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Chapter Text

Clint was not interested in the small town talk of the settlements he visited. 

Clint was not interested in tall tales told under candlelight or by campfire, smoke and mirror stories and ghostly chills held no sway over him like they had once as a child. 

Clint was not interested in much really. 

“Am’ a simple guy with simple needs,” he’d say. “Don’t ask for much, don’t want for much, just a place to sleep or rest my feet where I won’t get rained on and some warm food to keep me going.” 

But that was a lie. 

A tale he told himself to avoid the stares, the whispers, the sudden interest in his skills for a price he would never bother to haggle on. 

The sudden relief in the eyes of townsfolk he never wanted to have relying on him like some whelping pups begging for their mother’s affection.

Clint was a wanderer, a vagabond, a reckless man who’s one joy in life…..was the thrill of the hunt. No matter where he wandered, there was always something that needed killing. Be it some mutated bear or wild dog pack that had taken up residence just outside some livestock pastures. Or, if he was lucky, a Deathclaw running about picking off stragglers in caravans and distant, failed homesteads. 

He didn’t hunt these beasts out of mercy for anyone, no matter what people tried to imply otherwise. He was not some saviour, not some hero, not some gruff lookin’ man with a heart of gold. 

Not in the slightest. 

He felt no joy in seeing the light of relief in people’s eyes at the announcement they would be freed of the terrors that stalked them in the night, no warm fuzzy feelings, no jittery bits of some heart growing twenty sizes. 

He only felt the trembling glee of terror and adrenaline and bloodlust as he stared down the barrel of his gun at whatever horror was charging closer, closer, closer. He only felt the racing of his heart, the pain in his clenched jaw, the tight feeling in his guts as his instincts to RUN fought tooth and nail with his LONGING to SLAUGHTER. To feel the hot, wet blood of his prey splatter across his face. To feel the silky, burning warmth between flesh and skin as he peeled the resulting hide from the fresh carcass. To watch as a predator’s eyes glittered in fear as the tables turned, and its last breaths shook with terror as it realised that HE was the hunter, and IT the prey. 

To feel that power, it left his head spinning and his blood dancing and giddy with delight. 

“God it’s a wonder ya never became a serial killer.” one of his acquaintances, a scraggly bearded fellow from years ago, had murmured out loud one night as the two had set up camp together. 

“Nah, no wonder about it.” Clint countered. 

“I quite like people,” he explained. “I got friends-” 

“Sure ya do.” his acquaintance, Jim was his name? He was never great with names. 

“Alright fine, I have people I tolerate.” Clint huffed as he spread out his bedroll onto the desert sand. “But I did have friends. Had a family, had a ma and pa, had a wife bless her soul, had some good kids too.” 

“Wasn’t much of a crew but ey, we were some lucky bastards.” he grinned, finally tossing his rolled up jacket behind his head as he settled in for the night. “Luckier than most I’d say. Had a good homestead, clean water source, not too much radiation in the area.” 

Jim nodded, scratching at his beard. 

“I take it once they found out bout yer…habits…they wanted nothin’ to do with ya?” He asked. 

At that, Clint frowned. Laughed, but still frowned. 

“Well, you see,” he yawned. “I didn’t have that ‘little habit’. Until….” 

He glared up at the sky, brow scrunching as he saw the first bits of stars twinkling into view. 

A clear night. A bright moon. The milky way trailing across the indigo sea above, brilliant speckles of twinkling light. Like the shimmering scales of a snake-eel amidst the oil black waters of a lake. 

In the distance, faint, and drowned out by the sound of crickets and coyotes, a melodic rumble echoed through the desert. 

“Until…” Clint grinned. “SHE arrived.”

Chapter Text

Jim was never one for staying in one place for too long. Always a wanderer at heart, no matter the dangers. The open desert, the prairies dotted with spiraling wildflowers, the song of the winds that danced across his ears as he meandered from place to place. He loved it, every minute of it. 

Sure, it wasn’t an easy life. Food was scarce, fresh water was a godsend, acid rain was a nightmare to hide from. But to Jim, it was well worth it. Towns were too much for him, too crowded, too dusty, too full of people who could never agree on something no matter how vital it would be in the long run. Or worse, people who agreed without question to the point of a cultish nature. He avoided those settlements. 

Selfish though it may be, Jim much preferred his own company. Only having one mouth to feed, one voice to listen to, one opinion to argue with, it was much more manageable to him. And besides, he certainly couldn’t get a view as beautiful as this if he was living in a settlement. He thought as he poked at the campfire between him and his single companion for the night. 

He’d met him before, an on-again-off-again wanderer, much like himself in a way. Though he seemed to stick to more well worn paths and hopped from settlement to settlement rather than living entirely on the land as Jim preferred. Still, there was a kinship that had grown between them, he’d noticed. A quiet tolerance as they had first met along the road one dusty day, a simple nod and a keeping of pace for a few hours before parting ways. Before returning a few days later, bringing up a small amount of chatter. 

“Wind’s rough.” Clint, he’d learned the name was, muttered. 

“Brings rain, it does.” Jim shrugged. 

“Ah,” Clint had nodded. “‘Spose that’s right ain’t it.” 

They’d walked a bit farther. 

“Say,” Clint had offered. “I got some canned beans from the town I was just at. You up for a barter?” 

Jim had pondered for a moment, kicking absently at the dust beneath his weathered boots. 

He’d need some new one’s soon, if the holes in the toes were anything to say. 

“Don’t got much,” he settled on. “But I can catch a rabbit for some stew and we can share the beans, sound good?” 

That was how they met and there wasn’t much to it than that. 

Two wanderers of different paths decided that, for now, they could be friends. 

Well, Jim corrected himself. Friends was stretching the concept a bit. Acquaintances, non-committal road buddies, nothing too deep. 

If one or the other died, it would do no good to mourn. Establishing a friendship that deep would only be a hazard in the long run. But still, it was nice to have someone tolerable to chat with in the dead of night. 

“Until…” Clint grinned beside him. “SHE arrived.” 

Jim prodded at the campfire with a stick, eyes scanning the horizon around the lone rocky outcrop they’d settled on for the night. A series of jagged ledges that would be next to impossible to climb if one wasn’t human, four legged critters were fortunately vertically challenged in that aspect of things, meaning that unless a particularly hungry cougar or some feral ghoul managed to clamber up the stoney faces, the two were fairly well secure in their campsite. Despite how open it was, being the only campfire atop a rock for miles in every direction, an obvious beacon, one would be hard pressed to find raiders or gangs or other ill-gotten folk this far out into the wilderness. The only real danger at this point was if the two managed to sleep too soundly to notice the loud clicking and scraping of rocks being climbed. Or if a sudden storm decided to rear its head and strike them both in their sleeps with lightning, though that at least would be quick, Jim thought to himself. 

“She?” he asked, curious now at his companion’s story. 

Clint would ramble on about his hunts, to gruesome and nearly sickening detail sometime. Jim didn’t judge, there wasn’t much to judge really. Was it a bit disconcerting the way Clint would almost lovingly describe the way his quarry would gasp its last breath within his hands?....probably yes. 

Well, definitely yes, if he was being honest. 

But Clint never hunted humans. Or anything like deer or rabbit for that matter. It was always some predatory creature, a pack of mutated coyotes, a two headed bear, a Deathclaw even, if he was to be believed. 

Though he certainly had the scars for it, Jim noted the deep gouges along the man’s brow that cut into his hairline, creating a bald patch where the hair never truly grew back. And where it had, it was now a pale, pigment-less white, a striped contrast to his otherwise peppery middle aged hair. 

“Aye, SHE.” Clint dug out a small, rounded stone from his pocket and held it up above him, turning it this way and that, catching on the firelight with a glint of gold. 

No, not a stone, Jim recognised. 

A scale. 

A large, teal blue scale. Glittering and gem-like, he could imagine someone in one of the settlements would’ve paid a hefty amount of bottle caps for it to decorate the pale neck of their missus, or perhaps the finger of their partner. 

“A beast, She is.” Clint continued, eyeing the scale with a squinted. 

“We were just farmers back then.” and Jim realised with a sense of wonder, curiosity, and irritation, that Clint was about to tell him his backstory. 

Damn. He huffed silently to himself. He really did not want to get any closer to the man. 

It wasn’t that he didn’t like him, he was…pleasant…sort of…mostly he was just an interesting person at best. Someone Jim could rely on to have a good trade with, someone who wasn’t going to jump him for his supplies, someone to have a vague conversation with to keep from going insane from months of only hearing one’s own voice. He wasn’t, bad, per say. But he really, REALLY, didn’t want to grow too close to him. 

Is it odd, he wondered, to outright want to REJECT an offer of friendship? For no real reason other than inconvenience? 

Perhaps that bit of anti-social instinct of his was what kept him from feeling what should have been dread, fear, even terror at the first time he’d seen Clint’s butchery of a mangled coyote. 

When he’d walked upon him on the road, giggling to himself as he sliced the thing open, almost painting the ground with its blood and entrails, not out of sloppy preparation of the meat and skin, but out of the sheer enjoyment of feeling the hot flesh under his fingertips. 

Fucked up, he knew, and yet he felt nothing. 

Perhaps the years of wandering, of seeing some of the more gruesome sides of humanity, had desensitised him. Perhaps it was the constant reassurance that “Oh I don’t hunt humans.” followed by the affirmation of the few towns folks in various settlements singing the man’s praises and never once showing any sign that he had harmed them. 

Still though, there was a part of him that was curious.

Just what exactly, would have happened in this man’s past, to cause him to…be like that? 

And as irritated as he was about it, Jim found himself morbidly fascinated at Clint recounted the tale that had led him to this point in his life. 

“About ten years or so ago it was.” the man sat up, still turning the teal blue scale in his hand, his eyes scanning the horizon line as he spoke. 

Watching for something. 

Or perhaps, seeing some dark shade of the past that Jim could not fathom in his mind’s eye. 

“Had a little homestead, not too far from here actually.” Clint described. 

“A little place with my ma and pa, my lovely wife, Luka, darling she was. My kiddos, Rinny and Lenny, little shit’s they were but I mean that lovingly you know.” 

“Found a nice patch of wetland, not too much rads, not too far from a settlement for trade, no issues with raiders or feral ghouls, most of the folks who came by to visit or were passing through to the settlement were either kind enough to keep to themselves or were lovely and personable and made good trade. Good conversation too.” Clint nodded. “We set up a leek farm, made some good money from that, the trade was always good for fresh, low rad greens. Not so easy to come by these days.” 

“Life was good.” he fidgeted with the scale a bit more. 

Jim could swear, now that the scale was closer, that there was a pattern etched into it. Something familiar, mechanical almost. Like some of the internal parts of the synth corpses he’d scavenged through at times. 

The old motherboards made for excellent shrapnel traps…

“And then SHE arrived.” Clint’s eyes glittered with the firelight. 

Chapter Text

It was a dark night, I shoulda’ known shit was gonna go down on a night like that. The moon was in its waning crescent phase or however you say it, when it’s that last little sliver of white against a pitch black sky. No stars to be seen, everything covered in clouds and a fog so thick you can’t see your hand through it even with a lantern. The type of fog that sounds play tricks on you. You hear one thing from far away only for it to be right beside ya, you hear something right next to ya and its so far off in the distance you’re better waiting for it to come to you than you to it. 

The type of night like that, you see things. Hear things. Your mind plays tricks on ya and you question if what you’re experiencing is just some sort of nightmare. Or hallucination. Something unnatural or supernatural I tell ya, it wasn’t right that night. I’ve never experienced a night like that since. 

I wasn’t able to sleep that night. Knew something was off. In ma bones I knew, they shivered and creaked like timbers in an abandoned house in the middle of a windstorm. The hairs on the back of my neck stood right up straight, like how they do when you touch a synth and get that little jolt of electricity, or during a thunderstorm, or when you’re being stared at by something that wants to eat ya. 

Anyhow, my instincts knew something wasn’t right and maybe that’s what kept me alive in the long run. Maybe that’s what’s kept alive since. 

I couldn’t sleep, so I didn’t bother. Stayed up reading some old books my ma had saved from her time in a vault, good stuff it is, literature, got nice pictures and everything. You should try it sometime, the writing doesn’t make much sense but the pictures are worth the annoyance of the words ya know? 

Was reading under candlelight until I dunno, maybe two? Three in the morning? Was supposed to be getting up around that time anyhow to start up the daily chores. Check the chicken coop for any holes, fix up the engines on the tractors, work on fixing up some breakfast for the folks before they wake, plan out what field needs to go fallow and what needs to be replanted, organise for some settlement cattle to drop some shits here and there for fertiliser. You know, farm stuff. 

Was up at that time, and I still was feeling that something was wrong. Wasn’t right. Kept feeling…watched. 

Kept hearing something too. 

Sounded like, singing almost, if I had to put a description to it. Like a melody out of some fairytale. Or maybe hell.

I went outside, took my rifle with me just in case, grabbed the dog as well, I didn’t want to risk it. And started walkin the property line. Checking the fence for breaks and such, just in case. I mean, no harm in being extra safe, I was pretty sure I had already done the weekly checks on the fence but you never know with this world and it’s critters. Sometimes they just crawl under, or jump over or decide a fence is made of paper and barrel on through like it was nothing. 

And sure enough, though the fog was thick and my eyes were strained with the tiniest bit of lantern light, I saw it. 

A big ol’ hole in the fence. 

Chain-link and barbed wire and boarded up wood just scattered here and there and footprints as big as your head, all muddy and clawed, were trampled about. The minute I saw that mess, heard the confused whine of my dog beside me, I felt that awful pit in my gut of “you are so fucked”! 

I could blame the thick if I wanted for not having heard the noise that must have been made as the best broke through the fence. But I don’t know if my heart would let me, some part of me still blames myself, some careless mistake, I was overconfident and cocky and foolish to think that just a chain-link fence and some scrap board would be able to keep Her out. Keep anything of her kind out! 

No, if a Deathclaw wants into your yard, your house, your settlement, it’s getting in, no matter how many defenses you’ve set up. Only thing that keeps it out is something like the rock we’re currently on, too high and steep for it to scramble up. And we were on the exact opposite of that, low lying, flat marshlands. Perfect for rotting out the base of any fence we set up, the tall marsh grass perfect for muffling the sounds of stomping clawed feet, the fog that would roll in and settle in the bank of the marsh perfect for hiding a pair of watchful eyes. 

I knew I was fucked at that point. No use denying it. No use being subtle either, if a Deathclaw had gotten into the fence then it had already known where I was. Hell, it was probably watching me as I wandered around, just biding its time. No use being sneaky if it already knew where I was. So I ran, I yelled and I ran and I yelled some more, shouting for Luka and the kiddos and ma and pa to grab the guns, get somewhere safe, get out of here! 

I barely got back to the homestead in time to see it was already a ransacked mess, the kids no where to be seen, Luka holding onto her rifle with a death grip and refusing to talk to me, to say anything. Ma and Pa had taken the kiddos somewhere, that was all I got from her before SHE came back for round two of the fight. We dumped kerosene onto the ground, we used the chickens as bait, we shot at Her whenever she showed that ugly maw anywhere within our sights, we lit the damn place ablaze in the hopes it would drive her off. 

And….chaos and hell broke loose on our home.

Chapter Text

“It was…” Clint paused, still turning the scale around in his palm. 

Jim twiddled his thumbs awkwardly. 

Sure the story was sad and all, but all stories he’d been told were sad. You sort of get numb to it by the time you reach his age in this world, desensitized and honestly quite bored of it all. 

He’d heard plenty of tales in his time of Deathclaw attacks. A dime a dozen by now. The pitiful survivors wailing for their losses, children dooming themselves to get vengeance on the damn things as if the Deathclaw really cared much about petty thing like vengeance, it was an animal, it didn’t have such a concept. To it, humans were food. There was no thought of “oh shit, I should probably make sure I don’t leave survivors so they don’t come after me when they get bigger” going through its skull. It just ran through places that were easy to break into, eating what it could, and then returning later for the rotting carcasses of those it had killed and had no interest in at the time. 

Clint’s story wasn’t anything new. Wasn’t anything particularly noteworthy. He was just another foolish homesteader who thought he could live outside the safety of a settlement and make his own way, heedless of the warnings around him and the environment telling him to “fucking leave” before it was too late. 

Of course, Jim was just as hypocritical, he knew. He himself had been testing fate each time he went for a wander out in the desert, out in the wilderness, leaving his life in the hands of the wilds and his own, arguably pitiful amount of knowledge of the wilds. Still however, he preferred that to the squabbles of the settlements. The wilderness was at least obvious in its hatred towards him, humans however had a tendency to be little backstabbing shits in his opinion. He’d rather be eaten by a pack of wolves than spend another day dealing with yet another fist fight in the town square over who was the best candidate for a new mayor. 

Perhaps that was also why Clint had decided to settle outside a town. Jim decided, at least on that aspect, he couldn’t blame him for that. Even if it was stupid. 

“...beautiful!” 

Jim paused. 

“I’m sorry say that again?” he glanced back at his companion. 

Clint was staring up at the stars, a wide grin crossing his face, toothy and feral. 

“It was beautiful!” Clint repeated. 

“The fire, the blood, the screams, the burning pain in my skull as She took a hard swipe at me!” he laughed. 

Manic. 

Jim felt his skin suddenly crawl. 

“The rush in my guts as She ripped my dog to pieces! The adrenaline! The smell of fear! The blood! The sweet, beautiful, scent of it!” Clint’s eyes snapped towards Jim. 

“God the passion in Her eyes! The lust for death! She was gorgeous! Horrific! Terrible!” he was almost shaking as he described the creature. “I knew then and there, I HAD to hunt her! Had to kill her! Had to rip her to pieces just as she tore apart my entire life! My home! My love!” 

“That night woke something in me, Jim.” his tone dropped, just a bit, just enough to seem to be trying to assuage Jim’s fears. Not that it helped. 

“I would never think to harm a creature before that, was always a coward I was, still can’t even harm a rabbit if it means I won’t starve to death.” he shook his head. 

“But that Deathclaw, that creature, that monster!!!” Clint giggled. “There was no moral reason why I couldn’t hunt something like that, no reason to not kill it, slay it like some dragon in those fairy tales!” 

“I took it upon myself that night, to become like those lords in the fairytales I read as a child, Jim.” he finally pocketed the scale. “I was going to become a knight, and slay dragons. No more farmer, no more scared pathetic man who couldn’t hurt a fly, no. I was going to be a modern dragonslayer!” 

Jim nodded along at each statement. 

Fucking loony. He realised. 

And long after Clint had fallen asleep, Jim had made himself scarce. Packed his bags in silence, left a can of beans out of sympathy, and made his way across the flat plains towards the glittering lights of the closest settlement. If Clint was as annoyed with settlements as he was, then perhaps the man wouldn’t follow him there. 

And after a few hours of walking, almost running, he made it to the edge of the town. Ordered up a small room in a hotel with the few rabbit skins and bottle caps he’d saved up for trade. And fell asleep with the door locked and boarded up with a chair and mattress, just to be safe. 

Chapter Text

Days passed and Jim found himself growing…less paranoid? Less irritated at the settlement he’d found himself in at least. It wasn’t that bad. Much smaller than many of the others he’d been unfortunate enough to get stuck in during a storm or raid. The people here mostly kept to themselves, only really talking to him when making a trade or asking if he needed anything or giving him directions to the nearest shoe store when he finally inquired about needing new boots. 

It wasn’t all that bad. 

If he was honest with himself, he could possibly see himself setting up shop near the place. A little hermit hut or secluded cave somewhere that he could retreat to, a good hunting ground nearby for rabbit and fallow deer, come back to the settlement now and then to trade for some new wares and clothes and other necessities. 

The only issue with that was, well, Clint was probably also nearby. If this place was anywhere near his old homestead, if that Deathclaw he’d lost his mind to was at all camped out somewhere in the surrounding plains, then there was no doubt the guy would come back here now and then to resupply. And Jim wasn’t too sure he could handle meeting him again. After that night on the rock, after straight up admitting his sadistic enjoyment of death and killing, even if it wasn’t people that were his targets, Jim wasn’t about to face Clint anytime soon. He himself may have been desensitised to the violence of the world, the gruesome nature of the wilds, he may not even like being around people that much. But he had no ill wishes towards them, no desire for destruction or carnage. He killed animals to eat and to keep from being eaten or killed himself. 

He’d killed perhaps five humans, if one counted the three feral ghouls as still being humans, he did at least, up till that point. All out of self defense. And while he didn’t bat an eye at taking a swing with the pipe he’d used to bash their brains out, while he didn’t mourn their death or feel particularly upset aside from the initial rush of fear as he realised he HAD to kill, he still found no pleasure in it. Unlike Clint, despite the man claiming to have never harmed humans it still bothered Jim to some degree. Sure he might not harm them now, but what about in a few years? A few months? How much longer until that bloodlust transferred to humans? 

There was a saying, “man is the most dangerous game”, from some long forgotten novel of years past. If Clint was obsessed with hunting dangerous game like wolves and mutated bears, Deathclaws for fucks sake! How much longer would it be before that all became boring? How much longer until he sought new prey? 

If the Deathclaw he’d been hunting for so long died before he reached it, or perhaps if he somehow managed to kill it, what would he do next? Where would he go? 

He’d not really indicated much about what had happened to his family that night, though Jim could guess from context clues that they most likely died. If they were still alive it was doubtful they wanted anything to do with him anymore, not with that sort of obsession lingering in his veins. 

No, if Clint was still around then Jim was most likely going to have to find some other place to settle in. 

Shame , he thought as he stepped through the creaking door frame of the shop he’d been directed to. Was starting to like the place.  

He took a quick glance about the building, it had been called a shoe-store by the locals but it was evident the place was also probably the clothes store and bits and bobs store and mechanic’s all in one. The shelves were packed with a rick rack of things. Scuffed boots, fancy shoes, torn magazines, old books, empty cans in the process of being smashed into flat sheets all stacked up and tied with string, fishing line, old world records, miniatures of the machines that had once flown through the skies, moth bitten clothes, canteens, scrap metal, wires, lightbulbs… the place was packed! Each shelf nearly bursting from how full it had been stuffed full of junk and odds and ends, the floorboards creaked with the weight of it all and the lone ceiling fan with its missing blade spun tired in its fittings with a squeak at each turn. 

Far in the back of the room, Jim noticed the wall had been replaced with a, at the moment open, rolling metal door. Letting sunlight fall across the engines and stacked up parts of scrap and two half torsos of synths that lay sprawled over the tops of a workbench, either long forgotten or in the midst of a repair it was hard to tell. 

The woman at the front desk, if it could even be called a desk with the rate at which it seemed to be turning into yet another set of shelves for more junk, glanced up at Jim as he walked in. She seemed to be about late forties, maybe early fifties. Straight hair tied back in a simple ponytail, the pale strands were oddly pink? Contrasting her otherwise simple, grey dress, the sleeves rolled up to her shoulders and her arms splattered with motor oil and dust. 

“Sup.” she nodded. “What can I do ya for?” 

Her blue eyes twinkled, the crows feet that lined her tired brows crinkled in amusement at the bafflement that must have shown on Jim’s face at the casual, new-fangled words she had used. 

“Just here for some boots.” He settled on, gesturing to his own mangled pair at his feet. 

“Sheeesh dude,” the woman let out a whistle as she winced at the sight of his admittedly terrible and blister worn feet. “Those dogs are pissed! I’ll see what I can get for you fam.” 

Jim blinked. 

“I’m sorry, what?” he asked, genuinely confused. 

Yet another reason why I hate being around people.  

“Damn dude your feet look like shit, I’ll see what I can get for you friend.” the woman grinned. 

“Not used to the town’s slang?” she asked. 

“The town’s slang?” Jim was confused again. 

No one, and he knew it was no one, had ever spoken like that to him while he was here. Or ever in his life really. 

“Oh!” the pink haired woman seemed to realise what had happened. “Ah they’re just being nice to you then, old timer’s like us don’t really get it I guess.” 

“I mean, I do, but I raised two idiots who like to mess with folks heads so,” she shrugged. “Anywho, I’ll see about getting you some boots. What size you reckon? 9’s? 10’s? Think I got a couple back in the stock room that still have a matching pair so you won’t be walking funny. If not I can get Lenny to chop off some of the sole and patch it up to fit you better.” 

Lenny . 

The name rung a bell. 

“You…wouldn’t happen to be called Luka, would you?” Jim asked. 

The pink haired woman paused in her shuffling of the shelf behind her. 

“How’d you know that?” she glanced back. “The town knows me as Mrs Crypton, I don’t tell folks my first name very often.” 

So Clint’s family WAS alive?  

Jim picked the edges of his coat, uncertain of how exactly to approach the subject. 

“I, uh, I think I met your husband?” he settled on. “Told me about what happened with your homestead, my condolences.” 

And to his suprise, and yet he felt somewhat as if this shouldn’t have surprised him at all, Luka hissed between her teeth and slammed her fist against the shelf. 

“That fuckwit STILL telling people that story?!” 

Jim realised he’d, metaphorically, ‘stepped in it’ now. He groaned inwardly, a marriage quarrel was among one of the last things he wanted to deal with, amongst many things but particularly a marriage quarrel between a psychotic murderer and whatever his wife may end up being. 

“That your farm got destroyed overnight and your family was most likely killed by a Deathclaw?” Jim asked, tentatively. 

Might as well get to the bottom of this. As annoying as dealing with people was, as terrifying of a man Clint could be, Jim was still, against his better judgement, a horrendously curious person. 

Luke rubbed her face with a hand. Defeated, exasperated, and yet somehow just, annoyed. Mildly annoyed. As if this was something she’d had to deal with for who knew how many years. 

“We never had a homestead, never had a farm, he kept calling it that sure but it was literally just a window box full of leeks!” she rolled her eyes. “I mean sure it’s cute and all, calling a window box your farm, but he really took it seriously! Obsessively! Way too far!” 

“I take it there never was a Deathclaw then?” Jim asked. 

“Well, yes and no, but I’ll get to that.” Luka nodded towards the back of the store where the rolling door was, glancing at the two synth torsos lying on the workbench. 

“Ya see, his ma and pa are vault folk. Real good at tech and such, they loved fiddling with things and the like. Never had an issue with synths either, would often have synths coming by for repairs and such.” Luka crossed her arms. “Lenny and Rinny, inquisitive little kiddos you know, they liked tinkering around with their grandparents in the workshop all the time. Coming up with new things to play with as they grew up.” 

“Eventually, the two of them got it into their mind to make one of their synth friends another form to inhabit. You see, she’s a performer and all, does a lot of stage work and keeping only one body for her job can be a bit boring so she switches things up a lot.” Luka continued. “One day, she and the twins come up with the idea of giving her a body that looks like a Deathclaw version of her.” 

Jim nodded dumbly. 

“I don’t follow.” 

Luke sighed. 

“So her main features, they’re like, blue pigtails right? She has a thing for the colour blue and such, it’s part of her branding.” she explained. “She travels around the settlements as a singer and entertainer and everyone can immediately recognise her as, well, Her, cause of the whole blue hair blue tie thing. Pretty good marketing if you ask me, she’s iconically recognisable. Even some of the places that HATE synths seem to make an exception for her but we don’t need to get into that.” 

“Anywho, she wanted a body for a performance where she would look like a Deathclaw. But with giant blue tendrils on her head to mimic her pigtails and some blue scales and such, keep in theme you know?” Luka gestured back to the workbench. “Lenny and Rinny set her up with the prototype version of that some ten years back and she transferred her motherboard into it to test it out and…” 

“Accidentally knocked over Clint’s window box of leeks.” Luka rolled her eyes and rubbed at her face again. “And the guy fucking lost it, just snapped! Like that!” 

She snapped her fingers in emphasis. 

“Chased the poor thing out of the settlement, or at least tried to, we managed to drag him back before he did any major damage.” she shook her head. “Still, the Deathclaw body was dinged up a bit but it was just a prototype so, at least that’s nothing to worry about now.” 

“The main thing to worry about,” her eyes narrowed. “Is that he keeps harassing our kids’ friend whenever she shows up in town! Convinced she’s actually a fucking Deathclaw and that we had a farm and everything!” 

“He said She killed his dog.” Jim commented. “Said that awoke something in him that made him want to kill-”

“We never had a dog.” Luka countered. “And he’s never actually killed a damn thing! Keeps claiming he has, claimed he took out a two headed bear and mutated critters and an unrelated Deathclaw but I can guarantee that man pisses himself if you make him hold a gun bigger than a pea shooter!” 

“He had a scar-” 

“He fell down a ladder in his twenties and hit his head on a pipe, looked like a claw swipe, I know for a fact it wasn’t cause I was there the whole time, telling him not to climb that ladder but ‘oh it’s fine Luka! I got this! I know what I’m doing!’ No you don’t you dumb fuck, get down before you hurt yourself!” 

“Shit I can’t believe he’s out there bothering honest folk like you with his tales, just trying to pass on through.” 

“I did see him, uh, playing with the corpse of a dead coyote-” Jim tried to rationalise. 

Was Clint really dangerous? Or was he just….really weird…

“I shot the poor thing when I was out on a supply run.” Luka sighed. “It was chasin after the wagon, figured something was wrong with it, it was walking wrong, put it out of its misery. Clint said he’d stay behind to clean the kill and bring the hide back. I came back a couple hours later to find the thing an absolute mess, the hide just, mangled, and Clint admitted he’d never actually skinned anything before.” 

Now that Jim thought about it, actually, Clint didn’t look like he was ‘playing’ with the blood or guts at all. 

The more he recalled, the more it looked like the guy wasn’t even giggling, he was sobbing and pathetically trying, and failing, to skin the damn thing! 

“....well shit, I….” Jim stammered. “Damn.” 

“Yeah, damn’s about right.” Luka agreed. 

“Damn.” Jim stated again. 

“Damn.” Luka parroted. 

“Damn!” Jim started to laugh. “What the fuck?!” 

“What the fuck indeed!” Luka joined him. 

“Why did you even marry him?” Jim struggled to stifle his confused laughter. 

“Plot convenience.” 

“What?” 

“I don’t know,” Luka covered. “I really wish I could tell ya. I have no clue and the author is running on six cups of tea and no sleep so he’s not sure either.” 

Jim paused. 

“WHAT?!” 

It was at that moment, conveniently, that their conversation was interrupted by a loud crashing sound from somewhere outside the shop. And despite having no concept of genre savviness, they still simultaneously ran outside to see what had caused that commotion. Worrying, and yet fully knowing because the timing just HAD to be THAT convenient, about what waited for them in the town square. 

Chapter Text

“You motherfucker!” 

Jim found himself slowly backing away from the scene that was unfolding before him. 

Clint, because of course it was Clint, was pinned underneath a blue haired-pigtailed synth. Her fists slamming into his face as she shrieked obscenities at him in that odd, pitched, heavily modulated way that synths tended to speak. Though, oddly melodic. 

“You fucking fuckwit! Fuck you! Fuck you! Fuck you! FUCK!” she shrieked as she pried away from the bruised looking Clint. 

“I’m not a fucking Deathclaw you dumbfuck! Get a life already!” 

Clint, it seemed, was having none of it. Held back by the townsfolk he was pointing and shaking and spitting obscenities back at the synth girl. 

“Hatsune Miku you devil bitch!” he shook his fist at her. “I know what you are! Your disguises won’t fool me! I’m not blind like the rest of you lot!” 

“Oh my god SHUT UP!” the girl, Hatsune Miku, it seemed, screeched. “What have I done to you?! Ever?! Like, genuinely ever?! You fucking cringe ass cuck!” 

“MY LEEKS!” Clint screamed. “MY LEEKS!!!!!!!” 

“FUCK YOUR LEEKS!” 

“FUCK YOU!” 

“Nuh uh! Fuck YOU!” 

Jim slowly, quietly, took the moment of chaos to back away and leave the settlement. He’d had enough of this nonsense for one day, for an entire lifetime really, and to be perfectly honest, the author was too. And so, as the scene hurried to a close before the caffeine wore off, the author finished his rather silly and stupid first ever attempt at a crack fic, and wished everyone a happy April 1st 2025.