5 days after leaving the vault

Jericho was pissed off at us. We were using teddy bears and empty cola bottles for target practice and he went out of his shack and started yelling at Butch. Butch, the dumbass, yelled back. I had no idea what it was about until Jericho grabbed Butch's collar to spit into his face. Butch was ready to bolt. I could see it in his face. It was not funny at all. Ah, fuck it. It was funny.

"Jericho, I'm sorry. Let him go." I apologised because Jericho was a bigger dumbass than Butch. And more experienced. And more violent. And a much better shot than Butch. Or me. He let Butch go. I held back an uncharacteristic sigh of relief. Jericho glared at me before warning me about the teddy bears. I honestly had no idea what it was about. I just figured we should treat the teddies better. Butch was still stunned as Jericho nodded at me and left us for the bar.

"Wow. You really are a hero," he enthused in disbelief. I ignored that comment.

"What did he say to you?" I gave him a once-over for any injuries out of habit.

"Asked if I stole the bear." He dusted off his dusty jacket.

"What did you say?"

"I said I didn't steal the rotten fleabag."

"You're a jerk."

"You're a goody two shoes."

"You have bad aim."

"You have bad hair!"

"You're afraid of radroaches!"

"You're afraid of me!" He laughed. I punched. We fought.

Jericho found us in front of the house, exhausted and bleeding. As he blew a curl of smoke into Butch's face, he smirked.

"You're a bunch of sick fucks."

"Eddie is," Butch drawled. Jericho, on the other hand, had confusion written all over his face.

"Who's Eddie?" Jericho asked. I felt my name get tarnished as soon as it left Butch's mouth.