to the center of his spine, removing any dirt he felt. Contorting his arms around to his back reopened the barely sealed wounds. He sighed in frustration, and continued to wash off slowly. Through the cool water, he could feel the flesh around the openings were hot and puffed up. Neither of them had any stimpacks as they'd ran out a few days ago, so he filed that away to check on later when he had the time and medicine.

Deacon folded his ruined shirt in half. The dirtied half hidden, and reached towards his back with it in hand, skin stretching uncomfortably. He blotted his back gently, soaking up blood in an attempt to stanch the wound.

He knelt by the water until he was satisfied he'd stopped the bleeding well enough. Then he dunked what remained of his shirt into the creek and started scrubbing it. They could probably use the cloth for something, Sole did tend use everything he could get his hands on.

He slipped on the shirt Sole had given him and his glasses, and with his Pompadour wig in hand, he made his way back to their hideout. It was starting to get late, and the horizon was tinged dark with storm clouds. He hoped it was only a normal one, he'd be willing to put up with traveling in the rain to get to the safehouse, but radiation was something they'd have to stay in for. Another day without progress was something he'd prefer to avoid.

Breaking the line of trees to their small clearing, he noticed Sole had started a fire. He groaned in appreciation when he was in range of the heat, and raised his palms towards it. It was nice warming up after being doused in cold creek water. Sole wasn't within sight, so he shrugged to himself and settled in by the fire, throwing small twigs nearby into it. He spread his wet ripped shirt out on a rock nearby to dry it.

Fast winds blew the smoke around, the direction seemed to change randomly, the intensity of the winds were also changing, sometimes blowing sparks too close for his liking. He shifted to make himself more comfortable when he saw the box of sugar bombs from earlier, half-emptied. he hadn't realized how hungry he was until he saw it, but thinking about eating make his stomach flip.

He chalked it down to radiation from the water, and decided he should probably eat against the nausea. He pulled the box beside him. Slowly, he popped each sugar bomb into his mouth individually, and let them melt before continuing. He sat in silence for a while, listening to the crackling of the fire, and the sound of the steam. Usually he was quite attentive, but his eyes glazed over and he stared at the fire mindlessly.

The fire flickered towards him and smoke flared into his face. It burned his eyes, and he moved to get up when he heard chuckling. Sole was back.

"Don't try to move, it'll just follow you. Don't you know the saying? Smoke follows beauty?" said Sole. Deacon only snorted in response and got up to move anyways. Without the smoke in his face now, Deacon saw that Sole was carrying a bunch of wood.

Ah, so that's what he's been doing.

"Let me help with that. Let's put it in the cave, looks like it's gonna rain later," Deacon grabbed an arm load out of Sole's stack, skin on his back protesting. He slowed his pace and lead the Sole Survivor in the direction of their cave.

"Sooo, what have you been up to? Kind of disappeared there for a while," said Sole, dropping the stack of wood in the spot Deacon indicated.

"Oh, I was just washing off by the creek. Felt all gross and sweaty, and I figured creek water would be as good as any," Deacon replied, dusting his hands off.

"You probably could've just waited for the rain and showered in that to be honest," Sole replied looking to the sky. It was darker still. "We should probably move the fire in too."

Deacon nodded in agreement.

It was a matter of minutes after they moved the fire when the downpour started. Deacon had just barely save Sole's bag, which the man almost forgot outside.

With the combined matter of two men, a fire, and Sole's mess of a bag, there was little room to move. The cave was more of a netch in the side of hill that happened to have overcovering. The possibility of an oncoming storm hadn't played a role when they were looking for a place to camp, but after months of traveling together, personal space didn't mean much.

Sole was sprawled out by the fire, using his bag as a pillow. He stared at the ceiling, chattering about what camping trips were like pre-war.

Deacon held his back to wall of the cave. The rock was cold, but it helped sooth the burning sensation of his back. He had a good view of both his partner and the entrance. So far, the storm hadn't yet turned into a radiation one, but he felt dread in the pit of his stomach.

"...and then we would roast marshmallows, mine always got burnt. Nora liked them that way, so I'd give my mess ups to her, so I didn't mind so much," Sole was still talking, he mimicked different actions and started to wave his hands around. He turned his head to look at Deacon, quieting down for a second. "You can go to sleep bud, I don't mind. I know my stories can get a bit rambly sometimes."

"Nah, I like listening to your stories," Deacon replied.

"I just don't want to keep you up. You seem tired," said Sole.

"I'm fine, just worried about this storm. Don't want to wait out here for too long."

"That's true, guess we'll find out in the morning," said Sole. They sat in companionable silence for a while, listening to the heavy rain and rustle of the wind through the branches. After a particularly loud pop of the fire, Deacon moved to add more wood to it.

He felt the eyes of his companion on his back.