9.
After a while, Charon admits that he was wrong. It isn't just difficult for Max to travel the Wasteland; it's nearing impossible. His employer is exhausted, yet stubbornly refuses to break for more than an hour unless it is to sleep. It only takes a day and a half for the purified water to run out, and it's something they have not come across again. Max has mentioned more and more that the project mentioned by Dr. Li, so fondly chased after by James, is starting to sound like the best idea he has ever heard, despite how he had pushed the topic away before when speaking to her.
"Perhaps we should travel only by night," Charon says, and Max closes his eyes. It's midday, and he is sitting in the meager shade provided by a small boulder, leaning heavily against it. He's soaked in sweat and badly sunburned, the top portion of his head still in the sun, and Charon pulls himself up to sit on the rock, positioning himself so his shadow covers the boy completely.
"Oh...thank you," Max mumbles, and he sounds awful. "But it'll take longer. I gotta...plus you said it's dangerous at night."
"It is always dangerous," Charon says, looking down at him. "However, the heat is affecting you more than anything."
"'Cause it's fuckin' hot. But I can't just sit around all day."
"Perhaps only when the sun is highest, then? You cannot continue like this."
"Maybe." He covers his mouth and coughs, and then curls sideways. "I'm so thirsty… "
"Do you wish me to find water?"
"No, don't leave me!" Max says, and Charon pulls his hand away when Max reaches out like he might be trying to grab it.
"I'll die. Don't go."
"Very well," Charon replies. He takes out the bottle of river water he's been sipping from far less frequently than he should be, and Max squints up at him when he hears the bottle crackle before grimacing.
"I puked last time I tried to drink that shit."
"I thought no different," Charon says. He looks about, then moves to pick up as many twigs and brush that he can find around them, and Max watches, puzzled, as he crouches down and piles them together. He then reaches into his pocket and produces his lighter, and Max makes a face.
"Why the hell are you makin' a fire? Isn't it hot enough?"
"You do not wish me to find water, so I shall make do with what we have." Charon says, grabbing for Max's bag and pulling two empty bottles out, adding a few more twigs to the tiny flame.
"...What do you mean?"
Charon only grunts in response, and so Max stops questioning and simply observes as Charon takes his knife and slices the bottom of one bottle off. He stands again, roaming around the rock Max is against, and eventually kneels back down with a handful each of grass and pebbles. He then puts the fire out and crushes the burnt pieces of wood between his fingers. It's still glowing red, and Max winces, but Charon doesn't react; Max doesn't know why he expected otherwise.
He brings his legs up, completely intrigued as Charon then takes the empty bottle he'd cut and places layers of sand, grass, pebbles, and the burnt wood into it, before handing the second to Max.
Max blinks, staring down at it. "I...don't…"
Charon puts the rims of the bottles together and pours the dirty water into the funnel, and Max is absolutely dumbfounded to find it comes out clearer into the bottle he is holding.
It's a filter , he realizes at last, and it's just about the best thing he's ever seen.
"Holy shit! That—how did you—" he sputters, eyes wide in delight, and Charon runs the water through the filter twice more before deeming it safe enough to drink. Max lets out a gleeful whoop, letting the liquid cool his burning throat, and he wants to hug Charon.
"That was so fucking cool! Where'd you learn that? Holy shit!"
"I do not recall," Charon says, and then turns to climb onto the rock again; it's such a sudden, awkward end to Max's excitement that he almost flinches. He looks up, but Charon has his back turned to him now.
"Um...do you want some?"
"I require nothing."
"Okay, and I hear you, except I'm still kinda thinking about you passing out for half a day last time you said that."
Charon crosses his arms and grunts again, and Max rephrases. "Are you thirsty?"
The very idea that Max would consent to have Charon drink from something he used himself is absurd. Charon huffs, sets his jaw, and grits out, "No."
"Please? You're gonna get sick!"
"You need not be concerned for me," he says, and sighs heavily when he feels Max nudge the bottle against his hand. "You are incessant."
Max giggles, and Charon finally turns to grab the bottle and lift it to his mouth. It takes all of his willpower to take just one swallow, to not down the entirety. He then uses his sleeve to wipe the rim off and hands it back to Max.
"Thank you. Are you always this fuckin' stubborn?"
"I do as my employer commands."
"Ah," Max says, taking another drink as if he's not at all bothered by Charon's filth, and is trying to prove it, and Charon nearly grimaces himself, moving to face the other direction again.
"So unless I order you to take care of yourself, you won't?"
Charon closes his eyes and doesn't reply. He's exhausted; a kind of tired sleep can't fix, and nothing Max does or says helps it. He wants Max to stop trying to talk to him like he's a person and just command him to do something, anything.
"Is...that what your employers are usually like? Just giving you whatever when they feel like it?"
"Usually." Always. Same thing.
"That's not against your contract? It says they can't hurt you. I'm pretty sure starving you is hurting you."
Charon scowls at the ground and digs his nails into his palms. There is no end. "I serve you for good or ill."
"But—"
"I serve you for good or ill."
"I'm—"
"I serve—"
"Stop!" Max shouts, and Charon silences himself, relieved. That's all he wants. That's it. He wants orders. He needs them.
Max grabs his bag, holding it tightly to his chest. "Shit...sorry. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to...I'm sorry. I'm just tired..." He takes a few more moments, silently, to recover before getting to his feet and hauling his bag over his shoulder. "We can go now...I'm sorry. Just...forget I said anything."
Charon doesn't have time to respond before there's a shot in the distance, and a bullet pings off the metal plate on his back, nearly knocking him off the rock entirely. He swears and jumps into action, getting in front of Max and pointing his gun in the direction it had come from but seeing nothing. A sniper, then. But—?
From around another boulder, further out, a black and red painted sentry bot wheels a few feet out, and Charon sighs in irritation.
"What?" Max asks. "Who is it? I can't see—"
"Outcasts. They will not shoot you."
Max lowers his gun, and Charon struggles for a moment to decide whether to step to the side or remain in front of Max. They won't fire at Max, at a random human civilian, but his contract pulls him to stay anyway, just in case. However, he needs to preserve himself, and if they don't see he is accompanied by a human...
Max decides for him, just as his head is starting to hurt, and plants himself at Charon's side as if they are equals. "What're Outcasts? Are they bad?"
Charon resists the urge to rub at his temples and grunts in response. It takes a minute, but eventually, two Brotherhood Outcasts emerge, approaching them with disdainful scowls aimed at Charon.
Max recognizes the power armor, but definitely not the colors. Outcasts...of the Brotherhood of Steel? He cocks his hip out to the side and puts a hand on it, glaring. "Hello? Who the fuck are you? Why'd you shoot at us?"
"Us? It's a ghoul," one of them offers, voice slightly muffled by their helmet. "Are you really with it? Why's a local traveling with one of these?"
"He is my friend," Max spits, and Charon tenses.
"Your friend? A ghoul?" The Outcasts exchange glances, just as doubtful as anyone would be upon hearing such a ridiculous thing, and the other shakes their head.
"Typical Wasteland mutt. Off his fuckin' rocker. Let's go."
"Excuse you," Max says, and they completely ignore him, turning. Max throws his arms up in a gesture of aggravation, and Charon once again reflexively grabs for the boy's wrist before Max pulls it away.
"Sorry. Sorry. Are they...from the Brotherhood?"
"They separated themselves from the Brotherhood," Charon replies, "and they do not get along. I know nothing more. Only that they are still just as bigoted."
"Why?"
"...I am sorry?"
"Why does everyone hate ghouls?"
What kind of question…? Charon, just briefly, meets the boy's eyes and then tilts his head down again. "We are not human."
"Of course you are."
"You are one of very few who think so," Charon says. He watches as Max heaves a sigh, kicking a pebble out from under his foot. He looks...so genuinely upset about it. It makes no sense.
"Well, I don't hate you," the boy says finally. "I think they're stupid."
Charon is all at once overwhelmed with anger, and he doesn't think before he speaks. "Or maybe you are the foolish one. You know nothing of me, of what I have done. You are a foolish little child, and it only grows more clear with every word you speak. I am not your friend. It is not my job to be your friend, and I do not want to be, and you are far more stupid than I previously thought if my friendship is something you desire."
The moment the words finish leaving his mouth, Charon is horrified. Insulting his employer? Being so disrespectful? He is not allowed to say things like that...
He tries to remain steady, because it was his choice, albeit an absentminded one, to do so, and he deserves whatever punishment is surely about to come, but he finds himself shrinking back anyway, retreating into himself, ducking his head and keeping his arms stiff at his side, resigning completely. He is almost frightened; every time he has let something awful slip past his lips he has been made to suffer for it, and his breaths are uneven as he waits.
And waits.
And then he hears Max start to cry.
He freezes, opening his eyes and staring at the boy, who glares up at him and then whips around.
What? Why…? What?
For a moment he worries Max is injured, somehow, but as he looks his employer over he realizes there's nothing physically wrong with him. Why, then, is he...crying?
His mouth opens and closes, wordlessly, until at last he manages, "That was out of line. Forgive me."
Max only shakes his head and starts off, and then snaps, "I just wanna find my dad. I don't want to be your stupid fuckin' friend. Fuck you. You're an asshole."
"Very well," Charon says, quietly; he's not disappointed.
It, of course, turns out not to be true. That night they take shelter in the remains of a house they find, one with a good portion of the roof and all of its walls, and Max, of course, tries to make conversation as Charon cooks mole rat meat over a fire just outside.
"I'm sorry for being a dick before. I'm...stressed. But I'm not stupid. That really was mean."
Charon tilts his chin down. "I was out of line. I apologize. You are entitled to discipline me if you wish."
"I'm not doing anything to you."
Charon merely nods in response, and Max fidgets, wringing his hands.
"Have...have I been okay to you? Other...other than that part?"
Charon glances over at the boy. In the light of the flames, he can see the other's face outlined with concern. Concern? For him? Ridiculous. He is not someone to be wasting that on. "Yes."
Max relaxes a bit, rubbing his arm. "But you still don't trust me."
Charon almost wants to laugh. Does the boy think he can gain trust within less than a week? Charon has none to give, but if he did, it certainly wouldn't be so quickly. He doesn't respond, handing Max a bowl he's put most of the meat into and leaving the other pieces untouched. He still expects retaliation; most commonly he is denied food, and he decides he'll wait to ensure he is, in fact, allowed.
Max watches as Charon sits back and pointedly looks away, quickly realizing Charon is waiting to be told it's okay for him to eat something.
"Please eat," Max says, and doesn't touch his food until Charon obeys, looking Charon over as the other downs the rest of the meat. He always eats so quickly, desperately, as if he thinks it's going to be taken away if he's too slow. Is that what his other employers did? Treat him like an animal while he constantly worked to keep them alive? Disgusting. He hopes Charon killed them all, just like he had with Ahzrukhal.
He hasn't been able to stop thinking about the 'training' Charon mentioned, the brainwashing, every time he has the chance. Charon doesn't want to talk about it, and he shouldn't have to. Max won't ask. That's not what a good person would do, and he's determined to prove to Charon that good is exactly what he is.
But that doesn't stop him from wondering. It's been over two hundred years, and Charon is still attached to a ragged piece of paper—why? What had been done to him that still held him prisoner all this time later? It makes him sick to imagine. Whatever torture Charon has gone through, from them and his former employers, he certainly never deserved it. He'd been Max's age, maybe even younger, when the bombs dropped, when he had been forced into a life of perpetual servitude. Had he been this cold back then? This stoic? If not, what had been done to him to make him that way?
Charon apparently notices him staring, and he twitches, straightening up and crossing his arms. There's something about the movements that make Max almost feel concerned, but with Charon's consistently impassive expression, he just can't tell what's wrong.
After a second and another awkward shift in position, Charon asks, "Do you need something?"
"What?"
Charon pauses for a moment before replying. "I am usually not watched so closely unless something is wanted of me. Is it not to your satisfaction?"
"Oh," Max says, and shakes his head, lowering his gaze. "No, it's good! It's fine! Better than I could do. I'm just...actually not really hungry." He holds out his bowl; Charon's eyes narrow, but he says nothing.
"I don't need this much. Take some more."
"I do not require your care," Charon mutters, but he obeys the order before turning away.
"My...care?"
"I am perfectly capable of retrieving my own food if I so desire."
"Then why don't you? Don't give me that I require nothing bullshit. You keep giving me all the food. I know you're hungry."
Charon proceeds to act like he hasn't already eaten what he took just a second ago, scoffing. "I give you most. It is my objective to keep my employer healthy and safe. I come second. I would only suggest otherwise if I felt weak, but I do not. I require very little. Your concern is unnecessary."
"Sure," Max says, rolling his eyes, and takes a few bites before he speaks again. "And you don't have to ask for permission."
"You have not ordered me to do so."
"You still waited for me to tell you to eat. That's asking for permission. You're not my...you're a person."
Charon looks up at him, gaze leveled at Max's shoulders, which Max supposes is as close to eye-contact as he'll willingly go for more than a second. He doesn't say anything, but he looks...confused.
"Is that...what you're usually supposed to do?"
"It is...how I am wired."
"What if...ugh. Okay. What if I...ordered you not to? To just...I dunno. Do what you want?"
Charon absentmindedly starts to itch at the back of his hand. He...he doesn't know what's going on, and he doesn't like it. Why would he be ordered to do such a thing? To... not have his actions approved? No employer has ever allowed him such a thing; he doubts any even considered it. He was utterly lost when Max sent him away at Rivet City; he cannot imagine how horrible it would be to constantly feel like that. He's meant to be...controlled; he's never wanted anything more than freedom, and yet, faced with it, he suddenly finds it a terrifying concept.
"I would be compelled to obey," he finally says, slowly. "But I would be uncertain how exactly to do so."
"Nobody's ever told you to do that before, have they?"
Charon shakes his head, looking away. Max notices he's caused himself to bleed, and yet continues to almost compulsively scratch his skin, just as inattentively as he had rubbed his thumb along his rifle before. Nervous. Maybe it's the only thing Charon can feel.
"Just...okay. This feels gross, but...I...I order you to do what you want, unless I tell you to do something else. Which, I won't," Max says. "Okay?"
Charon goes very still, eyes darting around, and then hesitantly nods. "Yes. Have you any guidelines?"
"No. No catch. Do whatever you want. Like, anything. Well, please don't leave me. But other than that."
"I would never leave my employer," Charon says quickly, as if he thought maybe Max was really suggesting he would.
"I didn't mean it like that. Just...consider yourself free. Okay?"
Charon finally pulls his hands apart and crosses his arms, staring down at the ground. He looks like he might be sick, and Max asks, "Are...are you okay?"
"I...I am uncertain how to proceed."
"Well..." Max shifts into a more comfortable position, humming thoughtfully. "What did you do when I was sleeping before?"
Oh, that's not something he wants to think about. Not at all. He takes a shaky breath and presses a hand to the cigarette pack in his pocket, then pulls it out, staring down at it.
"You smoke?" Max questions, and though his tone is anything but accusing, Charon still tenses, shaking his head.
"If you wish me—"
"Charon. Is that what you wanna do?"
It takes a moment for Charon to find his voice again. "Yes."
"Well, then, good! Great! Awesome!"
Cautiously, Charon sticks a cigarette between his lips and lights it, watching Max for a reaction.
The boy gives him a thumbs up, and Charon scowls, grabbing his bag and turning away, laying out a cloth and starting to disassemble and repair his gun as he has every other night.
"Oh," Max says, quietly. He doesn't know what he did wrong, but...it's probably best he leaves. "I guess I should…I'm gonna go to bed."
"Of course. I shall keep watch."
"You can wake me up later if you wanna sleep."
It's the same offer he's given every night, and Charon continues to have the same terse response, a short, "I will not," and nothing else.
Max rubs at his eyes and starts to retire inside the house, only Charon suddenly calls his name, and when Max turns back, Charon is looking at him again.
"Yeah?"
Charon appears a bit confused again, and then finally he says, "Thank you."
Max smiles, nods, and cheerfully says, "Goodnight," before disappearing into the house, and Charon returns his attention to his gun. It's something that will take getting used to, but...he can't say he isn't grateful. Even if it's revoked in the morning, which he certainly expects, for just one night, he, in some small way...is free. It's...unreal. One thank you isn't enough; neither is one thousand. He doesn't even know how he feels, let alone how to express it. It makes his head hurt.
When he's finished with his gun, he moves on to Max's, needing to keep himself from thinking. Then, as he's putting the fire out, he hears Max yelp his name, even from outside. He's beside the boy in an instant, shotgun raised and ready, but finds they are alone. He lowers his gun slightly, frowning, and asks, "What is it?"
Max's eyes are full of terror as he looks around, and it takes a few moments for him to return to himself, to remember where he is, and realize he is safe. A bad dream. That's it. Just a bad dream. He can't immediately stop his tears, though, and God, he just wants his dad, he wants to be held and told everything is okay even though it's not.
Charon only takes a second to analyze him, and easily comes to the conclusion of what happened. Max had nightmares, too? Oh, what a stupid thing to think—of course Charon isn't the only one. But...it's so very strange to see an employer, someone with complete power over him, to experience something that Charon does, and for a second time now. No employer had ever been sympathetic to his fear, or seemed to feel such a thing at all. They only felt anger, and distaste, and the desire to hurt and insult him.
"Sorry," Max finally sniffles, breathing more steadily. "I had a bad dream."
And to admit a weakness so easily? Charon finds himself feeling something he can't quite figure out, an almost softness to what is usually anger.
"Can you...stay close?" Max continues, looking up at him. "Please? Just...to be safe?"
"As you wish," Charon replies, nodding, and turns around, taking one step away and staying there.
"That's...good. Thank you." Max sounds half asleep again already, and when Charon glances back a few moments later Max is out, turned onto his other side, blanket half falling onto the floor, hands curled under his cheek.
That same odd, unnamed something tugs Charon over to take the blanket and lay it back over his employer, and he is at once reminded of when he woke in Rivet City, warm and swathed in fabric he had concluded later that he certainly did not pull onto himself. He left everything to his employer, always. Was it possible that Max had…?
Rolling his eyes and swatting his hand into the air, as if striking the outlandish idea from his mind, he starts to pace around the house, rummaging through the junk he finds for anything useful, whatever he can to keep himself busy.
He very clearly hears Max whimper, "Dad," sometime later, but decides to pretend he didn't.
x
It's the slightest miscalculation that brings them near Evergreen Mills. Even Charon, somehow, never found himself needing to know the exact location, and they only realize what it is when the huge fucking cliff Max points out ends up leading to the hidden valley holding the factory.
"Do not," Charon hisses at Max, grabbing his wrist as the boy tries to get closer to the edge.
"But—but there's—" He cuts off and steps forward anyway, shaking his head, and Charon releases him, frowning.
"You are upset because I do not want you to be killed?"
Max glares at Charon so sharply that Charon tilts his head down, biting back an apology.
"No. I'm upset I can't help them." He points, and Charon follows his gaze to the fenced-in area below holding several slaves, aimlessly wandering about their cage.
"What?" Charon doesn't actually mean to speak, but he has to be sure he even heard correctly. He will never get used to hearing such things from his employers.
"What do you mean, what? I hate that shit. Don't you wanna help them?"
"I do if you do."
"I do."
"Then yes," Charon says, "but I am afraid I must advise against it. Even with myself by your side, there are too many. You are not yet as skilled as you could be, we are running low on ammo, and have only our two weapons. It would be very unwise. Ultimately, however, it is your decision."
Max sighs and shakes his head. "No. You're right. We can't. It would be stupid."
"Quite," Charon says, relieved to see the boy show some sense for once.
"Look at that shit, too, over there. They have a pet behemoth. That's just great. Fuckin' crazies."
"We are in danger, out in the open like this. Please. Let us move on."
"Sorry, yeah," Max mutters, shaking his head. He braces himself to move, for them to continue on their journey, and then something hits him, just under his ear, and he jolts from the force. Confused, he reaches up to place a hand over the side of his neck, finding it vaguely sore, and then notices his hand is covered in red as he pulls it back. The hell? It…can't be blood, right? No...no, that's not possible...
He thinks he hears Charon call his name, but he suddenly feels sick, and he can hardly hear anything else besides an awful ringing. His neck is really hurting now...it's hard to think, to breathe...something is wrong but he just doesn't know what, and...
And his vision fades out, and he pitches forward, and there's nothing beneath him but darkness.
x
"Hey there kiddies. Three Dog here again. How's the Capital Wasteland treating ya'll today? Hope it's better than yesterday. Not to say a damn thing about where, but I heard 101 was headin' out towards a dangerous-ass area of the Wasteland. As if it's not all dangerous. Listen, when I say words on here, those words mean somethin'. If I say don't fuckin' head over to this place...don't fuckin' go there! Come on, kids, I know adventure awaits, or whatever, but there're some places you just don't wanna do that. Or maybe that's just me. Either way...shit. Be careful. Him, his friend, all of you out there. Fight the Good Fight, but for shit's sake...do it safely. Don't get yourself killed while you're at it. We need you, alright? Anyway...this has been Three Dog, bringin' you the truth, no matter how bad it hurts. Now, some music..."
