The Missing Piece

by becuzmdsaidineededpersonality

Grief is a strange thing and many people have different ways of dealing with it. But what if you lost the only person who ever cared about you?

Today's the day. Fan-fucking task. Trevor thought about sending a letter to Brad. After all, today was the day it all went wrong. It was eight years ago today. But what would he say anyway? He never knew what to say. It had been around five years since Trevor had lived in this God-forsaken concrete jungle full of some of the most annoying people on the planet. Brad was all into poetry and spirituality now. It was in his letters he sent Trevor on a bimonthly basis. Big words in delicate handwriting that Trevor couldn't understand. Why Brad wasted his time with such things was beyond him. Brad was a dick. Or had been. But he was different now and Trevor would take the rehabilitated poet cringe-inducing "Bring yourself onto Jesus" self-righteousness over the misogynist prideful asshole any day. Lucky for Brad Michael had walked in when he did when Brad dared to make a mother joke because otherwise. Michael. Suddenly the ink on his left bicep because unbearable itchy.

Where was he driving to again? Oh yeah. The bar. He was going to need something stronger than speed to get through today. He should still write. Even if it was trash. He remembered the first letter sent to his state of the art trailer like it was yesterday. Salutations? What kind of high and mighty asshole starts a letter of like that. But Brad was alive. Trevor hadn't really thought to grieve for him. He had only been in the crew a few months anyway. And he wasn't even in the crew in the crew. More like a side piece that got too comfortable to know his place. He was annoying but when Lester needed three guys to get the job done Trevor was forced to drag Brad along. Brad. It was a miracle straight from God that Trevor hadn't curb stomped his face when the asshole had dared to suggest he kick Michael off the crew. Who the fuck did he think he was? The letter itself wasn't impressive. Just a bunch of meaningless words of the horrors of prison and how he had changed his ways and all about the poetry and writing classes. He was even working on a novel. One of those romance dystopian types every teenage girl would be dressing up as in Los Santos for the next ten months after the four-part movie series came out.

Brad was annoying. But he was the only person Trevor had. Other than Ron of course who was useless and always going on about lizards running congress and how the FIB and Merryweather were selling baby corpses over the Mexican border. Trevor won't put it past those government scumbags who had killed his best friend and put a loyal crew member in prison. Michael had had a family as well. Two kids and an annoying bitch of a wife. Fucking Amanda. He never had wanted to kill a woman. Not really. But that woman. What he would have done if Michael hadn't married her like a fucking idiot. He was far too young. Trevor told him. Michael had even tried to leave the crew a few times. Guilt stung on the back of his throat like the three bottles of beer he had already chugged down threatening to come back up. A familiar feeling of light blue sadness dulled by a red stain of anger cast over him like the waves on the rocks over the cliff he was passing by. Michael was dead. He was never coming back. Brad thought he was so great with his little poetry conventions and book publishing deals. Who the fuck did he think he was anyway? Trevor could almost feel the judgment nature of the prick through the letters and despite the space between them, it reminded Trevor of when he did or said something wrong around a person who hadn't yet learned to fear him and how they would stare him down with their hatred filled eyes with lackluster words of gossip on their tongues. He was someone people feared and would be nice to in-person up until a point where they could take off. He had held a blood-covered machete over the head of a hipster begging for mercy enough to know that people weren't all they seemed. Judases and snakes. Every last one of them. It didn't take a bullshit philosopher to figure that one out.

The traffic became slower up ahead and Trevor mumbled incoherent obscenities at the variety of cars as he weaved his way through them while getting loads of birds and profanities thrown his way. Typical. God. He would never understand this fucking city. Upon turning the corner the familiar feeling of rage violently finds its way up his throat. Fucking cyclists. There were about three of them making and failing to make a V shape of sorts and managing to take up the entire road. Trevor had shot geese in that V form when he had to get out of the house after the incident with a spoon and a cheating boyfriend of his mother's. He apparently wasn't the only one who thought this as cars were rushing by and brushing past in prescient speeds that would surely clip one of them if a single one of these pricks moved too close to the barriers. Fuck this. Didn't these assholes know he was in mourning?

"You think you own the road don't yah! You pedaling pricks!" He empathized this by practically slamming his open palm into the horn.

They seemed to somewhat get the message as the V-shape slowly condensed to a single fill line near the left side in between the yellow lines. Trevor came up close behind the first one. A straggler who was chunky and short. He was leaning forward in one of those poses that reminded Trevor of those statues of Greek gods in the main shopping center of Los Santos which he may or may not have snuffed an underground meth deal there. Or he was buying lingerie. Or throwing up Ethiopian food in a fountain that was way too reflective for the number of sun rays that hit the blinding white and baby blue tiles on a daily basis. Poor architectural design that could blind someone from not wearing proper protective sun gear like that should be considered a public safety hazard. Either one was likely but it didn't change the fact that Trevor could see this guy's asscrack as clear as day from where he was driving. Trevor could almost feel the entitlement fuming from this guy like some sort of disease. Killing this asshole would probably be a public service to society. There was a bike lane right there. All these assholes had to do was move their skin-tight rears over a bit. This wasn't fucking Europe.

"Stupid outfits and archaic technology don't make you better than me! This country was built by and for the motor car! Go to France with your bicycles!"

The cyclist didn't move an inch. He just kept on pedaling. Someone was about to regret their choice of hobby very soon.

"Ride up a mountain! Look down at people! Fuck your own sister! And try and wear some clothes that leave something to the imagination!"

In response to the verbal assault, the pedaling prick looked back towards Trevor and had the gall to grin at him. And if that wasn't bad enough he proceeded to turn his bike right in front of Trevor's jeep in the middle of his lane. Any qualms about holding back and not shooting this prick went out the window.

"I can see your anal palapas through there!"

The man just pedaled harder and faster as though this were a race. Trevor reached over to the passenger side and a sly smile crept up onto his face as he felt the cold metal of his handgun pierce his fingertips. He lifted if every so carefully being sure to not raise the weapon to high and into the cyclist's line of view. Far be it from Trevor to ruin a surprise like this.

"Pedal for me! Pedal your little heart out! There's a car coming! Get out of the FUCKING WAY!"

He didn't move. Fucking asshole. Trevor raised the gun and held it with the steering wheel. If the little prick decided to look back he could view the weapon if he chose to look back. Then like all his best ideas that came to him when he shot up the entire collection of speed in the bathroom cabinet Trevor found something within his sick and twisted mind that would be ten times better. He had seen it in one of those dumb crime movies Michael had forced him to watch. A Murder in Vice City? Yup. That was the one. The only scene that didn't have old boring men talking in shady offices or women crying in low cut dresses was the car chase scene. Or more specifically the car-ramming scene. The protagonist in that story had rammed a motorcycle but bicycles and motorcycles were from the same stalk anyways. Without a moment's hesitation, Trevor floored the gas and screamed "MOVE!" while ramming his bumper into the back wheel of the cycle.

The disgusting yellow bike flew towards the middle of the road while the body of the cyclist flew in a completely different direction like a rag doll and proceeded to land in a heap of limbs on the yellow line of the turn lane. Several cars were honking and screaming at him now. Trevor didn't give two shits. What was he thinking of getting drunk? This was way more fun.

He slammed on his brakes and shoved the door open before heading over to the man lying there. Several cars were now lining up behind his and the ones closest to him had angry people leaning out the window and screaming at him to get back in his car and move it. No one seemed to give a fuck about the man who he had just rammed with his car. Trevor almost felt sorry for the miserable bastard. That is if said man wasn't a prick.

The guy still hadn't moved and Trevor gave him a nice kick in the side to which he got a grunt in return. So he wasn't dead.

"Um excuse me asshole! How entitled are you to park your car in the middle of the fucking highway! I am gonna call the police in ten minutes if you don't move it!" Said an angry voice next to him. Trevor ignored it as he watched the man slowly pick himself up while mumbling polite curse words. Things just kept getting better and better. All this guy had to do was stand up and say he wanted tofu instead of fish meat and Trevor had himself the perfect unsuspecting victim. The woman who yelled at him gave up and weaved her car around his. The biker slowly lifted himself facing the opposite direction of Trevor. He attempted to stand by winced. Ah. A broken leg. He lifted himself up despite shaking from pain much to Trevor's surprise. It took a little longer for him to raise the rest of himself up though slowly raising his upper body like a puppet on strings. The left side of his face was covered in bruises giving a sort of scarface vibe and his eyes were winced shut.

"So and Mighty, looks like you won't be riding any time soon. Let this be a lesson to yah." Trevor said cruelly holding back a snicker at the whole situation. He could have fun with this guy but he knew better than to kick a man when he was down.

The man whined as he raised his arms to undo his helmet releasing a fuzz of black hair and upon running his hand threw it Trevor noticed the small gash near the upper left part of his forehead. He slowly peeled his eyes open until little slits as the sun hit the highway. Trevor was so high his eyes remained wide open.

"Yeah. Let's hope you have good insurance-dick." The man quipped back and opened his eyes fully to reveal tender dark blue eyes. Trevor's heart lept up his throat and suddenly no words came out. He looked just like

"Michael. It's Michael."

"What? What was that?" Trevor said as he wiped the bile off his mouth and looked up from the monstrosity he had just created to the man on the other side of the plane who had also just finished his fair share of vomiting.

"My name. It's Michael. You said you wanted to know it so that's it. It's Michael." Michael shrugged his shoulder nonchalantly. In fact, everything about him was nonchalant.

Trevor nodded and moved over to the side of the beagle Michael was on and leaned against the wing to get a better look at him. Michael had some of the most soft looking eyes Trevor had ever seen. He looked so normal no one would ever suspect he was working with such shady characters. Trevor didn't really care for the whole story.

Every single instinct in his head and based on his past experiences told him not to say what he was about to say. But if he expected rejection what else could go wrong?

"So you drink?" Trevor asked and Michael gave him a confused look.

"Yeah? What's that got to do with anything? Do I look like a depressed alcoholic to you?"

Well, that came out wrong.

"Jesus chill the fuck out Michael. I was just asking you if you wanted to go a drink. I think we earned it after transporting the goods and one dead man with a head that was most likely made out of fuel based on how long it burned. If anyone was the alcoholic it was probably that guy. Asshole had probably had so much fucking booze in his system it was probably like lighter fuel for that flare gun. Bless em of course." Trevor flashed a smile and Michael seemed to ease up at that.

"Yeah. Okay. A nice cold beer sounds about right." Michael chuckled and Trevor felt some warm feeling he couldn't exactly explain. He hadn't anticipated on Michael saying yes.

They headed over to a local bar where they cleaned the last remaining evidence of what had transpired and ordered some beers and french fries. Michael was very charismatic and sarcastic. He was also clever. To the point, it freaked him out a little bit on how much he seemed to be able to read Trevor. But the best of it all was that Michael didn't seem to be freaked out by him.

Trevor had done this song and dance a million times over. He would find someone whether it be a teacher, a boyfriend of his mom's, a student, a fellow criminal whom he would get close with, and then after a while it would all go to hell. He would say something too weird or do something too bizarre and the person would be out of his life faster than he could blink. But Michael didn't seem to mind anything he did or said. It probably mostly had to do with the fact they had just disposed of a corpse with its head on fire like something out of a fucking Grimm's Fairy Tale book but still. This was nice. It felt special.

They stayed together in a motel room after that which Michael paid for since he was the one who had fucked everything up (of course Trevor was grateful he had fucked everything up fuck ups weren't always bad) The sky opened up and released the rain almost as soon as they got inside with their things. Michael didn't have much. A reminder that Trevor would eventually have to take Michael back at some point.

"Oh fuck yeah! An American Divorce is on tonight!" Michael literally charged at the bed and flopped down on it as he flipped to the channel in the TV guide he was holding.

Trevor just rolled his eyes and chuckled silently to himself as he set his things on the nightstand. "Yeah, whatever Mikey. I'm gonna go shower."

"One of the most important movies in American history and you want to go shower." Michael was looking at him as though Trevor had just beaten up his mom or something.

He sighed and sat down on his small twin bed and motioned towards the television. "Alright but this movie better not suck ass." Michael jumped up and dimmed the lights "to make the room more like a movie theater and really set the tone." Trevor rolled his eyes again.

The movie was terrible though, to be honest, Trevor wasn't really paying attention to the movie anyway. Michael talked the whole way through explaining all the set pieces, scripts, camera angles, symbolism, etc. It was like Trevor was sleeping near some kind of walking and talking Ripley's Believe it or not Vinewood Edition. It was nice though.

When the credits finally rolled Michael looked towards him with stars in his eyes and asked: "Well what did you think?"

"It was alright I guess," Trevor said shrugging. That was evidently the wrong thing to say.

"Alright? Alright? Just alright? One of the greatest movies of all time and it was just alright?"

"Well, you talked the entire time so that's on you, Mikey."

"Eh, whatever. I'm showering."

"You okay there? Bro? Hello?"

It took Trevor a hot second to realize the moister on his face was not just sweat his facial glands were producing to block out the blinding heat of the sun. Before Trevor could think (not that he ever did before he did something) he saw more than felt his fist go into the man's face adjacent to him. The quick shock of pain that rang through his hand and knuckles felt more like a dopamine rush rather than a pang of regret. It always felt like that and it had for as long as he could remember. At least he caught the man's shirt before the man hit the street. All they needed was a cliff and it would look like they were in one of Michael's ridiculous crime thrillers. He shook his head at the ridiculous thought.

Michael had a lot of great qualities and quirks about him but there were things about Michael that Trevor found himself to not be able to fucking stand. The first being that Michael at his very heart was a liar. He remembers fondly of the time they almost threw hands over a fucking towel. It wasn't even that big of a deal. Micheal had gotten into a fistfight with some people at the bar and had a broken nose and a black eye. Trevor had seen the entire thing happen. It wasn't like he could hide it but for all his cleverness the damn fool could be so stupid when it came to some things.

Michael firstly left the bar and headed back to the hotel without telling Trevor. Trevor saw him leave and proceeded to follow him while feeling his rage build up within himself. It was also snowing like crazy and the piercing wind blowing back like whips in his face didn't fucking help cool it either.

"Michael! What the fuck!" Trevor began trudging through the snow. It was almost hilarious that Michael thought he could outrun Trevor in the snow. Being a Canadian in America was a bitch but at least he had far more grace than Michael did about maneuvering through the snow.

"So I saw you get into a fight back there? What the fuck happened to your nose?"

"I don't know what the fuck you're talking about."

"Your nose Mikey. It was punched pretty hard."

"I didn't get punched." Argh!

"I saw you get punched in your fucking face multiple times. You were standing ten feet away from me. Do you really think I am that fucking dumb?"

"Drop it, Trevor. Now."

When he finally did catch up to him the asshole had already pulled his scarf up to hide his broken nose. Argh! What the fuck? Did he really think he could hide it from Trevor? It took everything in Trevor not to yank that stupid scarf off his face and call him on his bullshit. They had pulled heists together, they had run from cops, disposed of said cops bodies, killed people (to be fair that was more Trevor than Michael but still) and even showered together but yet Trevor couldn't help shake the feeling of agony knowing Michael didn't trust him with something as little as a broken nose.

That was the other thing Trevor found he could not stand. How secretive Michael was. He knew close to everything about Michael in regards to normal everyday stuff. He knew he didn't really have the stomach for killing even when it was necessary. Trevor knew how he liked his coffee, how many lines of coke he did, how many hours he slept (which was so little it would put a stressed-out college student to shame), what kind of shampoo he liked and other things. He knew how he held a gun and knew what colors he liked wearing. But yet he knew so little about the actual Michael it was actually insulting. The man never talked about himself. Ever. All he ever talked about was movies, drugs, and heists. Basically work.

He didn't know if he had a family or what they were like. Did he even have one? Did he ever play sports? Was he a theatre kid? Who his first crush was? It couldn't have been worse than anything Trevor had told him and Trevor had told him everything clown molesters and dead brother and all. He found the whole lying and covering up how you really felt and not acting on your impulses to be mundane but it seemed to be a core part of Michael to the point it made Trevor want to deck him in the face.

The most he knew was that at some point he went to prison and met their working buddy Lester. And worst part was Lester seemed to know more about Michael than he did. And it wasn't because Michael had told Lester but rather he had to make sure they didn't leave a paper trail and well if he was being honest Lester was always kind of a creep.

In fact, Michael didn't even tell Trevor his last name up until a few weeks prior to this broken nose incident. His last name. Trevor had told him his after he saved his ass with that flare gun. And Michael told him this while he was drunk. Like really drunk as though it was some dark secret. And his last name wasn't even funny or terrible. It was Townley. Fucking Townley. Fuck Townley. Fuck Townley and all his Goddamn fucking secrets.

He didn't even know Michael's birthday. They celebrated Trevor's and they celebrated Lester's but they never celebrated Michael's. He could have asked Lester for it but he wanted Michael to tell him. It had to be bad when an internet stalker knew more about someone who claims your best friend than you do. It was like the man had the codes to some government weapon and if he ever let it slip the fucking FIB was going to put cyanide in their drinks the next time they went out. In which case Trevor would like some warning about before said events transpired.

And it just kept getting worse. It always did. At a Mexican restaurant, they went to Trevor told Michael about his dead brother. What did Michael talk about in return? Fucking guacamole. So Trever decided to try and get him to open up outside of restaurants where he possibly couldn't change the subject. But he was wrong about this one too. In the middle of watching some stupid sports movie, Trevor commented on one of the coaches by telling Michael he had sodomized his hockey coach once because of what his hockey coach had done to him. One would think Michael would at the very least share one extracurricular he did in school but no. He stayed silent. A violent sociopath shouldn't know more about the rules of friendship than someone like Michael but that seemed to be the case. Trevor's rage issues would cause him to murder someone in broad daylight and Michael's circumspection and foresight, as well as his distinctive style of quoting from Solomon Richards' films, would cause him and Trevor to leave town after completing a job. They were always on the run though Trevor would be lying if he said he didn't find it somewhat exciting.

He knew that Michael's parents had to have separated at some point. Maybe. An American Divorce was Michael's all-time favorite movie. He knew every line, every little detail. He even knew how many fucking trees there were in one of the frames. Trevor hated movies like that but when they watched them it was some of his favorite moments with Michael and the closest he ever got to Michael both physically and emotionally. They would snuggle together on Michael's bed and as per usual Michael would make a big deal of it by dimming the lights and making microwaved popcorn on little makeshift coffee filters that Michael would make look like those fancy little movie theater bowels. Trevor couldn't even hold back a smile when Michael got like this. He couldn't help it Michael was just so...well...cute. He was also warm and soft and strong and smelled really nice. No one ever wanted to hold Trevor. In his entire life. Everyone always was too scared or grossed out by him to even touch or sometimes look in his general direction. But Michael wasn't scared. He held him. It was like taking a warm shower after a really hot day. It felt really fucking nice.

Michael talked his way through the entire movie as usual. Basically said the same fucking things over and over again but Trevor pretended not to mind. Michael's chest was the world's nicest pillow and hearing him laugh and talk with that soothing voice was enough for him to go to sleep beneath the soft vibrations of his rib cage. Michael let him sleep there all night too. He would turn off the TV after it was done and just hold him and stroke his back unconsciously. Who knew a cop killer could be so damn cuddly? Eh. Stupid Michael.

But back to that towel nonsense. Because good things can't last forever. At least not with Michael. As soon as they got back to the room Michael made a beeline for the bathroom and locked the door locking Trevor out of helping him and his personal problems. Why? Why on God's green Earth did it have to be this way? He waited forever and when he finally heard the bathroom door reopen, he hopped up and violently pushed Michael out of the way. Of course, he was still wearing a scarf over his nose. He had to take a piss after all and Michael being a dramatic fucking drama queen wasn't going to stop that.

Everything was put away that he had used to fix his nose. Michael did a good job of cleaning up loose ends. But he always left one little string out. One that could pull his whole sweater of lies apart. The neatly folded towels by the sink were bothering him so he knocked them over. Stupid motels and their stupid fancy towel folding techniques. Why the fuck did they even need to be folded like that? He scooped one of them up to dry his hands and looked down to see red stains all over said towel. Mikey. Dear. Never become a serial killer because you suck at cleaning up the evidence. Trevor thought to himself as he went out to confront his companion.

Michael was "asleep." Yeah, Trevor didn't believe it either.

"Hey, M."

The mound of blankets grumbled angrily. "The fuck you want now?"

"On your period Mikey?" He held up the blood-covered towel towards the bathroom light bleeding out into the pitch-black room so Michael could see it. "Next time work on your clean up sugar. Your lies are starting to wear me real thin." He tossed the towel towards him. "If gonna take a fucking shower. If you want to join cowboy you know where to find me."

He started walking into the bathroom and almost wheezed when he felt someone tackle him and start pummeling his head. Trevor wasted no time kicking his foot that wasn't held down by Michal's body mass into his backside before rolling a bit to draw his fist right into his testicles. Hard. He wasn't playing. The deep sudden bout of nausea in Michael's groin forced him to pull back a tiny bit. Trevor took his opportunity to launch himself off the floor towards Michael. He ripped that fucking scarf off his face and proceeded to choke him. He watched Michael claw at his hands holding him there but Trevor ignored it. He started Michael in the eyes and watched them roll back until he finally released his grip to allow air to flow back through.

Michael sucked in air like a fish out of water and Trevor couldn't help but laugh at the piss poor job Michael did at bandaging up his broken nose. It was still bent terribly out of shape like a deformed letter q. He shook his head and proceeded to use his kneecaps to hold down Michael's arms as he turned to reach for the first aid kit beneath the sink.

Michael attempted to push him off and Trevor turned back to him and said in a low and threatening voice, "Don't move. I think you've been damaged enough for one night."

As delicately as possible, he snaked his long fingers up Michael's coarse face and rested his thumbs behind Michael's ears while his fingers pushed inwards until the bone popped back into place. He felt Michael wince beneath him.

"Pussy," Trevor mumbled under his breathe before moving to bandage up the nose. The sticky bandages stuck to his hand as he smoothed them over Michael's face. He released Michae's face and nodded in silent satisfaction over his handy work before standing and lending a hand to Michael to stand. He took it and within two seconds of staring at each other, Trevor couldn't help but laugh. Michael wasn't far behind him in following in his footsteps.

The radio was still playing rap shit as Trevor opened the passenger door of his jeep with his foot as he carried the knocked out biker over to the passenger seat. He shoved the limp rag doll-like man into the filthy seat and buckled him in. Safety first after all before slamming the door hard and slipping into the driver's side. He began speeding down the highway feeling the stinging sea air in his face.

He didn't exactly know what he was going to do with this man yet. Perhaps chop him up into little pieces and set his corpse on fire in the woods. So maybe send his pulped mess down the drain in a toilet. All he knew was that all thoughts of mopping at the bar were far behind him now. He took a sharp u-turn and had to reach over the side to keep the man in the seat beside him.

Trevor was going to get Michael to tell him something. Anything about himself. At this point, Trevor would be fine with something as mundane and stupid as extracurricular activities. Did he even finish high school? Well, Trevor didn't. No point in finishing something he had to stay in one place for less than three months before his mom was turning tricks somewhere else and they had to move again or she pissed off one of her new boyfriends so bad they had to book it before another "accident" happened to Trevor.

He had the perfect plan. It was the middle of winter around Christmas time and-

Wait. This came before the towel incident didn't it? Trevor always found himself getting mixed up on the details as the years passed and the drugs he took became stronger and stronger. Yes. That was his first Christmas he didn't spend alone or with his mother who he loved and hated or one of her terrible boyfriends. He wasn't ducking from angry drunken fists being thrown his way. It was their first Christmas together and it was when any doubts he had about Michael went out the window.

Trevor woke up to find the room empty. Michael wasn't in the bathroom and he wasn't outside smoking. His stuff was still there so he hadn't outright ditched Trevor which was a relief. Where he was though Trevor inferred from the time on the digital clock and the date that Michael was out with some whores. It was Christmas morning after all and well there was no point in him sticking around in this dumpy ass hotel room on an American holiday.

Alone again. Well, he was never alone. He had his drugs and they were his friends when he had none for as long as he could remember. He was just about to pick his poison when Michael burst through the door looking like he did when An American Divorce was on. Trevor didn't know what the hell he had to be so happy about. They were stuck in a motel room with stains on the walls and carpet that Trevor couldn't quite convince himself were just droplets of installation leaking through.

Michael came over and sat down beside him practically vibrating on the sheet cushions and Trevor didn't know to be scared or happy for him. Then he handed Trevor a package that was wrapped in colorful green wrapping paper with little brown reindeers printed on the sides and blue snowflakes that one would never see in the real world. For the first timein a long time Trevor honestly had no idea how to react.

His confusion must have shown on his face as Michael commented with a sarcastic "Before you ask yes it comes with a receipt and yes I am cool if you want to take it back to the store to go spend on drugs or some shit."

Trevor just stared at the colorful wrapping. He heard Michael scoff beside him. "Yeah. I know. The paper is a bit fucking cheesy but it was all they had. Everything else had already been bought out by the mobs of soccer moms."

Trevor just stared at the paper. The entire thing just felt so unreal. It was as though his mind was attempting to play some cruel trick and he just couldn't shake the fact that all this was some lucid fever dream endorsed by the line of cocaine he had snorted previously. Whenever he had anything remotely good in his life it was ripped away from him.

"Oh, I see. You already started the drug lines without me." Michael said dripped with sarcasm and boyish laughter as he gave Trevor a good-natured punch on the arm. "By the way, you're supposed to open the wrapping."

"Oh...uh...yeah." Trevor slowly moved his fingers across the wrapping and slowly peeled the wrapping paper back and heard the crinkles that reminded him of boots in the snow. He parted the silly cartoon paper to reveal a slick black box. He set the cartoonish wrapping on the table lined with every drug from A to Z and slowly lifted the top to reveal a black watch with a small biplane in the middle of the hands where it made it look like the propellers were the hands. He felt his breath get caught in the back of his throat and felt moister stinging at his eyes.

He felt Michael shift uncomfortably next to him. "Yeah I know it's dumb but I figured you liked planes and never can keep time in missions even though you're like good with numbers but like I mean you don't have to keep it. Sorry man. This is weird I shouldn't have-" and Trevor's arms moved of their volition and wrapped tightly around Michael's midsection. They didn't speak and stayed like that for a good few minutes or seconds. Trevor didn't know how long.

"There are also two tickets in that box," Michael said with a chuckle. "It's to Arthur Penny's Sanitorium. From Richards Majestic Productions."

Trevor couldn't help but roll his eyes as he realized Michael and lifted the watch out of the box indeed revealing two golden tickets as promised. Leave it to Michael to make everything about fucking Richards Majestic Productions.

Trevor almost flew out of his seat as veered the jeep to head down a dirt road towards his trailer. This way was much quicker and would avoid alerting the cops that would question why there was an unconscious man on his passenger side. Dirty cops. Fucking pigs.

He eventually did get information about Michael and it came from Michael this time. Trevor found this out after Michael almost got both of them killed when he screwed up a sticky bomb counter. Michael went to sit out on the porch of the motel they were at while it was snowing with nothing on but his sight for sore eyes wife-beater and striped pajama bottoms. He wasn't even wearing any shoes or a jacket until Trevor came out and brought it to him.

The motel had a shitty pool patio area with frozen water the hotel staff never cared to drain out. They sat in silence for a while until Trevor noticed Michael was only putting on his jacket with one hand. He got a glimpse of the sorry state the other one was in before Michael tucked it away. It was all bruised and swollen as though someone had shoved an apple beneath his skin. Michael had broken his hand and in the midst of running from the police and making it to the getaway, Trevor hadn't even noticed.

He didn't want to start a fight but he had to say something. He rubbed his nose and sucked in a breathe. "You should put some ice on that thing. And patch it up. I can help you. If you'd want."

Michael didn't say anything but shrugged his shoulders to acknowledge he had heard. A beat of silence passed before Michael finally said something. "I really fucked up today T. I'm sorry."

"T's fine Mikey. I know you didn't mean to get us all blown up. And if you did I would have killed you."

"I'll bear that in mind T." Michael chuckled. "This reminds me of...never mind."

Michael always did that. He would get so close to opening up and then the walls would slam shut faster than the safe they had just attempted to rob.

"What Mikey? Did daddy beat you? Did daddy abandon you? Come on. You can tell me. Let's have a little heart to heart."

Michael's face snapped up with a newfound frown upon him and his eyes were fuming. "Shut the fuck up Trevor! Like you know anything. Jesus Christ. It's cold as a fucker out here." He threw his cigarette into the white powdery snow bellow over the handrails and stood up. "I'm going inside. See if I can fix up this hand problem."

Trevor watched him walk back towards the rusted blue door and heard it shut with a loud bang. He removed his jacket to scoop up snow off the ground. It wasn't clean exactly but he wasn't about to try to mess with the motel ice machine in this fucking weather. He got in just in time to hear the "Jesus fucking Christ!" from Michael as he attempted to reset his hand.

"I didn't take it you were religious sugar tits."

"Shut the fuck up Trevor. You said you were going to help me with this stupid thing so get over here and help or so help me I will knock you into next fucking Thursday!"

"Alright, touchy I see. Calm down pants. Jesus." Trevor marched over to the sink where Michael was attempting to push his bones back into place. Trevor rolled his eyes and gently grabbed his wrist and set it in the pile of snow that lay snug in his jacket and piled snow on top of the hand. He felt Michael whine as he did so and rolled his eyes as he lectured "Firstly let's try numbing this before resetting any bones okay sugar? We both know what a delicate pussy you can be."

"Yeah fuck you too." Michael snorted but the corners of his mouth were revealing a hidden smile. Trevor pulled up one of those ugly green chairs with prickly cushions and Michael sit down. He went and grabbed one for himself and sat opposite of Michael and kicked his feet up on the counter and clocked his head to get a better look at Michael's face.

Michael frowned when he noticed he was being stared. "What?"

"I am just trying to figure it out."

"Figure out what?"

Trevor shrugged and looked at his multicolored socks up on the sink. "Why you have such a trusting problem."

"The fuck are you talking about?"

"You know."

"No, I don't know."

Trevor sighed and dramatically counted with his fingers. "You know the lies, every time you get injured you lie about it and cover it up, never talking about yourself when your good friend Trevor over here has told you everything himself. Fuck Mikey. Almost three years and I don't even know when you were born or where. Even if you're some kind of runaway FIB agent I won't care at this point."

He looked over to gaze the reaction but just saw Michael shrug to himself. "My life isn't really that interesting T."

"I'm not looking for some amazing story with explosions and boring-ass dialogue like one of your stupid Vinewood movies. I want to get to know the real you Michael. We can perhaps start with the day you were born. A birthdate would be a good starting place."

Michael took a deep shaking breathe. "I don't understand. Why do you want to know all this stuff? It's not important."

"Your birthday isn't important?"

Michael shrugged. "Well, I mean not really."

"No, it's only the day you began to exist as a separate being. Not important at all." Trevor said sarcastically rolling his eyes at this self-pity front Michael always put on.

"Fine. I don't want to tell YOU because I don't want you to make a big deal about it."

"Well we celebrate my birthday do we not? And Lester's? Why can't we celebrate yours?"

"Because I haven't earned it."

"The fuck is that supposed to mean?"

"Exactly what you think it does."

Trevor sighed loudly and dramatically. "Fine. I swear on my dead cold heart I won't ever celebrate you even if we are best friends so you can continue to live in this sad miserable self-loathing funk you continue to insist on existing in."

"Hey, I like my funk, Trevor."

"Don't get all pissy sweet cheeks. Birthdate. Now."

Michael, of course, took his sweet time to be all fucking dramatic about it. One would think he was about to reveal the nuclear launch codes rather than share his own personal birthdate with his best friend. "It's January 13, 1965."

Trevor laughed. It was kind of sad he knew about Michael's first crimes and prison life before he knew his date of birth but better late than never. "What? That's what you were so worried about. That isn't even a bad month to have a birthday in."

"The fuck is that supposed to mean?"

"It means Michael my birthday is in November so I have to put up all the fucking holiday crowds in the bars when I am trying to have a nice time. In January the holidays have ended. Especially assholes from Los Santos trying to have a white Christmas or whatever the fuck that means. Bunch of assholes."

"Hey. Don't blame other people for the fact you can't take a joke about being Canadian or mother issues."

"Well, I won't be too judgy cupcake considering the fact you are a sensitive little bitch about something mundane and stupid as that."

Michael just rolled his eyes.

"So how long? How long have you been spending your birthday alone Michael?"

"Well, I don't exactly spend it alone. I DO have a girlfriend after all."

Trevor almost fell out of his chair. "You...you have a girlfriend?"

"Yeah. Remember that one strip club we went to."

"Oh, Mikey please tell me you didn't..."

"Why not? Amanda is a nice woman. She extremely talented and smart and unique."

"She's a stripper with fake tits. How is that unique?"

"Hey watch it! That's my girlfriend you're talking about."

"Is that where half your takes go to?"

"What do you mean?"

"You know what I mean sugar."

Michael sighed deeply. "Yes, Trevor. If you must know yes."

Trevor rolled his eyes and felt the familiar pang of being left out in his chest. "And you never told me this why?"

Michael shrugged. "Just never was brought up I guess." Trevor could smell the fucking lie a mile away.

"And also maybe has to do with the fact she doesn't like me isn't it Mikey?"

Michael didn't respond. That was a yes then. Trevor liked to pretend he was this fearless thing that could face anything without a moment's hesitation and no a single droplet of sweat upon his complexion when in actuality he was terrified of everyone and everything. Everyone he ever cared about besides Michael had died or left him. He was afraid of being abandoned and forgotten. And Michael doing that was at the top of his list. And this person who he didn't even know about until a few moments ago was threatening to do just that. Trevor chewed his tongue in his mouth to prevent him from saying something he would regret. He tasted blood.

Later on Michael's birthday, Trevor did get to meet this Amanda. He had to admit he was not impressed but she made Michael happy so he didn't mention anything more than a passing joke after that. He didn't want to give Michael any reason to push him away and even if Amanda was a bit of a bitch and a gold digger he was just thankful Michael was letting him in more. Even if it was little by little.

Trevor knew to be patient. Michael wasn't like him and based on how secretive he acted around Trevor and Amanda both Trevor knew his past was a lot darker than Michael ever shared. The reason he knew this was because of Michael's night terrors. Michael only got about two-five hours of sleep a night and that was being generous. At first, Trevor thought this was just because Michael was an irresponsible busy buddy with no regard for his or Trevor's circadian rhythm but soon found that not to be the case.

Trevor wasn't exactly sure if Michael knew that he knew about the night terrors when he would wake up screaming and proceed to go to behind a locked bathroom door where Trevor could hear the water running and labored breathing. That was until they made somewhat of a breakthrough in their relationship. And Trevor would treasure it for the rest of his days.

They were laying on Michael's bed stoned (or rather Michael was. Trevor would rather suck cock than smoke that junk and he had done both) watching An American Divorce for the millionth time. It had been a long day for Michael. One of their heists had been canceled by Lester because the bank was falling under new management, there was apparently a manhunt now for both Michael and Trevor which they both got an ear full from Lester about and Michael's girlfriend was pregnant with his child. Well, fiance now. Damn it, Michael. Trevor would have rebuked him if Lester hadn't already given it to him. And in any case, Trevor got to know Michael a little better when he said: "I'm not going to abandon my child like my father did to my family!"

Michael wasn't his usual chatty self during the movie and actually fell fast asleep on Trevor's shoulder within ten minutes of the movie starting. Trevor let him sleep. It had been a long day for the both of them. He was very careful not to disturb the sleeping Michael as he reached over to flick off the lights and used the remote to turn off the television. He softly ran his hand absently up and down Michael's bicep and listened to him breathe gently against his neck.

Stupid fucking Amanda. He never liked her and now he had even more reason to hate her. She had probably done this on purpose in order to make Michael stay with her. And why won't she? Everyone wants a Michael Townly in their life and if they didn't they were just a fucking moron who didn't know what they were talking about. His thoughts were interrupted by a soft nuzzle against his neck and arms wrapping around tightly. Trevor felt color began to flow into his cheeks.

Oh fuck. This was bad. Really really fucking bad. How the fuck did this annoying fat but strong thief find his way into Trevor's black soulless heart? And why was it that Trevor only figured this out when Michael was about to leave him? This was absolutely the universe's way of getting him back for all the shit he had done his entire life. He was going to Hell anyways. Why the fuck did God feel the need to fuck with his life now anyway? Spiteful bastard.

He felt Michael began shaking beside him and felt himself petting the man softly. This felt nice. Holding him like this. He didn't know how much longer he would get to do this for. Then came the bloodcurdling scream and Michael jolted awake and sat upright and roughly rubbed his eyes with his palms. Trevor wasn't sure what to do. He was never sure of what to do. He placed what he hoped was a comforting hand on Michael's back.

"You okay there Mikey?" Fuck. Why did he say it like that? Not cool.

"The fuck does it look like?" The response was cold and callous but understandable.

"Ah fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. God fucking damn it. I'm gonna be a father and a husband. I don't have a fucking clue what I am doing. What the fuck? Jesus fucking Christ. I-I'm a criminal and a killer and Jesus Christ what the hell am I doing oh man oh fuck..."

He ranted on like that for a while and Trevor slowly moved him closer and closer to him. Michael didn't seem to notice but he did lean into Trevor. Then Trevor slowly brought his other arm around before Michael attempted to shove him away.

"Trevor the fuck are you-"

"Easy Mikey. Easy. It's just a hug."

However, Michael kept pushing away. It took everything in Trevor not to sock him in the face. "Trevor I don't need this-"

"On the contrary, I think you really really do. Stop pushing people away, Michael. Stop pushing me away."

It took a few seconds for Michael to finally wrap his arms around Trevor's shoulders and Trevor squeezed him tighter. He loved this fucking idiot even if he was never ever going to say it out loud. Or maybe he would.

"I...I love you man. I really do. Before you came into my life I had no one. It was so lonely. I was so lonely." He felt stinging in his throat as he said that. It was true. No one had ever loved or wanted or cared for Trevor before Michael and if they did it was never enough to stay.

"I love you too T. I do." Trevor's heart skipped a beat when he said that. Come on Michael he thought. Keep going. Don't close the walls. You can trust me.

"I didn't have anyone either. I did and I blew it. I used to play football as a quarterback...but I would just get so angry and...all the injuries...they piled up...I lost the only future I had...I..." Michael was trembling almost as if he was scared. Trevor buried his face more into his shoulder. He got it. He understood. Getting angry and shoving a hockey stick up his coaches ass, almost killing his juvie mate, etc. He knew what anger could do to a person.

"My father...he wasn't a good person...he...he was an alcoholic. Unemployed. He hit my mom. He hit me. One time he beat me with a cable strip. I had to miss school for three weeks. Three weeks. My leg was broken. As a lay there on the bathroom floor I thought I was going to die. There was just so much blood and it won't stop. My mom didn't help me. She never did. She left me to fend for myself. She always did. I stole food because...I was trailer trash. No one gave a shit about me. And then after all that he left us. He didn't even have the decency to stick around. He destroyed my life and he just fucking left. He didn't even say goodbye and I don't know where the fuck he is. I waited for him to come back. In some ways, I am still waiting. When I failed I ran away. I let everyone down and I just couldn't take it anymore. And I went to prison twice. And I met Lester. Then I met you and Amanda. And everything feels so dark and hopeless. I want things to get better but I know they won't because no matter what I do I can't escape it. The darkness pulls me back in."

They had arrived. Casa de Phillips. Trevor had simultaneously decided he wasn't going to kill this bicycle prick. Not yet anyways.

"Ron you useless bastard! Get the fuck out here!" Trevor yelled out and watched the frog-like man scurry from the poor excuse of a trailer.

"Ye-yes Trevor?" Ron said nervously as he fumbled his hands around as though he were pleating pizza dough between his hands.

Trevor threw himself over the door of the jeep without opening the door and landed on the coarse sand. He crossed his arms displaying his muscles and one particularly damning tattoo on his left upper bicep that would tank any argument of Trevor being a heartless killer who had never cared about anyone or anything.

"Did you get me those fucking beers I asked for?" Trevor said in a loud and demanding voice.

"Uh-ye-yes Trevor," Ron said nervously.

"What's with the stutter? Are you mocking me or something?"

'Na-no Trevor. Of course not. I would never."

"Alright. Well cut it out. It's getting on my fucking nerves! Makes me feel like I've stumbled into the house for the speech disabled." Trevor swung his arm lazily by his side and saw Ron's eyes nervously flick between the unconscious cyclist and Trevor as though he didn't know what to make of it. Jesus. It was in times like this he really missed Michael. Michael would have something to say about this. Probably along the lines of "don't go kidnapping people in broad daylight" but still it would be better than this. Ron was a good errand boy but he didn't make for good conversation. This may have to do with the fact Trevor had broken his kneecap once or twice because he would say stupid shit over the phone when Trevor was in fucking hiding but then again he deserved it and-shit. Maybe he did need to chill out. Oh fucking well.

"Say hello to our guest Ron! Pedaling Prick!" Trevor opened the door to the jeep, undid the seatbelt, and scooped the Michael doppelganger out of the seat and shut the door with his foot before marching up the stairs to his filthy trailer as Ron scurried like a rat to open the broken screen door for the both of them.

Onc inside Trevor pulled out one of the dirty white lawn chairs and set the guy down. Who was still unconscious. He really was a Michael doppelganger pussy and all.

He began snapping his fingers towards Ron who was currently cowering in the corner being useless as usual. "Ron! The fuck you think you're doing! Get me some fucking tape and scissors now! Come on man! We've been over this procedure like a million times! Hurry up!"

"Okay, Trevor. I'm going! I'm going!" Ron scrambled like a rooster trapped in a wing clamp as he scrambled around the filthy kitchen pulling the requested items and proceeding to almost fall on his ass as he went to deliver the items to Trevor which Trevor proceeded to rip out of his hands and taped the guy down to the chair.

"Ron co'mere a second."

"Ye-yes Trevor." Ron scampered over almost tripping over his own feet in the process.

"Who does this man look like to you?" Trevor said motioning aggressively towards Bicycle Prick.

"Uh...well let's see here...um..."

"No, it's fine. Take your time. I got all night."

"Erm...I guess...he kind of looks like that one Vinewood actor guy...I think...politican...maybe...erm..."

"Wrong answer! You're not even trying Ron!" Trevor screamed angrily before stomping his booted foot down hard on the exposed toes of Ron's stupid sandals.

Ron bowed his head in shame. Trevor rolled his eyes so hard he got a minor tension headache in the back of his eyeballs.

"It's Michael Townley! That's what he looks like you fucking moron!"

Ron hunched his shoulders closer to his chest and mumbled "Oh yeah. I see it now. I think."

"Get the fuck out. SCRAM!" Trevor said angrily and watched Ron scamper off and out of the trailer before mumbling under his breathe "Idiot."

He proceeded to then do a pulse check on the guy to see if he was still alive. He was. Did it even matter at this point? Trevor had absolutely no idea what he would do with him at this point. Why was it so hard to be him? If Michael was here he would have some smartass remark to that. If Michael was here he won't be sitting here with a pipe of meth all to himself. He would be with Michael right now. And they would be robbing a store or eating pizza or fucking watching damn An American Divorce.

"Trevor. If you tense up your shoulders anymore you are going to pop a blood vessel. Relax. You're doing great."

Not helpful Michael. Not helpful at all. Trevor Phillips one of the most wanted men in all of America for killing people who in his defense probably deserved it was holding a baby. Tracey Townley. That was her name. She was an angel. She was wearing one of those pink baby onesies with little checkered purple stars all over. She had her daddy's eyes. All bright and blue and staring up at him with pure joy. Her blonde locks were so soft and she was cooing softly little hands reaching for his face like he was some sort of kind man which he wasn't.

Michael chuckled as he stared at the two of them fondly. Yes. Michael would find this whole thing rather amusing as he pushed the baby into his arms without any warning. He did this because he knew Trevor would say no if he asked. It was late. The snow was falling outside. It never stopped. Gentle white sheets over dark pastures. The house was nice. Mostly had to do with Amanda's touch Trevor was guessing. Michael wasn't one for plants and Persian designs.

Michael reached out a hand and gently tapped Trevor's shoulder. "It's getting late. Time to get her to bed don't you think?"

Trevor tried to hand the baby back but Michael moved so he couldn't do so grinning that stupid Michael Townley grin the entire time. Tracey seemed to find Trevor's uncomfortableness amusing as well as she also started grinning and gulping up little giggles. Like father like daughter.

Michael walked him through the process of laying the child down in the crib with a white spread with circus elephants on it. The two looked down at the energetic sweetheart and Trevor almost jumped three stories when he felt Michael wrap and arm around him and rub his shoulder.

"You did good man. I don't get why you were so nervous."

Trevor couldn't speak. His breath was caught in the back of his throat and his chest felt like it was on fire. His hands were clamped to the handrails of the crib in a white-knuckled fashion and felt if he let go he was going to fall through a non-existent hole in the floor. He felt Michael gently peel his hands away and slowly lead him over to a small pink couch with hippos with tutus printed all over it and gently pushed him onto the soft cushions while whispering "it's alright. You're alright."

Michael sat next to him as best as his fatass could and continued to rub Trevor's shoulder and back. Trevor was still shaking. He didn't know what the fuck was wrong with him. Michael seemed to know as he sure had a way of making Trevor feel a hell of a lot better like he always did.

Trevor was jolted from the memory with the sound of an angry groan coming from the chair. Oh yes. Bicycle Prick was awake.

No, he wasn't. He was just mumbling. Was he asleep?

Suddenly the smoke cleared from the back of his mind and Trevor almost punched himself at the realization. He had a concussion. Fuck. Well, time to get to work.

He went over to the kitchen and grabbed his special saw. It was the one he used for cutting up bodies and shoving them down the toilet or trying to. Or for the dessert. Or when he wanted a nice piece of white human meat.

He brought the tools over and set them up on the counter next to his statue of impenitent rage spread out neatly. Like a chef on one of those fancy cooking shows Michael liked to force him to watch. He brought the first special knife up and-

He couldn't do it.

He just couldn't do it.

The prick looked too much like Michael. Even without his signature mole on his cheek that Trevor loved so much.

And he just couldn't.

He just couldn't.

Mount Zonah Hospital. It wasn't too far from here. He could drop him off there. The speed at which he scooped up the biker and put him into the jeep and began driving down there Trevor realized how ridiculous this whole thing was. But then again Michael even when he was dead he could still be one hell of a persuader. Stupid fucking Michael. He went soft. He went soft on his best friend Trevor. Then they had to bring fucking Brad in on the whole thing. And stupid Trevor kept pushing and pushing as he could feel Michael slipping away.

He had a fistful of ugly matted blonde hair. "Listen here, Brad. I am going to say this once and only once. Michael is a part of the group and we do not cut off members of the group. Besides he's the reason your ugly ass is on this group anyways. If I suspect any sort of treachery from you. Any chance that you might hurt Michael I will personally take you outback and gut you like a pig. Caprice."

Brad's grey eyes stared back and nodded as he looked in fear at the monster before him. Trevor would have done just that if fucking Michael hadn't insisted he "play nice with the other kids."

Stupid fucking pig. Fucking clueless. It was going to get him killed someday.

Trevor slammed his palms hard into the steering wheel and felt himself scream into the nighttime air. Stupid Michael. Stupid fucking Michael.

No. Stupid Trevor. Bad Trevor. God fucking damn it. He should have done something. He should have listened. The hospital lights came up in his sights and almost rammed a lady in a wheelchair as he did a very strange curb style parking job. There was a woman in doctor garb leaving the hospital and Trevor ran all the way up her and she looked up at him almost terrified.

"I have a guy that got hit by a car in front of me. I just brought him here. You know. Right thing to do and whatnot. " Trevor pointed in the general direction of the jeep and the woman nodded.

"Of course. I'll send some EMTs over right away. Just stay put." She ran back inside and Trevor hurried over to the jeep and pulled the still unconscious man out of the jeep before laying him on the sidewalk. They would find him because there was no way in hell Trevor was sticking around here for a minute longer than he had to.

He pressed the gas and didn't look back. He didn't look back. The road became blurry. Fuck human emotions. Fuck bikers. Fuck the FIB. Fuck Brad. And fuck everyone and everything.

When the road became too blurry Trevor found himself pulling off into the woods towards a back road he knew of. One where he could be by himself. Alone. With his old enemy of loneliness.

"Give it up! I got him!" The guard ripped the ski mask off of Michael. "I saw your face. I'll remember you."

Every protective instinct went off in Trevor. Of course, Brad was already halfway across the floor. Typical. Only thinking of himself. Trevor swore to God he was going to put a bullet in that dick's head when this was over.

"You forget a thousand things every day. How 'bout you make sure this is one of 'em?"

Change of plans. Trevor was going to gut Michael after this was over. Stupid typical Townley. He raised his gun and shot the guard without a moment's hesitation.

"Fuck! You didn't have to do that!"

Argh! Softness! Really! Now!

"Let's get going. There'll be time for grieving later." Trevor snarled at him. He faintly heard some sarcastic quip from Michael in return and made a mental note to kick Michael in the shin in the chopper ride over to Lester. He nodded his head down the hall and said angrily "Come on!"

He watched as Michael narrated "I'm setting the charges. They're on a timer, so brace yourselves!"

Trevor ducked his head down and heard the familiar bang of metal and explosions.

"Fan-fucking-tastic." Trevor said in sarcasm towards Michael. Two could play at this game. He could be just as big an asshole too.

"Oh fuck. You hear that? Sirens. Fuck the cops. T, hit the shutter switch." Michael ordered and Trevor did as he was told.

"What's this? Local resistance?" Trevor said sarcastically but one look at Michael's face of genuine fear and Trevor shut his mouth about Michael being too much of a pretty boy to get his hands dirty.

Michael's face was pale and he was shaking as he said "It ain't supposed to go down like this."

Trevor pulled Michael over and pushed him towards a hiding place. "It never is. Come on. Go."

"What the fuck is this?" He heard Michael say. They started shooting at the police officers and Trevor called out to them "Don't be as dumb as you look."

"I ain't laying down for them." Brad said disgustingly towards the police officers. He could see Michael from there have that familiar face of guilt at that. Oh yeah. Brad was a dead man.

"Drop it, prick."

"Get out the way!"

"Fuck these guys!"

"Get down!"

"We got a window - let's go!"

More police officers turned up. Evidently not.

"Can't be many more cops in this town," Trevor called out more to Michael than stupid Brad. Fuck Brad.

"Bring 'em. This is fucked, man. The thing is blown." He heard Michael shout to him.

"I got my share. It's still wide open!" Trevor called back and grinned towards Michael. God, he had missed this.

"Car's up here! Let's go!" Brad called out.

"Move! Come on!" Trevor yelled to them.

" Kid mighta bailed. This wasn't in the job description." Michael yelled. If this wasn't a high crisis situation Trevor would have punched him. The getaway car was there. He covered them. It was okay. "Come on. Let's move! Come on! Let's go! Let's go!" Michael made his way to the passenger seat as Brad and Trevor slipped in the back. "Get in here."

"Hey. What took ya so long?" The stupid driver asked. Trevor was not in the mood for jokes.

"Shut the fuck up and drive," Trevor said angrily and the car pulled steadily away.

"Did you see that shit? I fuckin' put that bitches face against the glass." Brad the misogynist asshole said.

"Yeah, you're a real stallion-"

"Bahbahbahbahbahbahbahbahbahbah." Yeah. He was the one who put Brad in his place. Not Michael. Not soft Michael Townley. If he wanted to talk tough he had to act tough.

There was a police car behind them. "Aww fuck! How'd that happen?" The driver screamed.

"Go! Go! Go! Go!" Michael yelled.

"Fuck!"

Trevor turned to shoot at the police cars. He had their backs. Michael was acting jumpy. More jumpy than usual.

"Jeez, I think they're gonna-" A shot rang out and Trevor turned quickly over his shoulder.

"Aw, fuck. Local yokel's bought it." He heard Michael say as he rolled the dead man out and took his place as a driver. A rush of relief overtook him.

"That guy's a dick..." Brad whined as Michael began to ram the police car. "Fuck you too," Michael grumbled. "Fuck you!"

The police car was forced into a tree and exploded. A rush of relief washed over Trevor. They were fine.

Trevor and Brad whooed while Michael gave a small yeah. Typical.

"Come on! Let's get to the chopper!" Trevor said just as Brad cut in with " Cops. Coming our way."

"If we move quick, we can beat the train." Michael said back to Trevor.

Trevor nodded and put a reassuring hand on Michael's shoulder through the seat. "Be cool... They ain't made this car yet."

"We're getting there! Shit! Shit! Shit! Road block!" Michael screamed.

"Go right! Beat the train, man!" Trevor barked and Michael did as he was told.

The train hit them and they spun out into a pole.

Trevor pulled the keys out of the ignition and ran a hand absently where he had hurt his neck in that collusion. He moved out of the car and sat in front of it on the soft grass and took deep breathes.

"I'm going to check around back..." Michael said as a shot rang out and Brad went down.

Normally when this happened Trevor would have grabbed Michael's and pulled him away and close to him. It had been happening more and more. Michael being slow like that. He was getting more jumpy more fearful. Trevor kept a close eye on him. The one time he had had it with Michael's antics enough to not do so.

"Run! It's the fucking Feds! Someone must have fucking talked!"

Michael was doing to the exact opposite of what Trevor had just said and proceeded to bend over Brad's body. "M so help me God if you don't get your ass over here right now."

"Alright. Brad's gonna be fine but we gotta get the fuck out of here." The bullet smashed through Michael's body and the world fell into slow motion. No. No. No. No.

" Aw, fuck! I'm hit! Ah, Jesus. T, you gotta get out of here."

The fuck he was.

"I ain't gonna leave you, Mikey!"

"Go! God, I'm not gonna make it. Fucking gonna bleed out. Aw, go..."

"Noooo!" He just had to hold the cops off. Then he could drag Michael and-

Trevor was punching his face so hard he could feel the bruises forming on impact. He was full-on raging and sobbing. He couldn't help it. Michael was gone. Forever.

"I'm sorry Michael. I'm so sorry..."