Chapter Text
The cold desert air rose goosebumps on his skin as he ran impossibly faster, still with no end in sight. It shouldn't have been feasible, he'd lost so much blood; he hadn't eaten in days, the pain in his left eye was nothing short of pure agony. Yet the sheer terror at the thought of being caught and taken back to the place in which he'd spent seven years of his life being tortured and abused instilled a willpower to run as far as his legs would carry him; even if it was the last thing he'd ever do. Dying in the middle of the desert, whatever the possible cause could be, was still miles better than entertaining the thought of spending one more moment in that godforsaken camp. Every step he took sent pain coursing through his entire body. He ignored it. He couldn't afford to stop, not for even a split second. When he saw the vague figure of a large creature looming in the distance, Isaac realized he finally must have managed to encounter a town. Safety. Just a little further and he wouldn't have to be afraid anymore. If he didn't make it there alive, at least he could say he fought to the very end. That had to count for something, right?
Yet, against all odds, he made it. He gazed up at the mouth of the dinosaur guarding the entrance of the town, his vision swimming, the stars in the sky melding together like a brilliant painting. He did it. He was alive. He let out a bone chilling laugh, his voice worn and rough from days spent without having a drop of water. The laughter shook his body, or maybe it was a combination of that and the adrenaline he had run on for days. The last thing he saw was a man in a red beret approaching him before his body finally gave into its exhaustion and he collapsed with a deafening thud to the floor; his vision blacking out. It was the most peaceful he'd felt in seven years.
When he came to, the only thing he initially registered was how badly he ached. Second, when he was able to actually open his eye; he was startled by the sight of several people whom he'd never met surrounding him. He was lying in a bed, and he could feel some kind of fabric covering his wounded eye. His heart hammered in his chest, all of his instincts telling him to get out of there. Where was he, anyway? The last thing he remembered was making it to the entrance of the town before he blacked out. He must be in a building in the town, then. What he had expected was to feel relieved, to feel even the smallest amount of safety; but all he felt was terror. He needed to get out of there. To get somewhere else. But where could he go? He had nothing left, no one left. His parents were dead. They'd been dead for years. That thought alone had tears falling from his eyes, and it burned in his left eye. He tore the sheets off of himself and all but fell out of the bed, fleeing for the front door.
The people in the building were calling after him, but he blocked it out. He slammed the door behind him, his heart racing. It must have been late in the day, going by the position of the sun; and it burned his eye. Sweat dripped down his forehead, dampening the fabric covering his eye. He suddenly heard the sound of the door to the house he left open, and without thinking about it; he fled for the first empty looking house he could find in the area. He slammed the door behind him, leaning back against it and panting heavily; sobs racking his body. He wasn't safe there, no, he wasn't safe anywhere. He never would be as long as the Legion was around, the threat of being found again and taken back into slavery for the rest of his miserable life was never going to go away. He stumbled around the house until he found a bathroom, closing and locking the door behind himself.
Standing in front of the mirror, he gripped the sink and stared at his reflection. In utter horror, he realized that was the first time he'd seen himself in years, and the person who stared back at him was unrecognizable. His left eye was covered with a white bandage, blood already seeping through the fabric. He saw nothing but a vast pit of emptiness in his untouched eye. His hair was overgrown, reaching far below his waist. He didn't see himself– he saw his mother. Holding him in her arms, singing to him while she bandaged his wounds. She was a shining beacon of hope in what had become an otherwise hopeless, meaningless life. He should have known it could never last. Nothing good ever did in his life. One moment he was simply staring at himself in the old mirror, no, not himself– it wasn't him, nor was it his mother. A stranger, a ghost– that wasn't him. It couldn't have been. Panic rose in his throat, stealing the air from his lungs; suffocating him with its cold, dead hands. He saw red, he felt nothing but terror eating him from the inside out; and without second thought, his fist collided with the mirror.
There was nothing but the sound of ringing in his ears, and for all he knew he could have been screaming until his throat bled; but none of it registered in his mind. He couldn't breathe, the world was caving in on him; his vision growing bleary. If that was the end, if he were to die in that moment; he could feel nothing but utter relief. He collapsed to the floor, the shards of glass digging into his legs. He paid it no mind. A singular piece of glass casted back the reflection of his pitiful face at him, and he got an urge that he didn't have the will to fight. He wouldn't be able to be stopped, not like before. He picked the shard up with a shaky hand, gripping it so tightly it sliced into the palm of his hand. It meant nothing to him. Without so much as a second thought, Isaac dragged the glass across his wrist from the bottom of his palm all the way down his arm, mesmerized as the wound grew deeper and blood began to flood out of it. He repeated the action on his other arm, and finally dropped the glass onto the floor.
Relief flooded his mind, he felt utterly serene. If it worked, he wouldn't have to suffer any longer. He wouldn't have to fear being caught again, of living the rest of his days robbed of his humanity. Maybe, if he was lucky, there was something to come after his life. Maybe he would be with his parents again. That would have been too simple, though; and he should have known that.
When he awoke in that bathroom to the sound of pounding on the door, he didn't even have the energy to cry anymore. He felt nothing but grief, the prospect of having to live the rest of his life too much to bear. It would seem he didn't have much of a choice, however. When he tried to stand, his legs were too weak; presumably from blood loss and he fell back to the floor and into the pile of glass shards. They cut into his bare legs, drawing blood that mesmerized him as it dripped down thighs and calves. The pounding on the door didn't cease, so he dragged himself over to the door and unlocked it, moving so he wouldn't be hit by whoever would likely come barging in. The door swung open on creaky hinges, and Isaac could only stare in silence as he was met with the face of the same man whom he'd first seen when he happened across that town. He wore a red beret, his head shaved bald; with a pair of dark glasses. The man was nothing remarkable, but something about him stood out to Isaac. He almost felt.. safe. The man seemed to be assessing the damage, his eyes taking in the sight of Isaac sprawled on the floor surrounded by broken glass.
"What the fuck did you do to yourself?"
"N-Nothing."
"You're seriously calling this nothing? It looks like a goddamn crime scene in here."
Isaac glared at the man, irritated by his lack of delicacy. "Okay then, I tried to fucking kill myself. Is that what you want to hear?"
"Well, you did a shit job of it."
"You don't say," he muttered, glancing back down at his arms. It certainly wasn't a pretty sight, nor was it a new one for him. When the man kneeled down in front of him and tried to put his hands on him, Isaac yelped in surprise, smacking his hands away.
"Pl-Please, don't touch me, don't–"
"Christ, would you calm the fuck down? I need to get you up so you can get stitches before you bleed to death."
"Th-That was kind of the point. And I can walk by myself."
"Whatever you say."
Isaac's body seemed to have its own ideas, however, as he still was unable to stand on both legs and he fell back to the floor. The man scoffed at him, and he gritted his teeth in frustration; trying not to cry.
"Just let me carry you. You've clearly lost too much blood to stand on your own."
"F-Fine. Just get it over with."
The man picked him up in a bridal carry, and he had to physically fight the urge to vomit. Logically, he knew that he wasn't going to do anything to him; but he still couldn't calm the terror he felt at having foreign hands touching any inch of his body. It felt so repulsive, he could hardly breathe. He bit his lip and prayed that the man would either not notice or not care that he was weeping. When he was taken back into that same house he fled from in his panic and laid on the bed, he felt nothing but utter humiliation and defeat. He failed, again. If he couldn't do something as simple as ending his life, would he ever be able to do anything worthwhile? This time, the man in the red beret remained in the house; and Isaac stared at the wall, avoiding eye contact with him and the woman stitching his wrists. After the woman finished and left the room, the man still hadn't gone; and Isaac was growing uncomfortable. Clearly he must not have trusted him enough not to run off and try to slice his wrists open again. He supposed that was fair, but he wasn't happy about it.
"I never got your name," the man commented, and Isaac looked at him warily. After seven years of forcibly going by a name he didn't choose, it took all of his strength to not forget the name he chose. The name that his parents helped him choose. His heart ached.
"It's.. Isaac. Isaac Romero," he whispered. He was fully expecting the man to give him a condescending look, to be regarded as a fool; but it never came. He simply nodded his head.
"I'm Boone. Craig Boone."
"N-Nice to meet you, Boone."
"I would say the same if I didn't have to go on a damn wild goose chase that ended in me seeing you in a puddle of blood."
"I'm sorry."
"Save your apologies. Just don't expect me to chase you down next time."
"Okay."
A silence fell between them, and Isaac idly noted that Boone didn't seem to be a big talker. It might have been comfortable, but Isaac couldn't feel comfortable in the slightest; not with the horrid clothes he was wearing and his long hair that drove him nearly mad when he saw it in the mirror.
"Do you.. are there any scissors I can use?" Boone gave him a suspicious look, and Isaac sighed.
"It's not what you're thinking. I just need to cut my damn hair before I lose my mind."
"I'm sure I can find some," he grunted, and left the room. Isaac fidgeted nervously with his hands, not certain of what to do with himself. He'd have to ask for a change of clothes, assuming there would even be any that fit him. He knew the odds were slim. Boone returned after a few minutes with a pair of rusty looking scissors.
"This is the best you're gonna get," he said, handing the scissors to Isaac.
"Thank you." Isaac stood on shaky legs and walked to the bathroom, shutting it behind him. When he looked in the mirror, bile rose in his throat; his heart threatening to pound out of his chest. He ignored it. He picked up a chunk of hair in his hand, and without hesitation; began snipping away large portions of hair. He kept going until his hair was left in a short, shaggy mess. In hindsight, he should have gotten another person to help; but he didn't even care. Despite how choppy and ridiculous his hair looked, he felt a huge weight fall off his shoulders– metaphorically speaking. When he looked in the mirror, he still saw an uncanny resemblance to his mother. It hurt, but it also made him feel less alone. Like she was watching over him. Maybe one day, he'd look more like his father. For some reason, he had a feeling if that day ever came; it might break him. After he cleaned his mess and left the bathroom, Boone gave him a strange look.
"What?"
"You could have asked for help, you know."
"I know that," he muttered, not wanting to admit he hadn't thought about it until after the fact.
"Okay."
"Um, by the way, you don't.. happen to have any clothes I could borrow, do you?" Boone gave him a once over, and logically Isaac knew he was trying to figure out if he would fit any of his clothes; but he couldn't help but cross his arms over his chest self consciously.
"I might have a shirt or two you can have. I doubt any of my pants will fit you, though. You'll have to look somewhere else."
"That's fine. Thank you, Boone."
"Yeah. Follow me." Isaac trailed after Boone nervously, surveying the town as they walked through it. It was night again, and the cold air chilled him. They came to a room in the motel across from the dinosaur, and Boone fished a key out from his pocket and unlocked it. He walked into the room and Isaac peered in, unsure of whether he should go in or not.
"Well?" Boone probed, and Isaac flinched hard, startled out of his thoughts. "Don't just stand there. Come in."
"S-Sorry." He stepped inside the room and shut the door behind him, letting his gaze wander around the small area. Boone stood at a dresser, shuffling through it; presumably looking for shirts for Isaac. After a few moments, Boone walked over to him with three plain white t-shirts, and to his surprise, what looked almost to be a kid's pair of jeans. Did Boone have a kid? He wasn't sure it was the most appropriate question to ask, and there didn't appear to be any children wandering around the tiny room. Not to mention, Boone didn't exactly strike him as the type to want kids.
"Those jeans are the best I can offer. They might be small, but they should work."
"R-Right. I'm sure they'll be just fine. Thank you, Boone."
"Sure."
Isaac went to the bathroom, closing and locking the door behind him. When he stripped out of that same old tattered dress he'd been in for years, he was surprised he didn't vomit at what he saw in the mirror. Although, he supposed there wasn't any food inside of him to actually come up. His ribs were frighteningly prominent, every small curve of bone outlined against taught skin. He looked like a ghoul, like he was just barely clinging on to his last shred of life and humanity. That couldn't have been too far from the truth. He didn't even want to think of acknowledging his chest or any of the other horrid parts of his body, so he quickly pulled one of the shirts over his head. It was comically large on him, but he didn't mind. It hid the parts of him that he'd rather not be blatantly noticeable, so he couldn't complain. The shirt had a faint smell of gunpowder and cigarette smoke on it– not overpowering, it was more of an undertone than anything. It was comforting in a strange way. Surprisingly, the jeans were easy to pull on; and they fit him almost perfectly. It was a little embarrassing, but he supposed it was partially because of how underweight he was.
Isaac left the bathroom to find Boone standing by the door like he was waiting to leave. He shuffled in place, feeling a little awkward. "U-Uh, thanks again for the clothes."
"Don't mention it. You can sleep in here for tonight, but I have to go back to my shift in the sniper's nest. Find Jeanie May Crawford in the morning and you can get your own room."
"I– I don't have any money. I don't think I can do that," he admitted, staring at the floor. Boone sighed and he felt even more embarrassed.
"Okay. You can stay with me until you get back on your feet. I work at night anyway."
"O-Okay. Thank you, Boone."
"Yeah." Boone turned to the door and Isaac panicked a little, taking a few hasty steps forward.
"Wait!" he yelped, and Boone turned back to him; glaring from behind his glasses. "S-Sorry, it's just.. aren't you gonna ask me where I came from? Why I'm like.. this?" he gestured to his eye and the poor state of his body.
"It's none of my business. You can tell me some other day if you want, but I need to get to the sniper's nest now."
"Okay," he whispered, and with that Boone left the room; leaving him in a silence that wormed its way into his head and put his nerves on end. He slowly approached the bed, sitting on the end of it first before he collapsed on his back. One moment he was okay, or at least some semblance of it; staring at the ceiling and thinking of nothing. The next moment, it hit him like a truck; the last day, week; the last seven years of his life. One day, he was walking home from a day at the shooting range with his father, the next moment men were flooding into his village, his dad laid dead at his feet, bleeding out. Years later, the same fate befell his mother; albeit in a different way. Waking up to find her eyes lifeless and glazed over, body already cold. He screamed like he never had in his entire life. Of all things that could happen after that day, he couldn't have ever guessed that Caesar would set his sights on him. In hindsight, even if he'd known; even if he had tried to escape, to save himself, what could he really have done?
Caesar had an iron grip on him, he was trapped in that camp with nowhere to run or to hide. Even though he'd managed to escape with his life, he would never truly be a free man. Caesar made certain of that. With the scar that was carved into his back with a crude knife, the way he laid his hands on him in unthinkable ways more times than he could count; it would haunt him until the day he drew his final breath. Isaac drew in a shuddering breath, and just like that; all of the tears he couldn't cry in the days since he escaped came out at once. His heart ached. He lost everything. He had no home to return to, no family to run to. His broken sobs filled the empty room, and he prayed to whatever might be out there that no one else could hear him through the walls. Eventually he wore himself out by crying and passed out cold. It felt strange to be sleeping in a stranger's bed, but it was the first real bed he'd laid in for years– at least alone– and it was so easy to fall asleep.
When he woke up, he was startled to find Boone asleep on the couch across the room. Looking at the window, he saw abundant light flooding through. He must have slept far longer than he intended to. Boone was dead asleep, but he had a feeling it wasn't exactly comfortable sleeping on the old couch. He quietly slipped out of bed and approached Boone, gently tapping his shoulder to rouse him. His eyes snapped open and he reflexively reached for his rifle that laid against the couch, and Isaac yelped and stumbled backwards; tripping over his feet in his panic.
"It's just me!"
"Why the hell did you wake me up?"
"I just thought you might want to move to the bed. I didn't mean to startle you," he muttered, backing further away from Boone.
"Okay."
Isaac felt a little offended Boone didn't even offer a thank you, but he decided it better to not mention it.
"I um. I'll just head out for the day."
"You can come back when you need to."
"Okay. Thank you," he said quietly, and stepped out of the room. The light shone brightly in his eye, making him wince and quickly raise his hand to shield some of it away. Only when his stomach growled did he realize how much it hurt, and just how starved he was. He couldn't even remember when he last ate– it was better not to think about it too much, he decided. He didn't have the slightest clue of where to go or what to do to find food. He had no money, and he had no gun to hunt any with. Scavenging fruit would have to do, considering it was either that or starving to death. Although, he would have been lying if he said he wasn't tempted by that notion. He shook his head and made his way out of the town, scouring the immediate area for any fruit he could find. Thankfully, he managed to gather a couple; at least enough to tide him over until he hopefully figured out how to get himself a gun or money.
When he got back to Novac, he sat in front of Boone's door eating the fruits he found. His intent was to go slow and savor it, but he was so famished, he was finished almost as quickly as he began. Even after eating, his stomach still felt painfully empty. He chose to ignore it and opt for wandering around the town, hesitantly greeting the residents and searching for any stray caps or other things that might have been lying around. It didn't turn up much, only amounting to about thirty caps and some random junk; but he was desperate and it was a start, at least. He would have to figure out some kind of job, but he had no experience in working, so he was at a complete loss. If his keeping track of the time was anywhere close to accurate, he had to have been twenty three by then– again, it was information his mind couldn't fathom, nor process, and his head felt like it was spinning.
His parents had already had him for a year when they were his age, and there Isaac was; not a single cap or possession to his name, and not even the barest amount of life experience. And to think of ever having children of his own one day– he couldn't bear the thought. Not knowing the harsh reality of the world he lived in and that there would only be so much he could do to protect them, and not after what Caesar did to him. The thought made him sick to his stomach. He couldn't help but wonder if that would have been any different had he never experienced any of the things he did, and how his parents would have felt knowing he wasn't going to give them any grandchildren if they were still alive. Would they be disappointed in him? Would they still love him regardless? The thought of letting them down had his heart twisting and he could barely breathe, choking on a sob as he leaned back against a wall. He missed them so bad, he would have given anything just to see them again. He would have given his life up in an instant if it meant he could bring them back.
None of that mattered though– they were gone, and they were never coming back. He would be alone until the day he died. All he could do was pray that that day came sooner rather than later. When he opened his eye and wiped it, he was startled to realize someone was staring at him from a distance. A tall man with shoulder length hair, arms covered in tattoos he couldn't quite make out from that far away. He had a strong build, his muscles outlined through the clothes he wore. Isaac felt unnerved; petrified. The man looked at him like he was some kind of prey, something he was more familiar with than he wished to admit. No longer feeling safe, he decided to wander back out of town; not too far, but far enough that he could get away from that man and not be followed. He ended up wandering into an old building, long since abandoned like just about almost every structure in the Mojave. That spark that drove him onto his many adventures back when he was a kid, when life was so much simpler, seemed to still flourish inside of him.
He wandered through the corridors, picking up old scrap and junk he found with the hope that he could make some caps off of it. To his surprise, he found a very old container of what appeared to be red hair dye. His stomach growled again all he could do was ignore it, he did what he could to fend off his hunger; after all. Either he would find a better way to feed himself or he would starve to death, either way he didn't have the capacity to quite care any longer. Although, he quietly hoped it would be the latter. By the time he left the old building, the sun was already beginning to set. The thought of being in the desert alone in the middle of the night again made anxiety creep up his spine so he quickly headed back to Novac, careful to retrace his steps so he wouldn't get lost. By some miracle, the man that had been staring him down was nowhere to be seen and he breathed a sigh of relief. Though for a reason he couldn't place, he still couldn't feel quite safe. There seemed to be a persistent, underlying fear somewhere deep within him that never wanted to go away.
He sold the old junk he'd picked up and, unsurprisingly, only got a measly twenty caps for his troubles. It was a start, at least. When he finished up, night had fallen; and when he left the building he nearly ran into Boone who was presumably heading up to the sniper's nest. Boone didn't even acknowledge his presence and simply pushed past him into the dinosaur, shutting the door behind him. Isaac huffed in offense and left for Boone's room. It felt strange to be staying in a stranger's home, to even have a place to stay after close to a decade of living as a prisoner in a ratty tent. It almost felt too good to be true, and for a moment he felt panic rising in his chest at the thought that it wasn't actually real. He shook his head and pushed the thought away as best as he could. Isaac closed the door behind him and set the items he kept on a table before crawling into bed.
Exhaustion and hunger weighed heavily on him, his eyelids already growing heavy. Once again his mind wandered off to the terror that lurked beneath the surface, the realization that he was a fully grown adult and knew close to nothing about how the world worked and what he could possibly do to survive day-to-day. It would have been so much simpler to not put the effort in, to lie in that bed until he either starved to death or died of dehydration. It would be agonizing, no doubt– he'd experienced the gripping pain and terror that came with going days on end with no food or water more times than he could even try to recall. Eventually, he was able to fall asleep, though his dreams were plagued by the man who controlled his life for years on end.
As familiar as the phantom feeling of hands wandering his body had become, it still shook him to his core and woke him from his slumber; tears streaming down his face. He shot upwards and scanned the room, and to his relief; Boone wasn't there yet. He sighed shakily and got out of bed on unsteady legs. Upon going into the bathroom and looking at his reflection in the mirror, it did little to settle the anxiety in the pit of his stomach. Under his uncovered he had a prominent dark spot, it made him look almost as exhausted as he felt. He was reminded of the dye he found and he perked up a little. After grabbing it, he made quick work of his hair; and within a few hours, the next time he looked at his reflection, he almost felt excited seeing the deep red dye covering his hair. Maybe it would make it less likely that he'd be recognized were he to come across any Legionaries, but he prayed that it wouldn't come to that.
When he left the bathroom, he nearly jumped out of his skin when he saw Boone standing in the room; shrugging his rifle off of his shoulder. Boone was unfazed, or at least, until he turned around and gave Isaac a once over.
"The hell did you do to your hair?"
"I found some dye. Thought it would help disguise me better from the Legion," he muttered self-consciously. Whatever feelings of confidence he had in his new look were wiped away just as soon as they'd taken root. Boone gave him a suspicious look from behind his glasses, and Isaac suddenly felt very uncomfortable.
"The Legion? You're trying to tell me you escaped them?" His tone had taken an obvious shift, even colder than his typical one. Isaac swallowed down the lump forming in his throat.
"Y-Yeah. I almost died, but I made it out. I was a slave for.. a very long time." He might have been imagining it, but Boone's expression seemed to shift just the slightest.
"Haven't heard of many people escaping with their lives."
"I guess I'm just lucky," he muttered, gaze dropping to the floor. As they often did, his thoughts wandered to his parents. How badly he wished they had been the lucky ones, and not him. How deeply he ached to be able to join them, wherever they were. He could only hope he would have another chance to see them after his life ended, to hug them tight and never let go. He felt tears falling from his eyes and he wiped them away as fast as they appeared, hoping Boone hadn't noticed.
"You know," Boone started, drawing Isaac's attention back to him, "I can teach you to shoot a gun, and to fight and defend yourself. If you want."
"Actually, I know how to shoot a gun. I guess I might be a little rusty after all these years, though," he muttered. Boone stared at him for a few moments before walking to his bed and kneeling on the floor. Isaac furrowed his eyebrows, watching as he searched for something underneath the bed. When he stood back up, he had a gun in his hand. A simple 9mm pistol, from the looks of it. Boone approached him and offered the gun to him. Isaac eyed him warily before accepting it with an unsteady hand. When Boone grabbed his rifle and walked to the door, Isaac was more than a little confused.
"Well? Are you coming or not?" Boone asked impatiently, looking over his shoulder at him.
"I.. don't you need to sleep? You just got done with your shift."
"Do you want to know how to defend yourself so you stand a fighting chance against the Legion or not?" Isaac stared in stunned silence for a few moments, caught off guard by the question. Why did Boone even care? He shook his head and coughed awkwardly.
"Yeah. Let's go."
The sun was shining unbearably bright in the sky, making Isaac's wounded eye hurt even through the bandages. He stood across from Boone, squaring his body and planting his feet firmly in the dirt. He drew in a deep breath and exhaled.
"Okay. Come at me."
Boone lunged forward and although he tried to dodge to the side, Isaac tripped over nothing and lost his balance, effectively slowing his motions. Then, before he could react, he was again toppling to the floor, the blow knocking the wind out of him. He groaned in frustration and laid in defeat, staring up at a cloudless sky. Boone's face came into view and Isaac looked away from him in embarrassment. Boone extended a hand out to him and he begrudgingly accepted it. Again. He pulled him up with ease that made Isaac more than a little insecure about how easy it was to lift his weight. It was no wonder he was eating shit, he was skin and bones after going weeks with minimal amounts of food.
"Come on. You need to keep trying." Isaac pursed his lips and looked at Boone in mild annoyance. He shouldn't have been upset with him in the slightest, but after what felt like hours of being knocked on his ass time and again; he was losing his patience.
"Why are you even trying to help me? I clearly can't do shit. Can't even stand my ground without being knocked on my ass."
"We've only been at this for a couple of hours. If you don't have the strength to knock me off my feet, you need to learn to use your size to your advantage."
"What advantage could I possibly have from being skin and fucking bones?"
"You might not be strong physically, but your size gives you an advantage by allowing you to be more nimble than a bulky opponent," Boone explained, and approached Isaac as he spoke. "Use my stature and weight against me. My advantage is just as easily my weakness, just as your weakness can be your advantage."
Isaac sighed and wiped the sweat from his forehead. "Guess I don't have anything to lose apart from my dignity at this point. Let's go again."
They continued their sparring, Isaac being knocked off his feet more times than he could count– until he wasn't. He stood across from Boone, panting from exertion. Boone lunged at him and Isaac darted to the left, and when Boone lost his footing from the momentum; Isaac didn't think twice before barreling at him and using all of his weight to knock him off his feet. Boone fell to the ground with a grunt and Isaac went down with him, yelping in surprise after expecting to stay on his feet. Isaac sat perched atop Boone's stomach, staring down at him with wide eyes. Boone's glasses were askew on his face, and he could just see a blue eye peeking out from behind them. To even his own surprise, Isaac broke out in laughter; grinning from ear to ear.
"I did it! I finally got you!"
"You did."
It was only then that Isaac came to his senses, his eyes widening when he realized he was still trapping Boone underneath him. Not that Boone wasn't capable of moving him himself, taking the last several hours into consideration. Isaac felt a foreign sensation stirring in his chest and he fumbled awkwardly, climbing off of Boone. Boone said nothing as he got back to his feet, apparently not having the mind to discuss whatever the hell that was.
Isaac was so flustered by that mishap that it took him several moments to notice the same man that had been staring at him days prior lurking nearby, watching the pair of them. He couldn't say how long he'd been there for, but he was unnerved at having taken so long to notice him. Even when Isaac met his gaze, he didn't look away in shame; he just continued staring. He could vaguely see a smirk forming on his face and Isaac went cold. He quickly looked away, trying to put it out of his mind. If he was so intent on observing Isaac closely, then he'd let it be. When he turned back to Boone, he was giving him a strange look.
"Um, so.. how did I do?" he asked, hoping to deter him from asking whatever was clearly on his mind.
"Pretty good. You could use more practice, but that was a good start." Isaac felt just the slightest amount of pride at those words, giving Boone a small smile.
"Maybe next week we can train again?"
"Yeah," Boone agreed, nodding his head once. "I need to sleep now."
"Okay. See you, Boone."
After Boone left, when Isaac turned back in the direction of where the other man had been, he was no longer there. A sense of foreboding filled his chest, something telling him that that man was bad news. Whatever he wanted couldn't have been good. He shook his head and sighed, gazing down at the pistol in his pocket that Boone gave him. While he was far more experienced with shotguns, he was deeply grateful to have any kind of gun at all. At least then he had a way to defend himself, and to hunt for real food. At the thought of that his stomach grumbled painfully. Despite having no clue of how he was gonna move forward and really learn to live in the wasteland, he could at least take it day by day. He only hoped if his parents could see him, that they were proud of him. That was the only thing that pushed him on, and he would hang onto that subtle shred of hope for as long as he could. If only he could have known how quickly it would fade away.