And this is where the story begins.

I guess I have made my dislike of season 4 obvious enough, and as the season progressed and I just didn't know what to do with it, I decided the only way for me to keep writing for this beloved fandom was to start an AU. And then TellatrixForever planted this idea into my head, and a plan started to take form, of how Devil didn't die, but got sent away on an assignment.

The Prologue described this AU in snippets. Now, this right here, it's Devil's story. This is Devil's season 3, if you want. This is the story of The Understudy. It picks up right after the dialogue Boyd and Devil have at the beginning of the prologue.

I'll give specific warnings at the beginning of every chapter. Just this warning in general, though: This fic is gonna be violent, and there's gonna be a lot of explicit language. So, people who can't deal with that, should probably think twice about reading when I express certain warnings. The rating is T for now, but I might have to raise it as the story progresses.

WARNING: Descriptions of drug use.

Disclaimer: I do not own Justified, nor any of its characters, and I am not making any money with this.

Now, do enjoy!

The Penny in the Parking Lot: Part 1

The Understudy

Chapter 1

"Listen to me right here, Devil. It won't be forever, just a couple of months, and be my inside man. Do what you do best, son. Find people who'll help us. You know what I mean. Recruit."

"Well… you know me. People person."

Devil arrived in Frankfort, Kentucky, at four in the morning, with a hurriedly packed bag of clothes and a provisorily patched up gunshot wound in his side. He'd bought six cups of coffee-to-go at a gas station just outside of Harlan County to try and stay awake through the three-hour drive, and he'd chugged down all six of them, too, even after they'd gone cold and stale. It was all he could do to keep his eyes open. Although the flaming pain from the gunshot did good in keeping him alert, as well.

The night was humid, the air felt heavy to breathe through when Devil passed through Lexington. The entire situation felt completely unreal to him, like it was someone else's life he was living right now. It was, too, kind of. Devil was not the guy one would accuse of being a traitor, never had been. He looked for someone to trust, and when he found them, he was loyal. Until he had a good reason not to be anymore. And with Boyd, he really never had had a good reason. And still, tonight, because of some big city asshole who told him the things he'd wanted to hear, he'd almost become just that.

He remembered the look in Boyd's eyes. In his rampage, pumped on adrenaline because, holy shit, he was actually doing this, Devil had mistaken the look in Boyd's eyes for fear when Devil turned the gun on him. Really, Boyd was just hurt. He'd never been afraid. Course not, if Johnny had told him everything. Then he shot at Devil, and Devil remembered the fear that he himself had felt – he'd thought that this would be it, that he would die on the floor of this bar that they'd just gotten back from the fat bastard that had stolen it from Johnny.

And it should have been the end. Devil knew that. You couldn't abide traitors in this business. But for some reason Boyd had not pulled the trigger a second time. He'd given Devil the chance to explain. In short, Boyd had given Devil his life, and Devil knew he could be thankful because, living their lives the way they did down in Harlan, re-building the criminal empire that had been nearly lost after Bo died, life was the biggest gift you could give someone, aside from money and purpose. Boyd hadn't given him any money, but he'd given him a purpose alright.

It was the one condition Boyd had had about letting Devil live: That Devil had to go to Frankfort, right now, and start working for Quarles, infiltrate the goddamned Dixie Mafia and find people who'd be willing to help, make the right friends in all the right places. And Devil was good at that. He knew how to make friends. He could do it.

The gunshot wound, meanwhile, was in equal measures punishment as well as a very convincing cover-up. If Devil showed up in Frankfort and told Quarles that he really, actually tried to do as Quarles had wanted him to and take Boyd out, it wouldn't have sufficed to deliver the message with a sorry face and not a scratch on him.

Devil had called Tanner as soon as he'd left the Harlan County line behind him, while he was getting himself the coffee, and told him the story Boyd had constructed for him. To deliver it on the phone was easy enough. Tanner swallowed everything Devil said like it was his job and told him he was really, really sorry it went down that way and that he shouldn't worry and let Tanner take care of that. Devil stood in the humid air, felt the burning in his side, and watched as some drunk hobo pissed against the only lit up street lamp in a radius of maybe half a mile, and he thought that he was more than willing to.

Tanner gave him directions to a place in Frankfort where he would be able to stay the night and told him that Tanner himself would call Quarles first thing in the morning. Devil jotted the directions onto the back of the gas station's receipt and wished he'd packed some Advil. After hanging up, he felt a little lighter that the first time he'd practiced his story everything had worked out alright. Devil got back into his truck and hit the road.

Tanner had directed him to a rundown apartment complex on West Broadway Street, and Devil thanked his good sense of navigation. In his tired state he'd almost taken the wrong turn from East Main Street, but the streets were empty so no one was there to complain when he did a u-turn on Capital Avenue and turned right instead.

He had to squint in the dark to make out the apartment number, and had to ring the bell about ten times before the door opened.

"Ey, yo, dude" the guy who opened Devil the door said in way of greeting, "chillax, would ya? It's like, 3 am."

The last time Devil had smelled so much weed had been when he himself had dealt it a couple years back. He cleared his throat.

"It's 4 am, and Tanner sends me" he said.

"Oh. 'kay then, come on in" Mr. High-as-a-kite stepped aside and let Devil in and a cloud of smoke out. Devil looked around: The apartment was dark, but from what he could see it was large and unkempt. Here were two rooms without doors where he could look in and see people sleep on the floor or on mattresses and sleeping bags. There was what could pass as a living room, with a flat screen TV and a huge corner sofa that seemed to take up half of the room and had pillows and a blanket arranged on it like it was someone's bed.

"My name's Keegan an' I'll show you where you can set up shop" Mr. High-as-a-kite said and led him through a hallway to one of the few rooms that actually had a door.

"Tanner gave me a call couple hours ago, said some guy was gonna show up and that he deserves the good guest room, with door an' bed an' separate bathroom an' everythin'" Keegan explained, "an' I'm guessin' that's you. Your name's… what's your name again?"

"Devil" Devil said and was really glad he got to sleep in an actual bed, because his side was aching fiercely still and he was not sure whether he would have survived a night in a sleeping bag.

"Devil? That's so cool, dude. You wanna bum a joint, just tell me and I'll get you some, no problem. Tanner said you deserve somethin' good cause you done somethin' really important."

"Yeah, well." Devil squirmed under Keegan's intense gaze. The curiosity was emanating off him as strongly as the weed smell.

"So. You want some? You didn't say."

"Uh, nah, thanks, man. I could use some pain killers, though. I got some… well, my side hurts like a son of a bitch."

"What happened?"

"I think that ain't none of your business, man. You got some pain killers or what?" Devil was not the most patient person on his best days. Now this Keegan guy was seriously pushing it.

"Yeah, sure. Jeez, dude. Chillax." Keegan looked slightly put off now and turned away, presumably to look for the pain pills, and Devil was just fine with it; he needed rest. Pain killers and rest, and the bathroom. Maybe if he was rude enough Keegan would leave him the hell alone.

Keegan returned with a package of Ibuprofen and tried to decipher the little writings on the side of the box. "It says here you should take only two at a time, so…"

"Yeah, thanks, awesome" Devil said and ripped the box from Keegan's hand. "So, this is my room? Alright then, I'll see you in the mornin'."

"Well, technically it's already mornin', dude…"

I don't wanna hear it, Devil thought. Just thinking about the time made him almost pass out on the spot from exhaustion and fear. It made the entire situation feel too real for comfort to think about the time, because it made Devil think about why he had been on the road for the last few hours and where he was now and why, and it turned his stomach. He couldn't stop the thoughts, though, and made it just in time to the adjoining bathroom to empty his stomach contents (which consisted of nothing but bile and coffee) into the dingy toilet.

"Are you okay, dude?" Keegan asked.

"Fuck off!" Devil couldn't even muster up the strength to yell at the guy; it was more of an angry rasping. It didn't have the hoped for effect.

"Oh man, you really gotta feel like shit, huh?" Keegan said from the door where he was leaning against the frame.

Devil sighed, leaning his forehead on his arms while crouching on the floor in front of the toilet. "No, man, it's a fuckin' party. The hell does it look like?"

"Not like much fun" Keegan stated.

"Got that right." Devil carefully sat back when he was sure he wouldn't throw up again. Must have been a spur of the moment, he thought. This night had taken a lot out of him. He felt fatigue settle over him like a rather heavy blanket, and he sagged against the shower cabinet to the left of the toilet. The cool tiles on the floor felt like heaven against his overheated body.

"Shit, dude, you're bleedin'!"

Devil heard Keegan through his blanket of fatigue and looked down at his side, and yeah, his vest had slipped to the side and he could see that he'd bled through his bandage and shirt, but he just couldn't be bothered with it. Not now. Not EVER.

"Oh yeah" Devil said dumbly. Like he could have forgotten about how the man he'd trusted and followed for the last ten years (not counting the months after Boyd's religious conversion and working in the mine when his church thing didn't work out) shot him not whole five hours ago. "That. It's, uh, not that big a… a deal."

"That the important thing you did for Tanner? That you got shot?"

"Sure" Devil said. As nice as the cool tiles felt, he needed to get up and over to the bed somehow, and chug down some of the pain killers. Oh, and he had to take a shit. He considered all of these necessities and found himself barely able to put them in the correct order.

"That's some messed up shit, dude" Keegan said with big eyes, admiring Devil's war wounds.

"It is. Now, get out, I gotta…" Devil vaguely waved at the toilet.

"Sure, dude. No biggie. Ey, let me know, you need anythin'. More pain killers, some weed, anythin' else, just tell me, alright? Tanner's my bud, if he says you did somethin' important, I'll say you're my bud, now, too."

"Awesome. Now go."

Keegan finally left the bathroom, but left the door wide open, and Devil had to fight himself back onto his feet to close it. When he exited the bath ten minutes later, though, there was a tall glass of water standing on the nightstand next to the bed that hadn't been there before. Maybe that Keegan fella was okay. A little annoying, a little high, but okay.

The room was relatively small, and the bathroom practically only a toilet, shower and sink with a door, but after Devil had closed the door to the hallway, silence fell over the room, and Devil felt himself able to relax, just a little. There was a twin size bed, a huge window through which Devil could see that the sun was already rising, and next to the window was an ugly-as-fuck wicker chair, and that was it. Devil had dropped his bag next to the bed during his sprint for the toilet, and he just left it there. Not having the energy to even take off his shoes, he just dropped onto the bed and closed his eyes.

No matter how exhausted and tired Devil was, though, he would not fall asleep. One minute his side was bothering him, then the next he was almost sleeping when the birds started tweeting and the incessant noise they made just would not let Devil rest. After some time, the sky was getting lighter and lighter already, he sat up, took five Advil and chugged them down with half of the water Keegan had left for him. He was afraid he'd throw up again if he put too much on his stomach. After that he slipped into a doze, zoning in and out of awareness, never entirely asleep, but not quite awake, either.

Then finally, he fell asleep. Devil was dreaming, and he dreamt that he was watching TV, and there was a music video on, it was Viggo Mortensen from Lord of the Rings, playing piano, singing about love (and Devil dimly wondered how he'd never known that Viggo Mortensen was a musician), and the video was pretty strange: It was about a real person, though who it was, Devil couldn't say, living in a world of puppets.

Nothing about that world was real, even the trees and the grass in the front yards were made out of plastic. Also, all the puppets were walking on stilts and therefore twice as big as the real person. And the real person wanted to escape, packed their bag, and tried to leave, but before they could, they fell through a trap door, and one of the puppets freed them from it and asked them who they were, and the person said that they came from Up-Less-World, where everything that usually should have been up was down, and that if you usually walked over something, in Up-Less-World you walked under it.

Devil jerked awake. He blinked against the sunshine that was penetrating his eyes, and thought that was what had woken him from one of the strangest fucking dreams he had ever had, but he realized it was his cell phone, vibrating against his thigh in the pocket of his pants.

He fished it out just in time.

"Hello?"

"Devil, man!" It was Tanner.

"Are you okay? Did you find the place?"

"Yeah, I did. The guy, uhm, Keegan, gave me the room with the bed. He smokes a lotta weed, huh."

"Yeah, he does, but other than that, he's cool. Houses the biggest CAG flat in Frankfort for us, so that's pretty cool, too."

"CAG flat?"

"Yeah, it's short for 'Coming And Going', cause no one ever stays there long. See, Dixie Mafia's got a lot of people workin' for 'em, but a lot of 'em are just passin' through, so they'll need a place to stay that ain't a hotel or motel where they gotta pay extra just to sleep, so we organized a bunch of apartments all throughout the city where they can stay. I sent you to the biggest one cause I knew that Keegan's the nicest guy you can find, and I called him after you called me and told him to get the big guest room ready for you."

"Oh, okay, thanks for that then." Devil carefully put his feet on the floor and sat on the side of the bed. The sun was up and his cell phone told him it was shortly after 8:30 am.

"So, you okay? Get some sleep?"

"A little, I'll be fine. You talk to Quarles?"

"Oh, yeah, I did! He, well, he sounded pissed on the phone, but he wants to talk to you. I'll give you the address for his office here and you can go pay him a visit in the next, say, three hours or somethin'. Alright?"

"Alright." Devil sighed. The fear crept back in. "You think he's gon' shoot me?"

"Uhm." Tanner faltered a little. "Well… you disappointed him, man. He ain't gonna bake you a birthday cake if you know what I'm sayin'. But… I mean, you already took a bullet for him. That's… just tell him what you told me, like you told me, an' I think you's gon' be fine."

"Sure?"

"Well, no, I ain't. The fucker's unpredictable. Just, grovel, man, make him feel sorry for you, I'd say. If there's one thing I know bout that son of a bitch, it's that he likes it when people make him feel like he's doin' 'em a big favor."

"Okay…"

"You fucked up, man, you know it. Just tell him the truth, and hope for the best."

"Alright" Devil said, wishing he could just sleep through the next few months until Boyd let him come back to Harlan. He certainly felt tired enough.

Tanner gave him the directions to Quarles's office and wished him luck before they hung up, and Devil leaned back until he was lying on the bed again, feet still on the floor, his gaze locked on the water-stained ceiling. There was mildew in the corner. Devil couldn't bring himself to care. He was dozing again, when there was a knock on the door. Devil turned his head to the side without opening his eyes.

"Hey, dude? Uh, Devil? You awake?"

"I am now, I guess. What is it?"

"Nothin', just, I heard you talkin' on the phone and thought you might want some coffee?"

Devil sighed. Tanner was right, this Keegan was a nice guy. Might as well take advantage of that while he still could.

"Some milk, no sugar, thank you."

"Comin' right up, dude!"

Devil heard muffled voices in the hallway, but he was dozing again, thinking about the strange dream he'd had. Whatever it might have meant, he felt like the normal person in the world of puppets anyway; it still seemed like this was someone else's life and he was just the understudy and didn't know his cue, nor his lines.

Devil left the apartment in the morning at about 10 am. It was unseasonably cold in Frankfort, a stark contrast to the humidity of the night, people were walking around with jackets and scarves, but Devil was sweating rivers. His side was aching something fierce, and he was a bit dizzy. The sky was covered by a thin layer of foggy clouds that the sun only barely managed to shine through which made everything look a bit hazy and tinted the entire atmosphere in an almost ethereal light; but maybe, Devil thought to himself, he was just seeing things, high from lack of sleep and breathing in the remnants of weed smoke that Keegan had filled the entire apartment with all throughout the night.

When he arrived at the building where Quarles's Frankfort "office" was located, his heart started beating faster, and the ache in his side pounded in rhythm with his pulse. Sweat was running down his back, and his hands were shaking. In a nutshell, Devil felt like shit. The elevator ride didn't do him any good either; at least outside he'd had fresh, cool air to breathe in, and the climate in the confined elevator space felt stuffy, used up, lived in. It was disgusting.

Devil barely remembered how he ended up in front of the office door, but he knocked anyway, and then waited until he could hear someone call him in.

"Devil!" Quarles gave him a big fake smile, and Devil almost vomited on the grey carpeted floor; this fake smile was so unlike Boyd's, it was almost bizarre, like a distorted mirror image of the way it was supposed to be. All blonde curls and pasty white skin instead of the hazel eyes and crazy black hair that Devil knew so well. For a moment he wondered whether he was still dreaming and had zapped himself into a special edition episode of the Twilight Zone, then Quarles started talking again.

"Well, don't stand there all day, come on in, have a seat."

Quarles pointed to the chair in front of his desk, and Devil gratefully took him up on the offer. It was more of a slumping down than sitting down, but Devil would take what he could get right now. He grimaced when the movement pulled at his side.

"Well, well" Quarles began, looking him over. "So, Tanner told me what happened last night. Such an unfortunate thing. Mh."

Devil looked at him and willed his leg to stop twitching. The situation reminded him of high school, when he sat in the principal's office waiting to find out if anybody knew it had been him who'd set off the fire alarm, or who'd watched as his friends flooded the rest rooms by stuffing bunches after bunches of toilet paper down the loos and then flushing again and again.

"It… it was, yeah" he finally said and had to clear his throat. His voice sounded strange in his own ears.

"You don't look too good either, if you don't mind me saying that."

"Don't feel too hot…" Devil blinked. Well, he was hot as hell right now. "…uhm, good."

"Can I see…" Quarles waved a hand in the vague direction of Devil's left side.

"Uhm, sure." Devil fought himself back into a standing position and pulled up his vest and t-shirt, revealing the self-made bandage that was soaked through with blood that was already drying. It really wasn't nice to look at.

"Dear Lord" Quarles said, frowning. "You should let someone take care of that."

"Nah, I'll be fine." Devil carefully sat down again, belying his words when he barely managed to suppress a moan of pain. "It's gon' be… just fine. Just need to, uh, have a lie-down and, I dunno, some painkillers maybe?"

"Yeah. We'll see." Quarles continued to study him. "I'll have one of my secretaries give you some antibiotics when you leave. You look like you got a fever."

"Oh." That thought hadn't even occurred to Devil yet. It would certainly explain why he'd thought for a moment to be in an episode of the Twilight Zone, and why he was so goddamned hot. "Yeah. Could be. Guess antibiotics would be a good idea, then."

"Of course. Now, I'd like to ask you what exactly happened. I mean, Tanner told me, but I'd like to hear you tell me again, just in case Tanner missed something. Go on."

This was it, Devil knew it, this was the test he'd been waiting for. If he managed to make it sound believable now, it would work, he'd be in. He recalled exactly the words that Boyd had told him to say. But Boyd was just such a good liar that Devil didn't know if he could make it. But he had caught himself a goddamned bullet and got away with his life; he had to try at least.

"Sure, okay. Well, I, I'd talked to Johnny, Boyd's cousin, told him we should kill Boyd because he's lost track of what's supposed to happen, and then we confronted Boyd, but… turned out Johnny's more loyal to Boyd than I'd thought, and they both turned guns on me, and then Boyd shot at me and I, I know I should've probably fired back, but, I got hit in the side and then I just… ran."

"Ran like the Devil" Quarles said and chuckled at his own stupid joke. Devil wanted to punch that pasty sag of shit in the face, but instead he tried to crook a smile.

"Yeah, like that. Just wanted to get the hell outta Harlan before word spread and I was, you know, the most wanted down there, so I packed my things and hit the road, and called Tanner when I was just outta Harlan County."

"I apologize for imploring" Quarles said, leaning forward on his desk, like a concerned school teacher. "But I would like to know why Mr. Crowder didn't aim at your chest. Or did he?"

"He might have" Devil shrugged. "I was backing off, though, already tryin' to get to the door, maybe his aim was off. He ain't the best shot, you know."

Quarles nodded, like he did in fact know about that, although Devil wouldn't have known how he did; it wasn't even true. Boyd was a good shot. Maybe not the best, not as good as Devil or his Marshal friend, but pretty good, still.

"Alright, Devil. That about accords with what Tanner told me on the phone. I'm quite sorry it went down that way, but, well, what can you do."

He still nodded to himself while saying those words, and something in his expression had changed. It clicked in Devil's mind: Jesus Christ, he'd passed. The stupid fucker had bought it.

"Now, Devil, give me one reason why I should not just go ahead and kill you."

"Well, uh… I mean, I… I know I messed up, but I just…"

"Yes?"

"Listen, I know I screwed this up." Devil shifted in his seat, both to find a more comfortable position for his side and to stop his leg from starting with the twitchy thing again. Grovel, Tanner had said. Make him feel like he's doing you a favor.

"I'm sorry, Sir. But I'm tellin' you, that was a one-time thing. I ain't gonna underestimate anyone ever again, I swear. Just…" Grovel, Devil thought, grovel! "I… I can't go back to Harlan now. Everybody's gon' be on the lookout for me now. Half of the town's under Boyd's control anyway, an' the other half, I don't think I can count on their goodwill, either. No-one likes a traitor, right? So, just…please, I ain't got nowhere else to go… to."

"And you want to stay here in Frankfort now, I presume?"

"Yeah."

"And you would like for me to give you some work."

"Yeah?"

"Devil." Quarles studied him. "Devil, Devil, Devil."

"Uhuh?"

"Devil. How'd you ever get a name like that? I reckon you didn't earn that name for nothing?"

"No, Sir."

"Well, I'd like to hear that story some time."

Over my dead body, Devil thought and looked at Quarles's disgusting, pasty, fake smile.

"Sure, some time" he said.

"Well then! I'd say you should go back to the CAG flat Tanner placed you in. I hope you got a nice guest room. Get some rest, heal a little, pick up some antibiotics from my secretary. Stay in the flat for the time being, and give me a call in, let's say three days, that should give you enough time to recover a bit. And then we'll take a look at where exactly your talents lie, and find you some work to do. That's all, you can go now."

Devil was in.

This is the first chapter of many to come. I can't say how many. Really, I got no idea. But, do believe me when I say there's a lot more where this came from.

Now, this story's obviously focussed on Devil's life in Frankfort. Boyd will make an entrance here and there on the phone. Quarles and Tanner will play a role, as will Wynn Duffy, my favorite bad guy EVER, and his supercool bodyguard Mike. The rest, they're OCs.

Tomorrow's the finale. I cannot wait for it.

Happy Easter!