Disclaimer: Standard disclaimer rights apply.

Warning:Updates will most definitely be slow. Sorry, guys.
This contains SLASH, in other words: same sex couples. It also contains drug use, violence, sexual situations, and MAY contain a(n OC) death. This story is marked for mature readers only, please treat it as such.

Pairings: Will be sporadic, and a surprise. I'm not ruining the story by telling you end pairings.

Beta'd By: Sarah2437

Notes: So, not only have I obtained a beta, but she also returned this chapter to me within hours of getting it. I couldn't have her making me look bad, so here's your next chapter. Short, but still up a lot sooner than I had planned.

Getting Back Together Again

The Past IV: Hunter or How Spot Became Desperate

Bam: Age 12
Sean: Age 13
Slingshot: Age 14
Stealth: Age 15

"Honestly, I don't know why you want someone to help you steal cars in the first place," Bam said, throwing his feet on the coffee table in front of him. "None of us can drive, in case you've forgotten."

"What better way to learn than from stolen cars?" Spot asked. He was hunched over on the folding chair across from him, elbows on his knees.

"Well, there's always fucking driving school," Bam snapped back, rolling his eyes. "I swear to god, you don't know the concept of thinking, do you?" He turned to face Slingshot who was sitting next to him on the couch. "Aren't you the one who's supposed to talk him out of stupid ideas? Why aren't you saying anything?"

Slingshot shrugged at him. "I'm just glad he's taking a break from beating random people up and actually starting to plan for a bigger picture. And he's talking about adding a member legitimately." He turned to look at Spot, wiping an imaginary tear from his eye. "I honestly couldn't be prouder."

Spot rolled his eyes. "We need a car and a good driver," he explained slowly. "How the fuck am I supposed to own all of Brooklyn if I'm stuck walking everywhere?" It was annoying having to explain himself all the time. He shot a look at Stealth who was sitting cross-legged on the floor and smirking up at him. He missed when it was just the two of them and he never had to explain anything. Stealth never asked for explanations; he seemed to know the plan before Spot had even made it, following along with a smoothness that he was sure no one could ever match.

"How the fuck do you expect to own all of Brooklyn with only four people?" Bam snapped. "You're fucking delusional."

"I've been gethering recruits," Slingshot spoke up.

"Your recruits are crap and everyone knows it," Bam argued.

"You're crap and everyone knows it," Slingshot snapped right back.

"Fuck you!" Bam shouted, standing up from the couch and glaring down at Slingshot.

Slingshot shot up at once, matching his glare. "No, seriously, you fucking suck. You're useless at hand-to-hand combat, your endurance is weak, your physical strength is a laugh. Your strongest asset is your aim, which doesn't even come close to matching my skill. Seems like the only reason you're here is to be Spot's fuck buddy."

"Fuck you, you piece of shit," Bam growled out, taking a step towards Slingshot so they were chest to chest. "I'll show you exactly what I can do if you're man enough to take it."

Slingshot bumped up against his chest, sending him back a few steps. "What do you mean if I can take it? You're the one who has all the practice taking di-"

"Children!" Spot yelled, throwing his folding chair across the room hard enough to chip plaster off of wall. "Can you fucking shut up? I don't need either of you. You wanted to not be kept in the dark so I'm fucking sharing. So shut the fuck up and fucking listen."

"Yes, Boss," Bam and Slingshot said in unison before both sitting back down.

Spot started pacing. "I need someone who drives and who drives fast. If he's good at stealing them it's just a plus. I've been told Speed is exactly the guy I'm looking for," he shot a look at Stealth in order to receive the confirmation nod.

"Except Speed is enrolled in an all boys school in upper east Manhattan, and leaving campus is prohibited," Slingshot explained. "We'd have to wait at least three months for summer vacation to hit."

"Or we break someone into the school," Bam suggested. "Once we convince him to join up we can both just leave the grounds; gang members don't need to go to school."

"What kind of logic is-" Slingshot began, only to be cut off by Spot.

"So we need someone good with forging documents." Spot looked towards Slingshot. "Know anyone who fits that description?"

Slingshot sighed as he scratched the back of his head. "My old boss actually outsourced all the documents he needed to forge. I never got a name, but I might know where to find him."

Spot finally stopped his pacing. "Great," he said with a smirk. "Let's go on a field trip, kids."

Slingshot rolled his eyes. "You do realize I'm older than you, right?"

"I will when you start acting like it, minion," Spot replied, already heading for the door.


Alex smirked as he breathed in the smell of his overly expensive coffee. The criminal activity in Brooklyn was magnificent, and he was taking full advantage of it. Who needed a gang for protection when the gangs all needed you?

He finished the signature on what was now a vehicle registration, smirking even wider. It was art, what he did, it truly was. And the cash he got paid for it was incredible.

Maybe he was being callous, but he much preferred this compared to the life he was living before his parents had died; having to survive on pasta or crackers to sustain himself and never having electricity or running water. Now he was living the high life. He slept in a hotel room every night, and ate only the most expensive food.

This restaurant was one of his favorites. It had tall ceilings and waiters that pulled out your chair for you. It made him feel like a prince.

"I require your services," a man said before sliding into the seat across from him.

Alex closed his eyes and sighed as he pushed the papers in front of him into his satchel. The problem with this being his favorite restaurant was that everyone knew it was his favorite restaurant; the riffraff came in droves. "There's a fifty dollar consulting fee and a twenty percent cut on what you will be purchasing." He took a drink of his coffee. "I expect money upfront."

The man bobbed his head in agreement. "Of course, of course. I knew you weren't cheap. What else would anyone expect from the best, right?" he asked, chuckling nervously before reaching into his pocket and pulling out a stack of twenty-dollar bills. He leaned forward in the seat as he pushed the money towards Alex. "I'm in need of some legal consult, so to speak."

Alex nodded back, forcing his expression to remain neutral as he looked at the stack of money in front of him. Yes, things were definitely better now than they had been before. "I'm listening."

"I'm going through some troubles with my wife," the man replied stiffly before his eyes darted around the restaurant. He leaned forward even more, speaking in a whisper. "None of this would be a problem, except she absolutely refuses to sign the divorce papers."

"Mm … divorce is expensive," Alex replied, his eyes darting to the cash in front of him. "It puts all of your valuables in danger. If this little bit of money is twenty percent of it you've got more problems than just your wife." He took three twenties off the top and put them in the front pocket of his bag. "My consulting fee," he explained before pushing out his chair and getting ready to leave.

"Please! Wait!" the man demanded, his eyes wide as he jerked out of his chair to grab onto his wrist. "I can get you more money! How much do you want? I'll get you whatever you want."

Alex frowned at him as he shook his wrist loose. "Depends entirely on how much you're worth. I already told you: my fees are twenty percent."

Suddenly a boy appeared beside him, grabbing up the bundle of twenties from the table. "If this is what you're offering I can just off her for ya. It'll be a lot cheaper for you."

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" Alex snapped, jumping out of his seat at the newcomer. The boy was the very epitome of riffraff. He was sporting a black eye and his clothes were full of holes. The poor bastard clearly didn't have a penny to his name. "This is private business."

The other boy rolled his eyes as he twirled the money between his fingers. "Right, private. That explains why I heard Bastard's grovelling from all the way outside." He turned towards the man. "If you wanna get rid of money so bad I'd be happy to help." He took two twenties off the top and handed them to Alex. "Your consulting fee," he explained.

"Wait a minute, you bastard!" the man yelled, now fully out of his seat as he approached the boy. "That's my money, you stupid punk!"

"Yeah, thanks, I appreciate it," the boy answered, swiftly going around the man to grab his now vacated chair and pulling it over to his side of the table. He threw the rest of the money at the man. "You can take the rest," he said, taking a seat. "But now you should leave. I have business to discuss," he ordered, his attention fully on Alex by now.

"This isn't how you conduct business. Just who the fuck do you think you are?" Alex growled.

"My inferiors insist on calling me Spot," he answered with a smirk. "And I conduct my business in any way I fucking want."

The man's eyes got even wider. "I-I've heard of you," he said, backing up.

Spot rolled his eyes. "Yeah, I know. Stupid name's really stuck." He leaned in closer to Alex. "That's my second-in-command's fault," he explained as the other man took off towards the door. "Bastard never knows when to keep quiet."

Alex frowned at him. He had never heard of anyone called 'Spot' before. "Well, this business of yours better be good. You just scared off a new client." He frowned at the door his potential client had just left through before turning his attention back to Spot and looking him up and down. "You don't look like you have much money."

"The thing I need doesn't cost any money," Spot explained, leaning back in his seat. "I need a man."

"Sorry, I don't do weddings," Alex bit out, rising out of his chair once more.

Spot wasted no time leaping from his own chair and slamming Alex's head into the table. "So what's twenty percent of a man?" he asked calmly, still pressing the other boy's head into the tabletop. "You want an arm?"

"Unfortunately, I need mine," he continued, ignoring Alex's grunt, "especially when misunderstandings like this happen. Tell you what though, I'll stop myself from cutting off your arm, you find me my guy, and we'll call it even. What do you say?"

Alex struggled a bit, only to stop when more pressure was put on his head. It seemed he was stuck. "Just call me 'Hunter'," Alex grumbled from the table, deciding that, at least this time, survival was probably more important than money. After this he was investing in some god damn body guards.


"I said I needed a felt-tip pen, you imbecile!" Hunter yelled days later as he threw the permanent marker he was given across the room. He had been using the rickety kitchen table placed in the middle of the gang's residence to do his work, terribly upset to be working in such a hovel. "How do you expect me to perform my art if you keep giving me inadequate supplies!?" he yelled.

Bam crossed his arms and glared right back. "I don't know what the fuck a felt-tipped pen is!" he shouted back. "These tips looked felt enough to me!"

"I'm surrounded by utter idiots!" Hunter yelled, slamming his fist into the table. "Listen, you little shit," Hunter said quietly through clenched teeth as he lifted his head up to look at Bam. "What I do is an art form, and while I don't expect a neanderthal like yourself to understand, I do expect you to appreciate it. So when I say I need a felt-tip pen to complete the job, I expect you to be looking for a box saying felt-tip pens." He cocked his head as he breathed out. "Is that too difficult for you to process? Or can you not read?"

Bam slammed his fist into the back of Hunter's skull. "Fuck your shitty 'art form'," he replied as Hunter's face slammed into the table. "What you do is talk too damn much."

"You people are cretins," Hunter muttered, touching under his nose to check for blood. "If I get harmed here don't think I won't sue."

"And where would that get you, exactly?" Bam asked as he crossed his arms. He looked around their small living room, taking in the beaten up couch and the half-broken folding chairs. "In case you didn't notice: we have fuck all. And we certainly don't care about the fucking law."

"This is kidnapping!" Hunter declared, rising from his seat. "You're keeping me away from very important work! You're losing me my business!"

"You're free to leave whenever," Spot's calm voice answered back as he stepped into the room. "You'll have to leave your arm of course, as I'll have no reason to pay you anymore, but I don't particularly mind taking the non dominant one. It's not my intention to run you out of business."

"Exactly what part of you threatening to chop off my arm if I leave makes it sound like this isn't a kidnapping!?" Hunter asked, his voice getting louder with every syllable.

"You're the one who wanted payment," Spot reminded him as he came to stand in front of Bam. "And next time you insult one of my people I'm going to rip out your voicebox. Luckily, you don't need that either, in your line of work."

"Look," Hunter replied, forcing himself to become calm. "I don't want to be here. You don't want me to be here. I just want to finish this job and go home with all my limbs and organs in tact. But I can't do that if your men keep bringing me the wrong supplies." He snapped out the last part, making sure to glare at Bam as he did so.

"It's not my fault you don't give concise directions!" Bam shouted back from behind his boss. "How fucking hard is it to forge some bullshit high school documents anyway?" he asked, crossing his arms as he looked at the ceiling. "Seems to me any moron could do it."

"I told you: it's an art form!" Hunter shouted back, jumping up to stand once again and squashing the paper in front of him into his hand. "It's a delicate process someone of your caliber couldn't begin to appreciate!"

"What the fuck is that supposed to mean?"

"Well, you see," Hunter replied, suddenly much calmer. "'Caliber' means the quality of someone's-"

"I know what the fuck 'caliber' means, you fucktard," Bam snapped out, talking loudly.

"Then why'd you ask?" Hunter asked. He cocked his head, unable to keep his grin off his face.

"I'm getting very annoyed," Spot told the room calmly. He turned towards Bam. "Stop provoking him; he's just trying to get a rise out of you, and it's insulting how well it's working." Next he turned towards Hunter. "And you, do your fucking job before I break your hand to relieve all the tension you've been giving me." He turned around to leave the room, hands behind his back. "Honestly," he muttered, loud enough for the other two people in the room to hear. "It's enrolling in a fucking high school; it's not fucking neuroscience."


"You really think it's wise to keep him around until we collect our man?" Slingshot asked as soon as Spot came through the door. "He's certainly stirring things up."

Spot sighed as he slid down the wall. "There's no telling if this guy'll even want to work with us. If he turns down the offer chances are we'll need Hunter all over again, and there's no way I'm paying another one of his absurd consulting fees."

"You don't think this guy is going to want to join?" Slingshot asked, sliding down the wall opposite his boss. "Why the hell are we going through all this trouble then?"

"I need him," Spot answered, clenching his fist. "At the very least I need someone like him. It's essential. I can deal with morons if it means I can eventually get what I want."

Slingshot let a chuckle escape, hoping Spot wouldn't take offence to it. "Are you telling me that you're doing all this planning and work out of desperation?"

Spot shrugged back at him before resting his head against the wall. "Why the fuck else would I do it? This shit gives me a headache."

TBC

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