Here it is! Oh no, Michael's been shot! Time for some Franklin POV! I really hope you guys like this, and I'll hopefully have the next one up soon.
Oh, and to saintgat1999 who asked if this was going to be "one of those Trevor/Michael gay things?" Yes it will be. In my summary, it says "Michael/Trevor in future chapters." (They're totally my OTP)
When Franklin had seen Trevor duck into the garage, he'd started booking it around to the other side of the trailer. He made his legs move as quickly as possible, his heart hammering inside of his chest. If he could get around quick enough, he could possibly get them. It was a risk and there was a slim chance, but he had to try.
He hid behind a vehicle parked on the side Michael was hiding on, and Franklin made sure to stay hidden as Michael shot. He hid behind some men and dived behind the vehicle, luckily keeping Michael in the dark about Franklin's whereabouts.
When Michael disappeared around the corner, Franklin carefully started creeping forward. He froze in spot when he suddenly heard Trevor yelling.
"How do you like this, Frank? C'mon, kid, pop your head up and see what Uncle T has for ya!"
Franklin couldn't see Trevor, so he must've still thought Franklin was over with all the trucks and most of the Merryweather.
Franklin made sure to stay out of view from Michael so he could get a glimpse at what Trevor had.
It nearly made his heart stop in his chest. Had he fucking jinxed himself earlier? Franklin never really believed in shit like that, but this was a hell of a coincidence.
Trevor's back was to him, but it would've been hard to miss the huge RPG he was holding. Trevor was dodging bullets, and Michael didn't seem to be paying too much attention to covering them anymore. He looked slightly annoyed, but Franklin could see the amusement on his face in the tiny twitch of his lips.
"No? I guess it'll just be a fucking surprise! Heads up, you fucking, sniveling, cowardly snake!"
Franklin felt his stomach turn with unease as Trevor's finger ghosted over the trigger and the rocket exploded from the RPG, heading straight towards the men Devin had been generous enough to let Franklin use.
Franklin didn't waste time watching the bloody fireworks going off down the road. He noticed a few Merryweather hidden behind a slight hill and took off towards them, going as fast as his legs would carry him. He dived to the ground, landing hard on his gun and grunting a bit. He yanked it out from under him, positioning it and pointing.
Michael was a clear shot. A smile was on his face, and him and Trevor were moving together to high five. The sight caused Franklin to hesitate, for just a second.
Were these not the men he'd called father figures not too long ago? The men who had been two of his best friends and mentors? And now what were they? Enemies. Two people getting in the way of something he had to do. It almost made Franklin sad to put his finger on the trigger.
He pulled it just as their hands collided.
Trevor didn't waste time in grabbing Michael's gun and shooting. He was roaring like a beast, starting to charge forward. Franklin grabbed the helmet of the nearest Merryweather and stuck it on his head, then stood up and started trying to shoot Trevor.
None of his bullets landed. Trevor was too fast and too angry, though he didn't seem to notice it was Franklin behind the dark glass of the mask. Franklin hoped that the thought of Michael bleeding out on the ground was enough to turn him around.
A bullet whizzed past Franklin, just almost touching his side, and he did the only thing he could think of doing; he fell onto the ground, among the bodies of the Merryweather who had been shot. He held his breath for a second, still hearing the sound of bullets racing from a gun. Soon enough, there was a quiet click and Trevor was out of bullets.
Franklin peaked his head up and saw Trevor kneeling next to Michael, yelling almost hysterically at him and applying pressure to his wound. Michael was almost smiling up at him, a wheezing laugh bubbling up from his mouth.
Neither of them were looking. Franklin shoved himself up, grabbing his gun and pointing it at Trevor. The helmet was heavy on his head, and he ripped it off so he could aim better and maybe, just maybe, he wanted to them to know who had shot them. Franklin's heart pounded in his chest; he was going to do it. After all they'd been through, Franklin was about to kill them.
If he hadn't been feeling uneasy and sick to his stomach about it, he might've considered this good for bragging. Franklin Clinton, the gangster who hadn't done much with himself except for going gang banging with his friend Lamar, would soon be know as Franklin Clinton, the gangster who killed the psychotic but infamous Trevor Phillips and the sociopath and great Michael Townley.
"TREVOR!" A high voice screamed from behind Trevor's trailer, and Franklin froze for a second. His eyes landed on the stupid hat of Ron Jakowski first, then saw Ron's arm waving in the air and pointing straight at him.
Trevor spun around, his eyes wide and his teeth bared. It didn't take long for the realization of who was currently pointing a gun at him to spread on his face, and Franklin knew he had better shoot or he would be dead soon.
"MotherFUCKER!" Trevor screamed at him. Franklin knew of Trevor's distaste for the word-women's rights and respecting mothers, something along those lines-and it made him hurry with his shaking finger.
He pulled the trigger and the bullet went flying for Trevor's head. Instead of dodging to the side like Franklin almost expected, Trevor ducked down. Franklin was a bit taken aback by his actions.
Instead of moving to making sure he'd be okay, Trevor had thrown himself over Michael, pressing himself as close to the man on the ground as he could. He made sure his body covered Michael's, leaving no fatal spot available to be hit.
Franklin hadn't seen something like that before. Sure, Trevor had helped him save Lamar and had also helped him out on occasion, but Franklin hadn't seen the psycho actually ever throw himself down to protect someone, almost as if he'd rather be shot than let the wounded Michael become worse.
Before he could pull the trigger again, Ron was scrambling forward over Trevor's fence and yelling, shooting haphazardly at Franklin with his pistol.
Franklin scrambled backwards, shooting at Ron, too. Both were not the best with aiming, and their bullets sprayed everywhere. Trevor roared somewhere behind Ron and Franklin saw him jump up and run into the garage. Before he could get a hit on Michael, Trevor was running out. He jumped over Michael and leaned back so he was still protecting him and started adding into Ron's bullets with his own.
That made Franklin turn and run around fast. Trevor was definitely a better shot than Ron, and an infuriated Trevor was a dangerous Trevor. He seemed to get deadlier the more he become offended.
Franklin hated himself for a second. He was so fucking weak, he had let his mind run wild again. It was definitely something he had to work on. But he wasn't a psychopath like Trevor who chased what he wanted and didn't stop till he got it, no matter the consequences. He wasn't a sociopath like Michael; when Franklin killed, he actually thought about it and felt a bit of sadness (though that really depended on the person). Franklin knew that if-when, he reminded himself-he killed them both, he'd always think about it.
One of his best friends (ex best friends) continued to shoot and Franklin listened to the booms that echoed around Sandy Shores. The distant sound of sirens pierced the air and mixed with the sound of a shotgun. Together, it almost helped Franklin to think clearer.
His mind spun. The way he'd taken to getting them-head on, straight and forcefully-wouldn't work, it never would. Trevor and Michael were experienced killers who were used to being outnumbered and knew how to handle themselves.
No, Franklin had to plan his next steps more carefully. He had to tread lightly, sneak up from behind until he would be able to plunge a knife into both of their backs without hesitation.
