Franklin didn't know where they were. They drove for hours and it was dark. They had only stopped quickly at a gas station to grab some bread and water and to let Chop out to pee. They tried every so often to talk to Trevor but nothing happened.
They stopped somewhere in the woods. Michael told Franklin to stay in the car and "If he wakes up, keep him in here."
He could just barely hear the shovel start moving soil out in the distance. Ten minutes passed in silence. He put an arm around Trevor's shoulders, and just stared forwards. If he could feel anything right now, it would be surprise that he was comforting someone who just committed matricide. The thought was brushed away by apathy. Trevor didn't become Trevor by accident. Things made him this way. She made him this way. She made him crumple like paper at the sight of her. Trevor was a loose cannon and volatile, but he was aware and had morality. There was something about Trevor, and Franklin didn't know or care what it was, because when the dust settled, it was that mystery element that shined though. Trevor was realer than anyone and that was worth respect.
So it didn't feel good at all when Trevor finally bolted out the door and Franklin was trying to tackle him down.
Wordlessly Trevor struggled free and kept running. He lunged at the black garbage bags that contained his mother, but Michael somehow grabbed him by the shirt with both hands and slammed him up against a tree.
Pinning him there he yelled "YOU LISTEN TO MEEE". Franklin looked around, even though there was no one to hear for miles. Trevor tried to get free but he was damn near convulsing again.
"YOU LISTEN TO ME NOW, T! CUT THE CRAP! I'M TIRED OF YOU GOING AFTER HER LIKE SHE'S ANYTHING. SHE AIN'T SHIT. SHE TREATS YOU LIKE CRAP AND I'VE WATCHED IT HAPPEN. ANYONE WHO DOES THAT TO YOU IS GARBAGE. FUCK. ING. GARBAGE."
"Don't talk about-!"
"ABOUT WHAT TREVOR! WHAT DID SHE EVER DO FOR YOU THAT YOU WOULD WANT ME TO DO TO MY KIDS, HUH?"
Trevor had tears coming down his red face. "She- she-"
"ANSWER ME!"
Trevor couldn't. Michael finally let go and Trevor slumped into a ball, picking at his face and trembling.
"… F. F man, I'm sorry. Could you-"
"Chill M, I got it." Franklin, softly as he could as to not set Trevor off again, placed the woman in the hole and filled it back up. Michael stood to obscure Trevor's sight of it all the while.
Chop whined and tried to get attention from Trevor, nudging and licking at his elbow. To Michael's surprise, Trevor eventually put a hand on Chop's head, and gave a small rub.
Franklin finished, walked all the way to the car, put the shovel away and came back. Seeing that neither of his friends moved, he want over, dropped to his knees, and uncharacteristically hugged him. He didn't know what else to do. Michael was seemingly ready to go after Trevor if he made the wrong move. Trevor was in shambles. Whether he was worried or just scared by the sight of him like this, he didn't know, but maybe if he could hold this man together, he'd go back to normal. Nothing he'd seen was quite as terrifying as seeing this indestructible force suddenly so weak.
"Get in the car" Michael said, rubbing his face and trying to think.
The ride home was strange again. But Trevor moved, if only to swear and shake his head, or grip the seats. Franklin was dropped off but felt unsure about leaving the two alone. Michael reassured him, said "I know him. He might be safer with just me." Safer, or just less dangerous to others, Franklin wondered.
"I'll be up. You call if something goes down, M."
"Yeah, yeah. Hey Franklin? I really appreciate, you know. Everything."
"Don't sweat it, 'pops'."
—
He threw the wipes he used to clean the blood of Trevor's hands and face under the seat of the car. They pulled up to a hotel, just outside of Los Santos.
"Albert. Albert Phillips. With an F."
Trevor glanced at Michael when he said that, then went back to a blank nothing.
It was a pretty empty place. They went into their room which was surprisingly ok for what the place looked like outside. Trevor sat in the desk chair, and Michael moved the trash bin over to him. He looked sick.
He pulled the blanket off the nicely made bed and put it around Trevor, who just slightly showed signs of displeasure at this. Michael quietly moved the complementary pen away, worried what Trevor might do with it. He made coffee and got out some pastries from the small fridge.
But Trevor didn't eat, and Trevor didn't drink. So he sat on the floor, by Trevor and just waited.
He was at a loss for what to do. Trevor was barley quiet even on sneaky missions, and even when he slept he was always turning. He'd never been quite this worried. Even when he thought Trevor was dead, he busied himself with Amanda and the kids and never really let himself think of it or mourn properly-
Dead.
Trevor's mother was dead. Trevor thought Michael was dead. Is this what he was like?
Michael looked into Trevor's face. Did he wail, anguished, and shake and cry back then? It was the weirdest, hardest thing seeing Trevor cry. It just didn't fit.
I mourned you
Michael didn't know what to do, but try and take charge. Try and show stability to ease Trevor's shaken state.
"Let's get you cleaned up."
Trevor didn't move so Michael said "alright" and wheeled the chair towards the bathroom. Trevor started to function again for a moment. He got up and huffed in annoyance, trying to close the door but Michael stopped it with the chair.
"ah ah."
"Don't."
"I'm not leaving you alone in there. I got no idea what you're gonna do."
"Wash my ASS" Trevor yelled.
"Terrific. I'll join you. Get in the shower."
Trevor was somewhere between not giving a fuck and pissed, but pissed was a feeling right?
Trevor got undressed and threw his old rags on the floor. Michael rolled his eyes, but looked at Trevor's backside as he stepped in. He'd seen more of Trevor than anyone, being that Trevor spent a quarter of his life at least partially naked. It was better than usual, no scrapes or places where he picked skin. No stitches or anything. Up till now the heist was the best thing to ever happen. Trevor was living what seemed to almost be a normal life this past year.
Then today happened. It seemed like the universe had just up and decided that they were all going to have to deal with all their issues, all at once. Michael was ready, he successfully raised a family and a protege, his wife wasn't really his wife anymore, and Trevor was back. That all came from dealing with his problems.
Trevor was standing under the water, and it spattered off him and all around the bathroom, since he'd ignored the curtain. His body gave another strange shiver and he changed it from shower to faucet. He sat in the tub and rocked a bit, holding his head.
Michael reached over to check the water and adjusted the temperature. He grabbed the little hotel soap and a washcloth, and lathered it.
"no" Trevor said, snatching the washcloth. Michael gave him a look, half annoyed, half asking permission.
Trevor stuck it under the water and curled up again, hiding his face. Michael lathered it again and started washing his back. The water turned dark every so often, so he began setting the water to run and stop, to drain and full.
"You broke your arms that time" Michael said quietly. "And I had to bathe you then. Remember that place?"
Maybe it wasn't wise to remind Trevor of robberies gone bad but at this point he needed to coax some kind of reaction, make sure Trevor was still inside. It didn't work, but Trevor gave an absent nod.
"And you told me to get you a girl to play with your cock afterwards, since you couldn't."
Nothing.
"After you joked about me doin' it first. Remember?"
Trevor leaned forward and dunked his face in the water. Michael almost panicked but Trevor came back up and shook dirty water everywhere. Michael was almost relieved until he realized Trevor was crying again. He rinsed the small towel and put on some hotel shampoo.
Maybe this was good? He thought as he started washing his hair. Maybe he needed to cry and get it out. Maybe if they talked about good times Trevor would stop fighting him so much.
He stopped messed with Trevor's hair for a second.
"It's filling in," he said. "… Maybe from how good you been doin'."
Trevor shook his head slowly. Michael leaned in closer. "You've been doing good, T."
Trevor turned slowly to Michael. If there were feelings in that face somewhere, it was something like disgust and shock and anger.
"I killed. My mother." He growled. "I'm trash… The son of 'garbage'."
Michael wasn't relieved at the anger like he thought. He fucked up again. Somehow he tried to fix things and fucked up, again.
Trevor looked back at the tile wall in front of him. Michael ignored his slight trembling and reached to bring down the shower head. He washed the shampoo out. He tried to push his luck, and washed his hair again. It was really dirty. Trevor didn't move. He cleaned it a total of three times, the last time mixing conditioner in. He wasn't sure why. It felt like doing something. It felt like helping.
Trevor got out and sauntered over to the bed. He laid down on it still wet and breathed heavily. Michael went over to the other side. He stripped down to his boxer briefs and took off his undershirt. He winced a little. Trevor looked at Michael chest, seeing the mark over where he was hit. It was right on the scar, where Michael had been shot.
Michael laid in the bed, facing Trevor. He was determined to do something. Have something be said. Trevor kept looking at the marks. Michael took the thin sheet and covered them both. With nothing to see, Trevor rolled over.
Michael knocked once on Trevor's back with the back of his hand.
"T. Hey, T…"
"…"
"You're not trash. Not by a long shot."
It was silent for a minute before he heard a barley audible "shut up, chubs".