Author's Note: An un-anon kmeme fill, but expect no sex until much later (if at all, the end isn't written yet) and plenty of angst. EDITTED since first posted online.

Summary: What if Charon had always lived free, and encountered F!LW as a slave (collared, not brainwashed)? How does this change the dynamic between them? Follow Lone Wanderer Anna as she fights for freedom and learns how to survive, and how Charon plays a part in this.

Trigger Warning: This story does not explicitly describe rape but it is implied. If this could bother you unduly, please do not read on.

Charon avoided places like this for a reason. That reason being, they were depressing as hell.

In the Capitol Wasteland, though, there was no safer place for a ghoul to sleep at night than the Museum of History. Last time he'd been through, Carol's Place had only gotten him unwanted advances, and that left the less-than-reputable Ninth Circle.

Apparently there wasn't an adequate watering hole in this dump, because he was already on whiskey number two to drown out the sorry sight of this bar, not to mention the taste of whiskey number one.

The owner was obviously dealing chems on the side. The patrons were more than drunk—they were strung out, some violent, some staring into corners blindly.

It also didn't take a genius to see that the barmaid was hiding a slave collar under her scarf. Judging by how she cringed at Ahzrukhal's every word, the collar was still very much active.

Charon didn't look like the average patron. Only recently he'd been stitched back together by Doc downstairs. This time it had been raiders. Six of them, and every last one looked worse than Charon leaving that fight—and that was saying something. Charon just wanted a good night's sleep before leaving again on another scavenging mission. He was still fit and healthy—for a ghoul, anyways—and wanted nothing more than to be left alone with his whiskey.

It wasn't long before he was singled out in that place.

"Finally decided to grace us with your patronage, Charon?" Ahzrukhal said from behind the bar. Charon was somewhat of a legend among these ghouls. He ventured out into the world and did as he pleased—something the Underworld mostly dreamed of. Ahzrukhal had always been somewhat insulted at Charon's avoidance.

Charon grunted, staring into his drink.

"Well, you know who to ask if you ever want something extra. The Ninth Circle caters to needs that Carol can't even imagine."

"Whiskey's fine."

"Alright, alright. But if you ever need the edge in a fight… or something to take the edge off… you know where to go. For the right price."

"Not interested."

Ahzrukhal took the hint, leaving to open his metaphorical trench coat to more pliant customers.

In a few moments: "Offer you a refill, sir?"

Charon looked up from his glass to see the barmaid. Her eyes were fearful but her hands were steady. Whiskey in hand, she awaited his reply. She was young, he noted. Probably hadn't even hit the old drinking age.

He nodded.

She poured.

"You here by choice, girl? We don't see many smoothskins around here."

"I…I'm not allowed to speak to customers. I'm sorry, you'll have to talk to Ahzrukhal."

The skin where Charon's eyebrow used to be quirked.

It wasn't long, then, until the slimy owner returned. Obviously, it was a setup the man had used before: dangle the attractive slave before the loner, go in for the caps. Charon had a dark feeling about what was going to happen next, and he was quickly proven right.

"The pain relief available for purchase here isn't restricted to the chemical variety, you know," Ahzrukhal spoke on a low voice over his shoulder.

"She doesn't mind? About…us?"

"If she does, she's never said so. We have an…arrangement."

Charon chortled. "You mean she gets paid double to do us squishers." Decades of practice went into that poker face. It had taken Charon a long time to learn to ask questions before shooting.

Ahzrukhal's laugh made bile rise in Charon's throat. "Something like that. You interested?"

"How much?"

"Sixty caps for half an hour."

"Steep."

"People like us never find another chance like this. Not out in the Wasteland."

After a few moments, Charon inclined his head, pulling a pouch of caps from his pack.

Ahzrukhal, leering, waved to the barmaid, who shakily nodded and headed to a back room.

As Charon followed, the hunger disappeared from his face, replaced with a cold grimace.

The room was furnished with only a bare mattress and table. Condoms, both unopened and used, littered the table and floor. Given the mattress's stains, their use was apparently optional. Musk and mold permeated the room. Shutting the splintered door left everything quite dim.

She sat on the bed, curled into herself protectively.

"Are you allowed to speak to me now?"

"There's usually not much talking… but you are paying for my company. So I guess it's thirty minutes of whatever you want," she replied without looking at him.

"You must be new. You can't even fake it yet."

That earned him a glare. "You here to insult me?"

"Maybe that's the way I like it." He leaned against the wall.

Her eyes closed, the expression speaking of despair.

"Calm down. Keep your clothes on."

She didn't move.

"I'm not here for sex."

One eyelid cracked open.

Charon sighed. "This will be more trouble than it's worth. I'm not usually a vigilante, but I really hate that guy."

She looked at him warily now.

"You got a name?" he asked.

After a moment, she murmured, "Anna."

"Charon."

"What exactly are you going to do, Charon?"

He truly smiled for the first time that night. "For now, wait."

Half an hour later, Charon marched out of the room.

"I've got a problem with your merchandise, Ahzrukhal. Care to discuss it with me? In private?" he said loudly. More than one ghoul took notice.

"What problem would that be?"

"She failed to give me my money's worth."

"Look, if your prick doesn't work anymore, that's not my—"

In several moments, Ahzrukhal was shoved against a wall, feet dangling, balls and neck both in a vice-like grip.

"Slave collars don't turn me on," Charon growled, "What should I rip out first?"

Ahzrukhal's eyes widened. He said nothing.

"You should have invested in a bouncer, not a whore. Now: Windpipe or testicles?"

"You want her? Have her. Her remote… pocket…"

Charon smiled, slipping his hand into that pocket and taking the remote out gingerly.

He let the ghoul barkeep down. Ahzrukhal collapsed to the floor. When he looked up, it was at the business end of a shotgun.

"You are a disgusting rat," Charon declared.

Ahzrukhal didn't get a chance for any last words.