A man and his flag. Fallout Fanfic

The Butcher gripped the daggers awkwardly with his hamburger hands but was beaming with joy despite the pain. "Oh boy, got my hands on some quality blades right here! This'll be just another day at the shop now that I've got Sticky and Slashy with me." 

When the bottle broke and what appeared to be a genie of sorts emerged from the shards, Ben jumped back in shock. "Whoa there! You're paler than my auntie Loretta right before she kicked the bucket! God rest her soul, her liver gave out on her after the fourteenth jug of great uncle Bubba's moonshine. She was blind after the tenth, but that woman just never knew when to quit."

"Regardless, sure would be nice if you could lead for us, seeing as you're familiar with this here domicile and all." 

Ben gave his rotting shield a gentle pat as a last farewell. "You killed that no-good lousy bondage fetishist, Woody. You done good." The butcher turned towards the merchant and presented the man with the hunk of wood. "I'll take whatever I can get for this here buckler."

"Oh, and somebody else should take point, I'm about to drop dead."

no thanks

Ben tried to stand to search for the Shepard, but his injuries were too deep and he could not bring himself to his feet. "Damn...I ain't in the best shape, and you don't look too good either," he griped, turning towards the Cook. "Ain't no way in hell we can go looking for her right away, not in the state that we're in."

Ben staggered to his feet, groaning with exhaustion and pain. The fragments of bone burrowed deep into his hand were like knives digging into his skin, and he couldn't even pull them out properly due to his other hand being nothing more than chopped liver. Trying to distract himself from how everything hurt, the butcher searched the bodies and the room for anything useful. 

Ben stands as still as a statue as he watches the others fight, fury bubbling within him as the pain from his mangled hamburger hand and the plague boils shoots through his entire body. As soon as he is able to move, the butcher leaps towards the nearest cultist, yelling with feral rage. 

"I agree, ain't no way in hell I'm going through there." Ben turns to head back the way they came.

"Dammit...god fucking dammit..." Ben grits his teeth in agony as he cradles his mangled hand with his good one, trying to stem the bleeding stumps with torn fabric from his shirt. "I'm never gonna chop boar kidneys with this hand again. What's Grandpa Joe gonna say when he sees me like this?! Probably give me a few whacks with the ol' two-by-four and lecture me about how since I was always as useless as a cripple in the shop, he won't even notice a difference." 

"You fucking crippled me, goddammit!" Ben yells at the fleeing figure of Connie far ahead. "When I catch up with you, I'm gonna cough in your mouth, and then I'm gonna bleed in it!" The butcher follows, using the wall as support as he feels a bit faint. 

Ben does the same with the other lever. 

A black eye now adorned Ben's face from the nasty kick he had gotten while crawling through the passage. "That poor sand person, he was the bravest fella I've ever seen. Braver than my great-uncle Bubba even, and he once went hand to hand against the Alabama Warewombat!" 

Ben turned his attention back towards Anders and the gate. "Right, we need to git through that thing. I'll give you a hand, but if you somehow kick me in the face again, you're gonna end up looking like the Warewombat after nine rounds with great-uncle Bubba!"