A/n:…I've decided Dylan needs a couch…

Chapter III: The Church of Dylan

April 3rd, 2279

Matthew looked at the man with a mix of utter relief, and fear. On one hand, he had just liberated him from possibly several more years of torment at the hands of his so called brotherhood. On the other hand, the man in the regulator duster was a notorious raider killer.

His breath hitched in his throat and when Dylan tried to come closer, Matthew backed away, up against the back wall, eyes wide.

Dylan smiled gently. "I'm not gonna hurt you kid, not unless you try to hurt me or my friends. Promise."

Two more people walked into the room behind him, A tall, dark skinned man in his early fifties, and a young, angelic looking blond girl in her late teens. They both wore dusters identical to the Lone Wanderer's.

Dylan could see that the boy was scared out of his mind, and not likely going to attack him. "I'm Dylan Rose, This is Lucas, and Renee".

"You're regulators" Matthew said, finding his courage and gripping his pistol tighter.

"Yes, but we were told we didn't have to eliminate you, just the other raiders. What's your name? How old are you?"

"M-My name's Matthew. I'm sixteen" he said. Dylan had to fight the urge to drop his jaw. He had figured the boy for thirteen, fourteen at the very most. His skin was pale and soft looking, and his baby face was framed by long, shiny black hair. His button nose was curved just ever so slightly to the right. His face betrayed a hint of mistrust. Dylan just stared at him. It was a miracle he had survived this long in a raider gang. Though he doubted it was without some mental scars, if not physical.

"Do you have anywhere you can go kid?" Dylan asked. Matthew was slowly beginning to recover from the shock, getting his wits back and speaking with a little bit more confidence.

"No. I have no family out here, at least not anymore. It's a long story, but I'm from the other side of the country. No way in hell I'm ever getting back there. Only reason I joined this fucking gang was for protection…not that I ever got any. I'm actually really glad you killed them. You did what I've wanted to for months."

Matthew leaned back against the wall and fished a pack of cigarettes and fancy silver lighter out of his bag in the corner. He sparked the lighter. The flames flickered; illuminating his high cheekbones and causing the light to dance off his eyes like fireflies playing tag. He touched the flame to the end of the Big Boss for a split second, then shut the lighter and exhaled a cloud of acrid smoke.

Dylan instinctively reached into his pocket for his own cigarettes and lighter and stuck one in his mouth. He flicked his lighter, and frowned when it would not ignite. He tried two more times, but it still wouldn't light.

"Hey Matt, you mind?" he asked. Matthew hesitated for a moment before tossing him his prized lighter. Dylan caught it and inspected it. It was engraved, and looked to be made of pure silver. There was a carving of a poker chip on it. On the back it read in tiny letters "The Tops Casino grand re-opening, October 31st, 2274, New Vegas, Nevada.

Dylan admired the fine craftsmanship for a moment before lighting his cigarette and handing it back to him. "Vegas huh? That where you're from?" he asked, taking a deep drag.

Matthew nodded. "That's my home. The Mojave Wasteland, hell of a place. I got that for being one of the first people to win a jackpot there. I won 5,000 caps and left all but a hundred to my mom the night I left for the Capital."

Dylan nodded. "Hey Lucas, there any beds open in the common house?"

Simms shook his head. "Fraid not boy. Completely full, some people are hot-bedding."

Dylan frowned. "Figures. Last time I checked, Rivet city was full on beds too, and I wouldn't wish Big Town on my worst enemy. Well, ok, maybe I would, but not on most people."

Matthew shrugged. "I'll be fine. I can just stay here. Lived here for six months, may as well make it home". He got up and scavenged the combat shotgun from Jackson's corpse, loading it up with ammo from the shelf, strapping two drums to his belt, and putting a few more in his bag. "I got a good gun, ammo, and food. I'm set".

Dylan had to resist the urge to say that a combat shotgun would probably blow the boy right off his feet, but he shook his head instead. "You seem like an ok kid. At least let me make you dinner tonight. Then you can head back here if you want to. My house is right over in Megaton".

Matthew stiffened at this. 'Could this guy just be another pervert?' he wondered.

"No thanks" he said, "I'll be alright".

Dylan rolled his eyes. "Come on, I insist".

"I said fuck off!" Matthew snapped. "Just leave me be! I appreciate your help, but I'm not exactly the type to fuck a guy just because he did something nice for me!"

Dylan recoiled, completely taken aback. "Wait, whoa man, you're misunderstanding. I'm completely straight! Besides, you're a little young for me! I'm just trying to be nice, you seemed like you could use a real friend."

Matthew bit his lip. "You promise you won't try any pervy shit?" he asked.

Dylan rolled his eyes. "No thanks bro, anal isn't really my thing."

Matthew grabbed his bag and shotgun. "Alright. I guess it can't hurt. Seriously though. Don't try anything. Please."

Dylan just snorted. Renee coughed. "Well, if you two are all done with that, I'd like to get back to HQ and let the Commander know our mission is complete."

Dylan nodded. "I'll meet you there tomorrow. I'm going back to my house and getting some actual rest."

"I gotta get back to guard duty," Lucas said.

"We'll see you Renee, keep a hand on your gun," Dylan said.

Renee waved goodbye, and cut off the fingers of the mercs she had taken down before heading out the door and into the night.

Lucas and Dylan left Matthew for a moment to let him pack his few possessions that weren't already in his bag. He grabbed everything, and shed his prospect's jacket. He grabbed the jacket off Jackson's corpse. "I've earned this, you bastard" he muttered angrily. He looked at the patch on the back. It showed a grim reaper, and read 'Messengers of Death-Capital Wasteland Chapter President'. He slipped it on over his shredded long sleeve shirt, and then joined up with the regulators.

"Alright, let's get the hell outta here," he exclaimed. The two men nodded, and they headed for the door.

Out in the cool midnight breeze, the wastes were nearly silent. Dylan could hear a gunfight going on a few miles away, but other than that, silence was their companion as the three of them made their way back to Megaton.

I wonder if that's Renee Dylan thought idly.

They continued walking, but the closer they came to Megaton, the more Lucas seemed to slow down. Finally, they were within sight of the gate, and he was walking at a snail's pace.

"Something wrong?" Dylan asked.

Lucas stopped. "…You're not gonna be happy when we get inside."

Dylan stopped too. "Why?" he asked cautiously, turning to face him.

Lucas shifted his weight. "Well…We got a new group of nutjobs that moved into town about two months ago…just put on your shades. And if I were you, I'd cover your hair too."

Dylan scoffed impatiently. "What the hell are you talking about Simms?"

"Boy…there aint to easy way to say this. Maybe it'd be better for you to see it for yourself."

Dylan pushed open the gate, and frowned. Almost right away he saw it; a new building. It was an eyesore of a shack with a green neon sign reading "First church of the Lone Wanderer."

He deadpanned. "This has to be some kind of sick fucking practical joke."

He walked further into the town square, so distracted that he didn't even notice his Geiger counter start twitching when he walked through the irradiated water near the now inert bomb. He stared at the sign. To Lucas, it looked as though he was trying to blow the building to smithereens with his mind.

"Fraid not kid…Megaton attracts cults like a carcass attracts bloatflies.

"BEHOOOOLLLLD! THE MESSIAH MY CHILDREN!"

Lucas groaned. "I swear to God Dan…"

Dylan slowly turned around to see a group comprised of what looked entirely…like nutjobs. There were about fifteen of them, all gawking at him. Some kneeled down and crossed themselves, others prayed and still some flopped on the ground like worms.

"…Oh hell no" Dylan said, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Who the hell are you people?"

The man called Dan, seemed to be their leader. He was a fifty something man with clean cut gray hair and watery blue eyes. He shed a few tears. Dylan gasped as he grabbed onto his duster. He could smell alcohol, specifically vodka on the old man's breath. "WE ARE YOUR CHILDREN, GREAT MESSIAH; we are the humble church of the Lone Wanderer".

Matthew stepped back quite a ways away from the crowd, stunned at the spectacle.

"Get the fuck off me you creepy old gasbag!" Dylan yelled.

"PLEASEEE! WE MUST BASK IN YOUR RADIANCE FOR JUST A SHORT WHILE LONGER!" Dan shouted.

Dylan clenched his teeth. "I said get off. NOW!" he screamed.

"Lord! What have I done to displease you!" Dan cried, "Have I sinned? Why won't you LOVE ME?"

Dylan broke the man's hold on him with a swift pull, using his momentum to toss him into the bomb; he fell in a heap in the irradiated water and screamed. Dylan grabbed Dogmeat's leash from Simms and ran toward his shack at breakneck speed. Matthew followed uncertainly, but Dylan got there first, ducked inside and slammed the door so hard the walls rattled.

"FUCKING HELL!" he screamed, "A CHURCH?"

Dogmeat whined in response, nuzzling up to his master. Dylan patted her head, trying to calm down.

Matthew winced, hearing his scream from outside. He quietly opened the door to find the Lone Wanderer sitting in a chair in the corner, seething.

"…That was…different" he said quietly.

"That was the final straw is what that was. I can't take this shit anymore," Dylan said. "First day back in town and this happens. I can't do this. I can't do this one more day. Why do I bother helping people when I KNOW it's gonna bite me in the ass?" he shouted.

Dogmeat whined in protest, jumping into his lap and licking his cheek.

"See girl, even you practically worship me"

Matthew had no idea what to say or do. He pulled out his pack of cigarettes and offered it to Dylan. He took a deep breath, and took one from the pack, taking his lighter when it was offered.

"Thanks" he said irritably, lighting the smoke and handing the lighter back. Once again his eyes praised the sleek design of the lighter. And that was when a light bulb lit up in his brain.

"Hey Matt" he began, calming down a bit. "What's Vegas like?"

Mattew lit his own cigarette, shed his jacket, and sat down on the floor. "It's a lot like here in some ways. The area around the city is toast, a complete desert. But the city itself is very much alive. The areas surrounding the strip are a complete ghetto, but the strip itself was rebuilt. It was a lot like it was in the old world a few years ago. The casinos reopened, they have clean water, and the place is pretty much still sin city."

Dylan nodded. He patted Dogmeat's head and the dog jumped down onto the floor.

He got up and grabbed some mac and cheese out of the fridge and began cooking, taking sips from a bottle of whiskey while he did. "Why are you here if you lived in a place like that?" he asked.

Matthew looked away. "I really don't want to talk about it."

Dylan took a drag off his cigarette and tried again. "Did you like it there?"

Matthew slowly nodded. "It was tough. I lived in Freeside, not exactly heaven. Still safer than here though. I miss home…and I miss my mom."

Jackpot Dylan thought. "Wanna go back there?" he asked.

Matthew looked at him like he had just proposed to him. "What kind of question is that? Of course I do. But I would never make it."

"You made it here, didn't you?" he asked.

Matthew took a hit off his cigarette and sighed. "I thought I never would…sometimes I wish I never had."

Dylan looked him over fully for the first time since the attack, and saw the blood seeping from a tear in his long sleeve shirt near his right shoulder. "You're injured" he pointed out.

"Shrapnel" Matthew said. "I shot my lamp on accident" he said.

Dylan tossed him a bottle of purified water from the fridge, as well as a stimpak. "There. You should clean that out before it gets infected."

Matthew nodded. "…Thanks" he said hesitantly.

What's his deal Matthew thought, this is…so odd. I don't know this guy. Why on earth is he being so nice?

He slowly picked the glass and metal out of his arm, wincing as he did so. Realizing that he would have to take his shirt off to fully clean the wound, he cleared his throat and asked "…Is there anywhere I can change in private?"

Dylan tried to resist the urge to chuckle at the boy's shyness, and nodded. "Up the stairs to the right. You can use my room."

Matthew nodded again. "Thanks…for everything" he said.

"Don't mention it kid" Dylan replied, finishing his cooking and dishing out the macaroni. "Food's done whenever you're ready."

Matthew walked up the rusty metal stairwell and went into the small bedroom he supposed belonged to Dylan, shutting the door behind him. It was a quaint little room, dingy, but better kept than the rest of the shack. Papers were stacked neatly on his desk, as well as a tattered hardcover book. He picked it up and looked at the cover.

"The Wasteland Survival Guide, by Moira Brown, researched and co-authored by Dylan Rose"

"Wow. How about that" he said, putting it back on the desk. Matthew pulled off his shirt and tossed it on the dingy mattress, wincing as he flushed the wound with the bottle of water, taking a few drinks when he was done. He injected the stimpak into his wrist and sighed in relief as the stinging began to subside.

"Well, there goes my last good shirt," he said, pulling it back on in spite of the tears and bloodstains.

He got up from the chair he had been sitting in and was walking back to the door when his boot kicked something, causing it to skitter into the wall. He bent down and picked up an empty bottle of whiskey. Nearby, he noticed, in a trash can, were several used syringes, a few canisters of jet, a pill bottle labeled "Mentats" and a few empty cigarette packs. It certainly didn't look like the room of a 'messiah'.

"Good Lord, what a junkie" he muttered. Matthew had, in spite of being in a raider gang, generally shied away from chems. He smoked cigarettes, but other than drinking before Jackson would come into his room every few nights, had kept his distance from harder substances, like mentats, jet, and recreational use of med-x.

He shook his head and walked back downstairs, grabbing his bowl of macaroni and a spoon and eating while Dylan adjusted his pip boy radio back onto Galaxy news.

"Breaking news folks! A little birdie just told me that Mr. 101 just dealt a crippling blow to the Messengers of Death, wiping them out and saving a young boy. ALL HAIL 10-"

Dylan shut the radio off. "Figures. Jeez, doesn't he ever have anyone else to talk about?"

Matthew nodded. "I always used to listen to him when I was in my room alone. He really does have a one track mind. I kinda wondered about that."

"He's become just as bad as the rest of these idiots around here. I really just need to get out of this place. Out of the capital. Preferably somewhere with lights, girls, and all the whiskey I can drink." He hinted.

"Well…Vegas has all those things and more. But it's no more peaceful," Matthew replied.

"Nowhere is really peaceful kid. I just want a chance to start over without being idolized."

Matthew nodded. "Nobody is anything in Vegas unless they're a pimp, a chem kingpin, or in the Military. Trust me…if you want to be treated like an average schmuck, that's the place."

Dylan decided now was the time. He figured if he threw out the hook now, the kid just might bite down.

"What if I take you back there?" he asked.

Matthew stared at him as if he had just proclaimed he could turn into a deathclaw at will.

'Maybe this guy really is a damn pervert' he thought. Then again…he did let me change in private, he fed me, and he hasn't even asked for anything in return. He does good things out of the kindness of his heart. I mean, people call him teacher, protector, even Messiah. I've never heard of him hurting innocents. He's always just helped people, even when it cost him everything…

"Why would you want to do that for me? We don't know each other." He reasoned.

Dylan chuckled. "You wanna go back. I wanna go there. There's no way in hell I can stay here. I'll end up slaughtering those crazy bastards. It makes perfect sense. You can direct me. I can protect you. It's a win-win."

"…I'll think about it" Matthew said.

Dylan nodded. "That's all I ask. You can sleep on the couch if ya want" he said, pointing to a ratty old couch with stuffing sticking out of the cushions.

Matthew nodded, too tired to argue and curled up on the couch. He tried to fight the wave of sleep coming over him, but it was futile. He was a little worried, but reassured himself that the Lone Wanderer would never do anything to harm him. He was a kid, young and seemingly defenseless. The kind of person he knew the mysterious redhead couldn't help but want to protect. He yawned and was out a few minutes later.

Dylan looked at the boy and smiled a wolfish grin. He ascended the stairs quietly. "Hook, line and sinker. Looks like I'm outta here," he muttered.

The last thing Dylan saw as he fell asleep was a vision of neon lights, and a gigantic tower consuming the skyline.

A/n: Review, and tell me what you think, if there's anything I could do better, or should fix. Next up, chapter 4 :) Special thanks to Flying Phoenix Fire for beta-ing this chapter, and helping me so much with figuring out storyline. And just for being a great friend in general. You rock XD. And a thank you to Infinite Dragon and Cally 777 for your reviews and constructive crit.