Delilah stood silently as Altan negotiated with the trader hanging around just outside of Megaton, a scrawny man who called himself “Doc Hoff.” The pair had struck up a back-and-forth over the trader’s goods, and Delilah found herself lost in the calm interaction. The trader’s pack Brahmin caught her attention, though. She couldn't help but smile at the two-headed bovine, its broad, dumb eyes slowly drifting in her direction. Delilah extended her hand, offering it a slow, cautious sniff. The Brahmin’s warm, moist nostrils flared as it investigated, its tongue flicking out suddenly to slap across her palm. Delilah recoiled with a sharp little shriek, half-laughing as the Brahmin's other head chewed on a tuft of grass, oblivious.

“You having fun?” Altan’s voice cut through the moment, and Delilah blinked, finding herself back in the present.

She nodded quickly, wiping the wetness from her hand on the rag tied to her belt. “Yeah, I’m good.”

“You know,” she said, casting a side-glance at the Brahmin, “do you think Brahmin can think twice as much, since they’ve got two heads?”

Altan arched an eyebrow, giving a lazy shrug that made the grenades and magazines hanging off his vest jingle. “Maybe. Or it might mean it’s twice as dumb.”

Delilah’s lips twisted into a small frown, but before she could respond, she swatted his arm. “Be nice. How would you feel if you were a nice two-headed cow, and some humongous jerk called you dumb?”

Altan thought for a moment, tapping his chin. “That’s a good point. But, if I had to venture a guess?” He grinned. “Tasty. I’d definitely feel tasty.”

Delilah rolled her eyes but couldn’t suppress a laugh. She turned to wave a final goodbye to the Brahmin as they moved on.

“Here,” Altan said, pulling out a small canvas case and tossing it to her. “Extra meds. I got a stim and radiation meds for each of us. Keep them handy, but don’t flaunt them. You don’t want any unsavory types sniffing out what you’ve got. Trust me.”

Delilah nodded, tucking the chems into the fanny pack around her waist. She knew Altan was right. The wasteland didn’t forgive carelessness. They passed through Springvale quietly, the remains of the old town a silent, ghostly testament to what the world had once been. Rusted cars sat half-buried in the dirt, and the weathered frames of houses swayed, sagging under the burden of time. Despite the desolation, the unease that came with it was palpable. Altan was constantly scanning the area, eyes darting from shadow to shadow, his finger hovering near the trigger of his assault rifle. Delilah, for her part, stayed close, her footsteps quick but light, almost silent as they walked together.

“Alright, let’s take five,” Altan said, pointing to a wooden bench sheltered by the skeletal remains of a carport. The shade there was a welcome relief, even though it was late morning.

Delilah slid up onto the bench beside him, glancing at him out of the corner of her eye. She had to admit, despite his gruff demeanor and his irritating need to always be "in control," Altan looked pretty damn cool, like a character out of an issue of Astoundingly Awesome Tales. He had long since abandoned his Vault 101 suit, opting instead for military fatigues and a battered combat vest that seemed to have survived countless firefights before ending up in his hands. Over it all, he wore a faded earth-toned duster, hanging to just above his knees. His "molly", as he called it—a series of pouches and compartments slung across his chest—was loaded with extra ammunition, grenades, and other assorted necessities, all jostling slightly with every movement he made. Around his neck, he wore a sand-colored shemagh, the fabric blending with his gear, with military-style goggles hanging loosely at the top. His helmet was just as unassuming, an earth-tone shade like his armor, with a mount for his night vision goggles—what he called “nods.” These were always tucked away when they weren’t in use, but Delilah knew they would give him an edge in the dark.

A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

His boots, heavy and scuffed, looked like they had walked through every corner of the Wasteland and back, and his long coat fluttered like the edge of a flag—marking him, no doubt, as someone dangerous.

Her own gear felt more provisional. A floppy boonie hat shaded her eyes, and like her brother, she wore a scarf and a pair of goggles Moira had gifted her. A lightweight plate carrier was strapped over her armored Vault suit—an odd mix of fabric, ceramic and metal that Altan had insisted she wear for protection. A handful of energy cells for her laser pistol lined a bandolier sling across her chest, and the worn leather of her gloves creaked slightly as she adjusted the fit of her belt. She was still getting used to the weight of it all, especially compared to Altan’s heavy rig. She had a rucksack, too, holding water, food, and other essentials, though it barely felt half as heavy as the one he carried. His presence felt larger, even when they walked side by side, like he was some hulking force in a world full of dust and ruin. And her? She was just… small. Delilah looked down at herself and felt a little pang of inadequacy.

Altan's gaze softened as he noticed the shift in her mood. He leaned closer, his voice quiet and steady. "Lily, you alright? Here, drink some water."

Delilah snapped to attention, blinking at the canteen in his hand before taking it from him. She took a long sip, feeling the cool water soothe the dry, uncomfortable feeling in her throat. “I’m fine. Just... thinking.”

“I could see the smoke,” Altan said, grinning lightly as Delilah smacked his arm. “But seriously, are you good? If you’re having second thoughts, I can take you back. I’ll handle this on my own. I could use your help on some of the locks, but...”

“No!” Delilah interrupted, too quickly, as if she could convince herself by force of will. “I’m fine. I’m just... thinking. You’re always going out, and coming back safe, so I know it’s safe. Even if you’re always coming back hurt…” She shrugged, trying to ignore the little quiver in her hands. “It’ll be safe.”

Altan raised an eyebrow, his expression shifting to one of quiet understanding. He pulled her into a brief half-hug, one hand resting comfortably on her shoulder. “I’m always coming back a little hurt because I’m actively seeking out trouble. It’s never anything a stimpack can’t fix. But today? Today, we’re gonna avoid trouble. We get in, grab what we need, and head back to Megaton.”

Delilah smiled softly, her anxiety quieting just a little at the certainty in his voice. “And if it takes longer?”

“Then we hole up in a bungalow along the way. It’s secure. Nice little hideaway. Hunters and foragers use it to stay the night when they’re on their routes.”

The mention of the bungalow lifted her spirits. “Who uses it? You said hunters?”

“Mostly. A few scavengers, sure. But it’s mostly the folks who work the mirelurk nests nearby. The nests can get out of hand sometimes.”

“Mirelurks?” Delilah asked, sitting up a little straighter. “Are there mirelurks nearby?”

Altan nodded gravely. “Yeah, a few miles off. You remember those first couple of days after we left the Vault? I came back all muddy and smelly?” Delilah nodded. “Yeah, I was giving the ‘lurk tenders a hand.” He shuddered, “That was a fun time. They’re not just big. They’re tough, and their pincers? They’ll clip right through your leg. Or so I’ve heard,” he added, eyeing her weapon. “Your pistol could probably crack the shell on one in a few shots, but I wouldn’t wait around to find out. If you see one, run and try to get to higher ground. They suck at climbing anything that requires hands.”

Delilah swallowed hard, her fingers tightening slightly around the canteen in her lap.

Altan clapped her on the back, pulling her out of her thoughts. “But we don't have to worry about that, as long as we stick to the route I picked. Mirelurks are incredibly territorial, and while that makes dealing with them very dangerous, it also means they generally don't wander much unless they start getting overpopulated. Hence the mirelurk tenders.” He paused, shooting her a wry grin. “It’s a very important job, if you think about it. They're feeding friendly folks' while keeping curmudgeonly critters confined.”

Delilah blinked, her apprehension forgotten as she stared at Altan. “Alliteration? Really?”

Altan nodded, unfazed. “In this economy? Wild, right? Anyway, let’s move. I did the math-” He sighed at her skeptical look, and stood. “No, really. I did the math. After this haul, we’ll have enough caps to get out of here and head to Rivet City. We’ll track down Dad.”

Delilah nodded, falling into step behind him once more. She felt a little steadier now, like she was more a part of this dangerous world and less an afterthought.