#fahc larry | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

miss-ingno · 5 years

Text

The Replacement 4/6

Fandom: FAHC Ships: past Raywood (Ray/Ryan), Trevyan (Trevor/Ryan), eventual Trevraywood (Trevor/Ray/Ryan) Words: 8k Tags: drugs tw, past drug addiction, violence tw, guns tw, criminals doing crime stuff, morally dubious characters, relationship drama, jealousy

Chapter specific warnings: gunfire, police shoot-out, hostage situation, bullet wounds, medical tw, blood tw, needles tw

Summary: When Ray returns to Los Santos, he doesn’t care that Jeremy took his place on the crew, or that Mica replaced him as the crew’s sniper.The only replacement he cares about is Trevor: Ryan’s new boyfriend.

Read here on Ao3 or Patreon. Part 1. Part 2. Part 3.

***

Finally the day arrived. The day they’d all been waiting for- working for. Everyone was in position: two black vans idling down the alley, just half a block from the bank. Ray had set up on the rooftop to watch over them, while high above a helicopter circled around. They all watched with bated breath as a ladder dangled from its belly and a dark figure crawled down to drop onto a different roof. Mica saluted them with her rifle, the sniper gleaming as it caught the sunlight.

The signal they’d all been waiting for.

The comm crackled as Geoff gave them the go ahead, smile stretching wide across his face. They looked at each other, eager, infected by the same feverish anticipation as Geoff. Pre-heist jitters. They grinned, eyes glittering.

The sun stood high in the sky, light reflecting off the glassed over white tiles of the Maize Bank. A hot, unremarkable day, right up until tires screeched, breaking the idyllic image. Like crows descending on prey two black shadows pulled up on the front steps, scattering passerbys. A beat, and the doors opened, Fakes pouring out like ants from a hill. The people on the sidewalks gave them a wide berth.

Vagabond and Mogar went in first, shooting the sliding glass doors open with a round from their heavy gatling guns. Shards raining down on them, Ramsey stepped through the doors between them, flanked on either side by the Golden Boy and Treyco, all three wearing suits and sunglasses. The Sauce pulled up the rear, back to the Fakes as he took aim at the civilians, keeping them away.

“Ladies, Gentlemen and other fair folk, please remain calm. This is a robbery,” Ramsey announced, his handlebar mustache twitching.

“Please put your hands in the air and lie down on the floor, face down,” Treyco continued, clasping his hands behind his back. Then, as if he had a sudden epiphany, he added, “Oh, and if you would make our job easier and just place all your valuables on the floor next to you, it’d be much appreciated.”

The Golden Boy tilted his head and pulled his golden sunglasses down to look at a bank teller over the rim. “Don’t even think about alerting the police, love.”

The woman shrank back, raising her hands at being caught. Trevor glanced over the crowd, and they followed suit, dropping to the floor as the Fakes spread out between them.

Michael and Ryan set their miniguns down by the door, pulling out a shotgun and a rifle respectively. While Gavin and Geoff weaved through the crowd, picking up wallets, clocks and jewelry as they went, Trevor gestured for Michael to follow him, leaving Alfredo and Ryan to crowd control. Trevor walked past the cowering hostages and into the back offices, and Michael wasn’t far behind.

Five employees huddled in the corner, held at gunpoint by a large man in a suit. Michael tossed him a mask, and Larry pulled it on with a grin, lowering his gun as Michael raised his own.

Planting Larry on the inside had been a stroke of genius. Fixing the schedule to have him on shift during the right time took some work, but between bribing an employee to call in sick and blackmailing the shift manager to call in Larry from the backup roster, it had paid off. Worth it, being nearly shot by Ray, Trevor thought.

“The alarm is disabled,” Larry reported, while Trevor slapped a small electronic device onto a keypad next to a secured door. “And the lockdown sequence is jammed.”

“Good job, Shifty. Let’s get everyone out of here and join the others,” Trevor said in a mild tone of voice. Larry nodded and turned back to the workers.

“You heard the man. Up you get.”

The device beeped while Larry and Michael herded the hostages out of the room, the keypad lighting up green and the door clicking open. Trevor picked it back up, stuffing the tech into a pouch on his belt, and went on ahead.

The safe was off to the sides behind the back offices and down the stairs, separated by two unguarded doors framed in iron bars. Trevor wondered if Larry had pulled the guards away or delayed the shift change, as he took out his lockpicks from his breast pocket and had them open in no time. The safe took up an entire wall, secured by heavy bars and triple alarms. Trevor didn’t bother with trying to pick this one, just pulling out a different device and hooking it up to the electronic display. Then he tapped his comm.

“Axial, you’re up.”

“Your wish is my command,” Matt drawled, followed by a flurry of keys clacking. “Sequence started. Might take a minute.”

“Copy that,” Trevor replied, nodding at Michael who was busy setting explosives on the wall at the top of the stairs, adjacent to the parking lot behind the bank. Jeremy would meet them there with an empty ice cream truck to sneak their bounty away while the cops were distracted with the vans up front.

“Charges are set. Stay clear, Rimmy Tim,” Michael said, voice crackling over the comms and echoing down the stairs at the same time.

The codebreaker beeped, and the heavy steel lock disengaged. The tumblers rumbled a countdown as the safe door unlocked, followed by a loud boom. The upstairs wall exploded outward, brick and mortar crumbling, covering the noise of Trevor pushing the safe open.

“I’m in.” Dust filled the stairway, hiding two distinctive shapes coming towards him. “Could use some more hands down here, boys.”

Michael and Jeremy walked out of the smoke left behind by the explosion, carrying four empty duffle bags each. They strode past Trevor, dropping the bags on the table in the middle. Trevor followed, bypassing the piles of cash Michael and Jeremy were stuffing into the duffles to try his luck with the locked security deposit boxes. Geoff, Gavin and Larry joined their group half a minute later, speeding things up. Shortly after Michael grabbed two of the filled bags and carried them to the truck, staying in the blown open wall to keep an eye out.

Trevor tuned everyone else out, his focus zeroing in on the locks of box after box. Jewelry, documentation, a small bag of diamonds, more jewelry-

“Incoming. South-west, two cop cars,” Ray’s voice interrupted the flow, and everything stuttered for a beat. Sweat dripped down Trevor’s brow, and he lifted an arm to wipe it.

“I’ve got one as well, North inbound, ETA 90 seconds,” Mica added. Another beat, and activity resumed, faster, less careful this time. Trevor stashed his lockpicks in one of his many pockets and helped stuffing the rest of the cash and loot into their bags. Sirens sounded in the distance, louder and louder with each passing second.

“Alright, assholes, initiate exfil,” Geoff shouted into the comms, and Trevor winced at the volume.

Larry met them at the truck, jumping in the back. They were hoping to get him out without the cops getting a clear look at him, Matt taking care of the camera footage and digital traces. Geoff and Gavin jumped into the driver’s and passenger’s seat respectively, being the worst shots of the crew. Jeremy and Michael rejoined the rest up front, but Trevor took a quick detour to the manager’s office.

Larry’s files were easy to find, thank God, all of the back-up roster files neatly piled on the desk as per their instructions. It was always a risk, blackmailing a person, but it looked like it worked out with this one. Not wasting time with finesse, Trevor dumped the entire pile into the industrial shredder next to the desk.

When he returned to the foyer, Alfredo was just locking the hostages in the bathroom. He looked up as Trevor passed him and nodded, falling into step with him. Nerves shivered down Trevor’s back. Everything was going according to plan.

Gunfire sounded from the doors, glass windows breaking. Michael, Jeremy and Ryan pressed themselves flat against the giant marble pillars framing the entrance, peeking out to return fire. Trevor and Alfredo ducked low behind the teller as they moved up to join them.

“Micachu, Brownman, we’re going to make a run for the vans, cover us,” Michael called out through the comms.

“Don’t worry, I got you,” Jack responded instead. Outside the chopper swooped low, passing in front of the entryway, raining bullets from above.

Ryan laughed, high and giddy, and motioned Trevor to go first. Trevor winked and blew him a kiss, before hurrying after Jeremy and Alfredo as they made a run for the vans with no cover between them and the police. They made it just in time before the first cop recovered their wits to take potshots at them, bullets pinging off the bulletproof glass of the reinforced van.

“Shotgun!” Alfredo called, and Jeremy shrugged, slipping into the passenger’s door and crawling across the middle console to the driver’s seat, Trevor slid open the side panels of both vans to allow for easier access for their team.

“What are you waiting for, assholes?” Alfredo shouted, waving at Michael and Ryan crouching in the doors of the bank. “Come on!”

“I’m not leaving my minigun behind, moron!” Michael yelled back, and true to his words hefted the heavy gatling gun up, shotgun slung over his back. Trevor closed his eyes and took a deep breath as Ryan did the same. Those idiots.

“Then fucking get a move on, you idiots!” Jeremy hollered, ducking as low as the steering wheel allowed.

Trevor peeked around the van, pulling back immediately as the police opened fire on him. Fuck. They were inching closer. A glance up into the sky showed the chopper was still turning back around, not yet ready for another swoop.

It didn’t seem to matter, however, as Michael and Ryan opened fire on the cops in return, gatling guns rattling away as thousands of bullets rained down on the police, the two of them stepping forward in concert, slowed down by the heavy weight of the guns and grinning like loons. Trevor rolled his eyes and hopped into the second van, making for the driver’s seat, while Alfredo leaned against the one Jeremy was driving.

In hindsight, that was when everything went wrong.

Several things happened at once. Firstly, the second van exploded under a hail of bullets from behind enemy lines, just as Trevor was leaning forward between the front seats. Secondly, the explosion rocked through their car, throwing everyone off guard. Trevor hit his head on the dashboard with a loud thunk. Thirdly, Michael stumbled back, dropping his minigun. With a curse he bent down to lift it again, Ryan shifting to cover him.

Not that Trevor saw. The explosion caught him just as he was about to climb into the driver’s seat, the armature cutting into his forehead. Blood trickled down his nose and chin, and Trevor tumbled back, dazed. Smoke filled his lungs as the van caught fire. The haze did not help his swimming vision at all.

“Shit!” someone yelled, but Trevor couldn’t tell who with his ears ringing like that. Hands under his arms pulled him up, and he followed them blindly, stumbling as they helped him out of the car and into the back of Jeremy’s van.

“We need to go! Before they blow this one, too!”

Trevor blinked and shook his head. Gunfire echoed across the plaza. Alfredo was keeping him upright with an arm around his waist, his own over Alfredo’s shoulders. Then Michael blocked his view as he reached them, tossing his minigun to the back and jumping into the van next to Trevor.

“Go!” Ryan called out, and the van started rolling.

Shaking his head to clear it from the high-pitched screeching noises, Trevor scanned the outside. Ryan was maybe fifty feet away from the van, gatling gun pointed straight to the left. Trevor turned to look and his heart sunk. The police had pulled around to flank them, to get a clear shot at the inside of the van.

“Fuck,” Michael cursed, already shifting his minigun to point at the approaching cops. The van started rolling, curving towards Ryan to pick him up. Alfredo tossed Trevor a pistol, and he fumbled for a second before getting a steady grip. Jeremy bobbed and weaved, trying to get closer to Ryan, but having to swerve to avoid another hail of bullets.

“Ryan! Come on, battle buddy!”

“Go ahead!” Ryan yelled back, his rapid fire forcing the cops to duck behind those outfitted with riot shields. “I’ll hold them off!”

“Don’t even joke, you dick!” Trevor croaked, but his voice got lost in the noise. He lifted his gun, aimed along the sights and downed one of the shield dudes. Aim, pull, down. Aim, pull, down. Trevor got lost in the rhythm, time slowing down. The angle changed as the van moved forward in sudden bursts and swerves.

“RYAN!”

Ray’s voice ripped him out of his trance. Trevor’s head whipped around, to see Ryan falling to his knees, minigun clattering to the floor.

Trevor’s heart stopped.

“Ryan!”

Trevor jumped out of the van, Alfredo hot on his heels. The cops were swarming forward, guns shifting towards the open side of the van, but Trevor didn’t even notice them. Blood was pooling on the cobblestone where Ryan was laying on all fours, twitching on the floor. He scrambled against the stone, trying to push himself up, when a second gunshot tore through the vest on his shoulder, bits of cloth flying through the air.

Ryan crumbled.

Trevor screamed.

“Fuck.” Michael cursed. The rapid fire from his gatling gun drove the cops back for a second, but the shieldbearers rallied in front of their colleagues, moving forward like an unstoppable wave.

Trevor made to lunge forward, get to Ryan before them, drag him into the van, when Alfredo stumbled into him with a shout. He dropped his gun, trying to catch himself or else go tumbling, and when he turned to yell at Alfredo, he saw the other’s pained grimace, the blood spreading across his shoulder, down his sleeve. He had dropped his rifle, too, and was leaning his weight on Trevor.

Fuck.

It wasn’t even a choice. Fuck.

He glanced at Ryan, even as he dragged Alfredo back, towards the van.

The swarm of cops reached him, surrounding his deadly still body. Shots filled the air from the gun still rattling away in the van, but they pinged harmlessly off the shields. Then the first crumbled. Another, and another, holes in the back of their necks as they fell forward, hit by a sniper round.

Trevor’s legs knocked against the floor of the van and he fell inside, barely catching himself on Michael’s shoulder. Alfredo grunted, dropping to the floor, but Trevor was already scrambling for a gun.

“Close the damn door!” Fredo shouted. Trevor whirled on him with wide eyes, the magazine sliding into the gun with a click.

“No! We need to get Ryan!”

“We need to fucking leave!” Fredo snapped back, holding his arm. Michael hesitated, the gunfire rattling to a stop. Then he dropped his minigun and rammed the side door shut. Wheels squealed and the van lurched forward.

“WHAT ARE YOU DOING!?” Trevor jumped up, lunging for the door. Michael caught him and pinned him against the opposite wall.

“He’s right! We need to go!” A sharp turn threw them off their feet, but Michael held fast onto Trevor, rolling on top of him. “They’ve got him! There’s nothing we can do, idiot!”

“WE NEED TO HELP HIM! WE- RYAN!”

Michael’s face was a determined mask, his mouth a grim line. He wrestled the gun from his hand, throwing it to the back. The van lurched and everyone slid sideways, Jeremy cursing up a storm up front.

“Get a fucking hold of your damn self, fuck!” Michael shook him, Trevor’s head bumping against the metal floor. Not helpful, with how dizzy he already felt. “We need to fucking get out of here first, or none of us can fucking help your fucking boyfriend!”

Trevor bared his teeth at him, and Michael responded in time. He couldn’t think beyond the rapid beat of his heart, stuck in his throat, the blood rushing through his ears. Ryan. Ryan was out there, surrounded by enemies, hurt, bleeding-

“If you’re done,” Alfredo interrupted his thoughts, words pressed through gritted teeth. “I could use some help here, guys.”

Michael stared Trevor down for a moment longer, before nodding and getting up. Trevor remained on the floor, letting his head fall back. It smarted, but he didn’t care. Alfredo was bleeding, he recalled. And so was Trevor. He lifted a hand to his face, carefully tracing up his nose. His fingers came back wet and red.

Outside, guns fired and tires squealed, the blades of at least one chopper building a nice background thrum. Trevor closed his eyes and dropped his hand.

Behind closed lids, Ryan fell to his knees over and over and over again.

***

Ray picked off cops one by one as the crew made their way back to the vans. The distraction worked - Geoff and their stolen treasures made their idle way through traffic, unhindered by the multiplying police force. Michael called for cover fire, and Ray readied himself, even as Jack swooped low with a whoop. The descending chopper threw the cops off balance, scattering out of formation and cover. Ray opened fire to help the confusion along.

The new guys broke cover first, sprinting across the short distance to the vans. Most cops ducked down to avoid the spattering of bullets from above. Those brave and stupid souls who risked taking aim, Ray sniped before they got a shot off.

“Headshot!” Mica called over the comm, a private channel open just between the two of them as not to distract the rest of the crew. She sounded smug. “Brings me up to 17. Take that!”

Ray grinned, sighted down his rifle and took out the tire of an arriving SWAT van. The car careened into the crowd of coppers hiding behind the police barricade, creating an opening in the line of defense. Better to take the riot gear out early in the game.

“Still on 16,” he returned the banter, lining up his next shot. “Oh, wait. Call it a tie.”

“Jackass,” Mica muttered, but she sounded like she was having fun. “18, fuck your tie.”

“Hey! Bowties are classic,” Ray snarked. Michael and Ryan were finally moving to the vans and Ray concentrated his fire on the ducking cops.

“Unlike your t-shirt you mean,” Mica shot back. Ray was halfway through formulating his comeback, when chaos erupted down on the streets. One of the cops salvaging the down SWAT van found a rocket launcher, exploding one of the getaway vans. Ray reacted a second too late, flames bursting forth from the hit car in the corner of his eyes. Two bullet holes bloomed on the shooter's body at more or less the same time, one in the forehead and one through the throat.

“Shit,” Ray mumbled, and Mica grunted in agreement. She took another shot, exploding the rocket already loaded in the launcher, destroying both ammunition and the weapon.

“Is everyone alright?” Jack’s voice echoed through the comms, nearly drowned in the static of the wind.

“Treyco’s down,” the new guy - Sauce - reported.

“What?” Ryan’s voice was tight, sharp, and Ray saw him take two long steps towards the vans, before Michael cursed and dropped his minigun. Ryan hesitated for barely a second before swinging around and unleashing a hail of bullets at the cops, keeping them from advancing.

“Just a graze,” Michael grit out, scrambling for the heavy weapon. “I’m fine.”

“Hurry up and get in!” Jeremy yelled. “We need to go! Before they blow this one, too!”

They kept shouting orders at each other down there, and Ray tuned them out. The cops had salvaged riot gear from the downed SWAT car and another arrived just then. Helmets and shields were passed around as the cops advanced on the escaping Fakes.

“Ryan! Come on, battle buddy!”

Michael had made it to the remaining van, limping and lugging his heavy gun with him. Ryan still stood halfway between the bank entrance and their escape vehicle, keeping up the relentless coverfire. But the cops were better armed with shields now and they kept advancing on him.

“Go! I’ll hold them off!”

The shieldbearers were becoming a serious problem. They took the bullets with little hesitation, and they were closing in from the flank now, too. There was a small gap, though, between their helmets and their armoured vests. Not a problem for a sniper, if only they stopped moving so much… Ray took a deep breath.

“Shit. I don’t have a good angle,” Mica cursed.

“Take out the SWAT cars,” Ray ordered, focussing on taking down the shields. If he could get a break in the line, the coppers would have to regroup or risk Ryan mowing them down with his minigun…

A car exploded as Mica took his advice, and Ray used the breather to check in on the crew. Everyone but Ryan had gathered at the remaining van, and the van was zig-zagging its way towards where Ryan covered them.

The moment of inattention was all they needed.

A bullet tore through Ryan’s leg, and he cried out. Ray’s scope swept past and then immediately swung back as another bullet hit Ryan straight in the vest. Shit. He could only watch as Ryan sank to one knee, minigun lurching but never stopping its spray of bullets. Fear shivered down his spine, his stomach turning itself into knots. The line of cops was too close, hiding behind their shields. Another bullet tore through Ryan’s jacket, blood welling up from the wound-

“RYAN!”

Ryan dropped his gun, bracing himself on his elbows as he fell forward. Ray’s heart lurched, but he didn’t have time to keep watching him. The van pulled around to get closer to Ryan, but the cops were rushing forward now that Ryan stopped shooting. He had to keep them back for long enough for the crew to get Ryan-

Pop. Pop. Pop. Ray took half a second to aim, before pulling the trigger and moving on to the next target. Shieldbearers first, leave the police open to fire from the van. Michael’s gatling gun was a rattling echo through the comms, only drowned out by Trevor’s high-pitched screaming. Ray tuned them out.

The cops kept coming. From the corner of his eyes Ray saw the van pull closer, two figures jumping out and running towards Ryan in a mad dash. A cop car exploded, and Michael muttered curses in his ear. The chopper was coming around, as fast as it could but still too slow, too far away. The police pressed on and the crew was forced to retreat into the van, the door sliding shut and the van pulling away just as the shieldbearers swarmed around Ryan’s body, hiding him from view.

Ray kept shooting them, their bodies joining Ryan’s on the ground. His heart beat loud in his ears. Fuck. They were leaving him there. Aim. What if Ryan. What if- Shoot. He needed- he needed- The coppers were swarming around the bank now, some returning to their vehicles to chase the Fakes, others securing the scene. One was hauling Ryan’s limp body from the floor, carrying him away. Ray shot the cop down without a second thought.

“WHAT ARE YOU DOING!?” Trevor’s voice tore through his panic. Fuck. What was he doing?

He zoomed in. Ryan’s chest was heaving, his arms twitching.

Alive. He was alive.

But still bleeding. Chances were 50-50 the cops would just let him bleed out. They needed to get him out. They needed a plan.

The noise of choppers got louder, but when Ray looked up from his rifle, he saw they weren’t Jack’s. Police choppers. Fuck. Jack’s was already rising from covering the van’s escape to the roof Mica was sniping from, a sitting duck unless he got her away.

He needed to get away, too. He’d be no use to Ryan captured.

In practiced motions he disassembled the sniper rifle, hiding it away in its case. He slung the black case over his shoulders, formed to look like he was carrying an instrument. The hood of his hoodie drawn deep into his face, Ray climbed down the ladder and then hopped to the fire escape until he made it into an alley. He slipped away into the crowd gathered there to gawk at the police presence with no self-preservation, and pushed his hands into his hoodie to hide their shaking.

He needed a plan. If Ryan lived, if they got him into Bolingbroke Penitentiary’s high security tract… It’d be a lot of work to break him out, and who knew how long that would take. And if the wrong officer made the call, if someone with a mind for vengeance got to Ryan first... If, if, if. Ray couldn’t risk it.

The sirens deafened him as he walked down the streets, pushing through the crowds. An ambulance rushed past, its lights reflecting in Ray’s glasses, and he paused.

Now, there was an idea. Risky, maybe, but…

Most of the others were wounded, and Geoff and Gavin’s faces were too well known. Ray didn’t know the B-Team well enough to say if they’d play along on such a dangerous gamble, but he couldn’t do it alone. Michael would, but he’d been bleeding last Ray saw him, there was no way Geoff would let him go.

None of them he could be sure to help him. Except...

Except.

Ray grit his teeth and ducked into an alley. He didn’t have much of a choice, did he?

He had to find Trevor.

***

Trevor’s ears were ringing. Lights flashed past his closed lids, the ground shaking under his feet. Thoughts circled through his mind, round and round and round, until all he could see was red, dripping down Ryan’s chest, pooling at his feet.

Drip. Drip. Drip.

Trevor opened his eyes. Caleb and Andy hustled through the safehouse, bandaging injuries, stopping the bleeding. Ashley and Sarah flitted in and out, carrying packages. Michael’s leg was laid up on a chair as Andy worked on it, holding a pair of tweezers and looking for the bullet. Trevor wasn’t even sure when he got shot. Gavin was fussing over his boi, and Trevor tore his gaze away. Geoff was on the phone, coordinating with… someone. Trevor hadn’t paid enough attention to catch who.

Everyone was accounted for, except…

Ryan.

Suddenly it was hard to breathe. Trevor’s chest heaved as his throat constricted, his stomach tying itself into knots. Everything ached, the world swimming in front of his eyes and he doubled over, gasping for breath. His heart drummed against his chest, a heavy beat to pump the blood through his ears, deafening. And before his eyes Ryan fell to his knees with a silent cry.

Trevor flinched. He needed- needed to get out. He-

“Air,” he croaked to Matt sitting next to him. Matt waved him off without looking up from his work, and Trevor stumbled to his feet. He made his way through the crowd, offering Fredo a quick smile and brushing off Jack’s concerned hand.

Fresh air helped, even if ‘fresh’ was relative in the polluted city. But the breeze felt cool on his skin, and Trevor closed his eyes. No one was left behind. It might as well be the Fakes’ crew slogan, and Trevor reminded himself of it as he took deep, gulping breaths. The cops might have Ryan for now, but they would get him back. It was just a matter of time. Lights flashed over his closed eyelids, red and white, red and white, red and-

Trevor blinked his eyes open.

An ambulance pulled up to the curb, emergency lights flaring rhythmically. Trevor stared, and it took a moment for what he was seeing to register. He didn’t know how Steffie managed to get them an ambulance, but that would help in transporting Michael and Fredo-

The driver’s door slammed open, nearly hitting him in the face. Trevor took a step back and met Ray’s dark eyes.

“Here,” Ray said, pushing something soft and white into his chest, Trevor’s arms coming up reflexively to hold onto the cloth. “Go get changed in the back.”

“...what?”

Ray made an impatient gesture which seemed to encompass the bundle of cloth in Trevor’s arms and the ambulance still flashing a jaunty rhythm behind him. Trevor glanced down at the white… were those scrubs? He looked back up, taking Ray in. After his initial surprise faded, he could see the sniper had dressed up in a paramedic’s uniform he must have stolen along with the vehicle.

“We’re pretending to be EMTs, then?” Trevor asked, and Ray rolled his eyes, his expression saying duh clear as day. “Why?”

“You want to rescue Ryan or not?” Ray snapped, crossing his arms. Trevor straightened and glared right back.

“Of course!”

“Then get changed already. Dickhead.”

Trevor’s jaw clenched, and he shot Ray a glare. Then, just to be contradictory, Trevor smirked and pulled his shirt off right there on the curb. There was a flicker of interest in Ray’s eyes as Trevor sucked in his gut and flexed, his gaze lingering on Trevor’s abs before darting to the side abruptly. A light dusting of pink spread over his cheeks, and he swallowed, Adam’s apple bobbing. It… threw Trevor for a loop.

What… what was that? Had Ray just checked him out?

Trevor mentally shook himself. No, that couldn’t be. He was… probably just reminded of the last time Trevor pulled that stunt, undressing with him watching. Yes, that had to be it. Ray wanted to get Ryan back, which was the whole point of showing off in the first place - reminding Ray what he had to compete with.

Right. Ryan.

Trevor shrugged on the coat over the uniform, name tag reading S. Mitchell. He wondered where Ray had gotten the ambulance from. Trevor imagined most of them were on the way to the bank right now, considering how many cops must have gone down during the crossfire. He froze as the puzzle pieces rearranged themselves in his head. Of course. That was Ray’s plan.

“So how are we getting Ryan out once we’re in?” Trevor asked, kicking his clothes in the direction of the door. Ashley or whoever would stumble over them later and make sure to hide the evidence. “Should I grab us some guns?”

“We don’t know what state Ryan will be in once we get there.” Ray grimaced. “But there’s no way we can fight our way out. The cops were swarming all over the place last I saw.”

Trevor rounded the ambulance as Ray slid back into the driver’s seat, before the flashing lights attracted attention from the rest of the crew. They both knew they’d be stopped if the rest of them knew. Their plan - as much of one as they had anyhow - was too risky.

“You should remove-” Ray gestured to his face, eyes fixed on the road. Cars were slow to part for them, despite the emergency lights.

Trevor glanced into the rearview mirror. A white bandage had been taped over his temple. He vaguely recalled Caleb fussing over him, but hadn’t really paid the doctor much attention. Now he grimaced and pulled the tape off to inspect the damage.

“Looks like it stopped bleeding,” he muttered, pressing his hair down to cover the scab. Ray glanced at him, an inscrutable expression on his face. Trevor met his eyes with a narrow look. “What?”

“Nothing.” Ray shifted in his seat, ignoring a red light. Cars honked, but grumpily let them pass first. “Any other injuries I should be aware of? If you bleed through your uniform, our cover is blown.”

“Cover. Right.” Trevor shook his head, then winced. Bad idea. “...I might have a concussion,” he admitted, keeping his tone light.

“Fuck,” Ray muttered under his breath. He didn’t look Trevor’s way. “Alright. Can you pretend to be a paramedic, or do we need to switch so you can stay inside the ambulance?”

“I don’t know shit beyond basic first aid.” Trevor shrugged. His stomach turned at the thought of Ryan, bleeding out under his hands. Fuck, they should’ve kidnapped Caleb or Andy for this little adventure. What if they rescued Ryan from the cops, only to have him die on their way out?

“That should be enough to convince the pigs we’re legit,” Ray decided, taking a left. The bank was just a couple blocks further down, if Trevor recalled correctly. Ray seemed unbothered as they approached, Trevor thought, a stab of anger spearing through his gut. Didn’t he even care that Ryan might be dying out there?

There had been so much blood. Drip, drip, dripping onto the cobblestone in front of the bank as the minigun crashed to the ground without a sound.

“Why me?”

Ray hummed, tone lifting in question. Trevor clenched his hands into fists, nails digging into his palms. His breath was coming in shorter, his chest tightening around his lungs.

“You could’ve grabbed Caleb or Andy- someone who knows what they’re doing, if- if Ryan’s-” Trevor paused, inhaling sharply. “Don’t you care?” he snapped.

“What that’s supposed to mean?”

Ray’s voice was toneless, fucking zen. As if nothing mattered. As if Ryan might not be dead already- Trevor couldn’t stand it, Ray and his bloody calm. He wanted to tear into him, to shake him, to make him eat his words- No wonder Ryan broke up with him.

“I beg your pardon,” Ray said, flat and icy cold. Trevor looked up from his lap, realizing he’d spoken his thoughts aloud.

“You’re a cold fish,” Trevor retorted, because he couldn’t stand that emotionless mask. At the very least, could Ray not deign to look worried, for fuck’s sake. This was surely why Ryan was still such a mess even years after their break up. Trevor could see it clear as day, how being with Ray must have broken Ryan into pieces, bit by bit. “You couldn’t care less, if Ryan is bleeding out this very second. Do you?”

“Better than panicking. God, you’re useless.” Ray tsked in condescension. “What, first sign of adversity and you give up? Really? I don’t know what Ryan sees in you.”

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” Trevor snarled, his teeth grinding together as his jaw worked. “For me to give up, that is. But guess what? Even with me out of the picture, there’s no way Ryan would take you back. Ever.” He pulled his mouth into a humourless grin. “You wanna know why?”

“Oh yeah?” There was a mocking note to Ray’s voice as he drawled those words. “Do tell, please, I don’t think you’ve hit your bullshit quota for the day yet.”

“Because-” Trevor leaned over the middle console, his grin turning nasty. “-you fucked up. And you know it, don’t you? That’s why you left.”

“I’m not the one who broke his promise!” Ray hissed and wrenched the steering wheel to the right. The ambulance squealed as it was thrown around and Trevor was hurled forward, his seat belt cutting into his stomach and chest, forcing the air out of his lungs.

His head thrummed, the sudden stop not helping with his concussion.

Two car accidents in a day, Trevor thought wildly, on the brink of hysteria. One more and I’ll beat the record.

“We’re here,” Ray declared stiffly, his hands clenched around the steering wheel. His eyes were fixed on some point in the distance.

“And here I thought you were turning this family around,” Trevor quipped, adrenaline buzzing under his skin. “Ever hear of driving lessons? Methinks you could use some.”

“God, do you ever shut up?” Ray complained, prying his fingers from the wheel and rubbing his palms over his pants. A pause, then piercing brown eyes settled on Trevor’s. “Are you done? Can we focus on our mission now?”

“I’m not the one who nearly ruined our last one,” Trevor muttered under his breath, dragging his fingers through his hair, before remembering his fringe was hiding his temple wound. He smushed it back down, then cleared his throat. “Let’s go.”

The cops were already walking up to meet them, letting them through the barricade they’d erected around the bank to keep curious citizens out. Trevor let Ray lead the way, still not quite sure what their plan was. One of the cops waved them over, a grim look on his face. He had an officer’s badge pinned to his chest and seemed to be directing the police force around the barricade.

“Medical is supposed to converge on the North-East end,” he stated as they walked up to him. His eyes glinted in suspicion, and Trevor felt his stomach drop, but Ray interjected smoothly.

“We’re here for the prisoner’s transport. Chief’s orders.”

The officer crossed his arms and scowled. “That’s an ambulance, not a prison transport.”

“Exactly,” Ray agreed, appearing nonchalant. Trevor had to admit, however grudgingly, that his damned calm worked in their favour there. “From what I understood they’re worried about an ambush. We’re supposed to smuggle him out under the radar.”

“Chief’s orders you say?” He sounded skeptical.

“That’s right.” Ray shrugged. “You can check while we load him up.”

The officer’s eyes narrowed. “What’s the hurry?”

“I would prefer not to be a sitting duck here when they come for him, if it’s all the same to you, Officer,” Trevor drawled. His concern for Ryan bled into his voice, kindling a different kind of anxiety in the cops within earshot.

“You’re right, you’re right. The sooner we get out of here…” The cop glanced around, at the curious civilians sneaking closer, phones ready to get a decent shot of the going ons, now that the Fakes had left the vicinity and the shooting died down. He wavered for a heartbeat, two, then came to a decision. “Pull the ambulance in, we don’t want anyone to see this.”

“Sure,” Ray said, clapping Trevor’s shoulder. “You go ahead, I’ll be right behind you.”

Trevor waved him off, turning back to the officer. “Where’s he being held?”

The cop glanced between him and Ray’s back, then nodded. “This way.”

He led Trevor past the bustling crowd of cops, bagging corpses and moving the injured up to where three ambulances stood side by side. Others were guarding the perimeter or taking photos of the scene, bagging evidence. Trevor saw Ryan’s minigun from the corner of his eyes and forced himself not to react. Ryan would whine about losing his favourite toy, but first he needed to survive this to be able to whine. Getting Ryan out took priority. Besides, there was no way the cops would hand a gatling gun to two EMTs.

They kept Ryan in a small office to the side, not far from the entrance. Two heavily armoured SWAT officers stood guard at the door, stiffening as they approached. The cop flashed his badge at them.

“I got some EMTs for the prisoner here. They’re supposed to take him up to penitentiary.”

“Straight to the high security medical ward,” Trevor agreed, clasping his hands behind his back and flashing a grin at the SWAT guys. “Chief wants him out of the way quick as possible.”

The SWAT officers exchanged a skeptical look before turning to the cop. “You’ve confirmed this with headquarters?”

“Just about to.” The cop waved them off impatiently. “Wanted to deliver Mitchell here first. Get a headstart on things.”

Trevor watched the SWAT officers warily as they hesitated, weapons held at the ready. Then one nodded and stepped aside, opening the door for Trevor. The room beyond was dark, shutters drawn across the single window. Then the lights are flipped on, neon bright and blinding. Trevor blinked the colours out of his eyes before focussing on the chair in the middle of the room. A familiar, leather-clad figure is sitting on it, hands cuffed to the chair behind his back.

Ryan lifted his head, and Trevor’s heart stopped.

His face paint was smeared, mask nowhere to be seen. Dried trickles of blood cut through the black and white makeup, leaving his face a mess. Blue eyes pierced through him, pinning him in place, and Trevor swallowed the words of concern bubbling up in his throat. Black-dyed hair hang in loose strands about his face, giving Ryan a wild, deranged look.

Alive. He was alive.

“Injuries?” he heard himself ask, his voice steady as he locked eyes with Ryan. He could see the relief flicker through them before Ryan schooled his face into a glare. The snap of latex gloves distracted both of them, as Trevor pulled on the medical gloves on autopilot. The SWAT officer shrugged.

“Gunshot to the leg, I think. No one checked yet.”

The implication - because the Vagabond was scum, because he’d gunned down their own men, because many wished him to die but couldn’t be arsed to do something about it - hung in the air between them. Trevor bit down his sharp retort, kneeling down next to the chair to check Ryan’s leg.

“We’re going to have to cut the pant leg off,” he murmured, following the dried blood back to its origin. It was hard to see on the black cloth. Keeping his tone light, he directed his next question towards Ryan. “Anything else we should know about, Mr. Vagabond?”

“Yes.” Ryan bared his teeth in a grin, straining against his bonds. The suddenness of the move made Trevor flinch back. “Go to hell,” Ryan snarled.

The SWAT guys had their guns trained on Ryan the moment he twitched, taking no chances. Trevor scowled at him, knowing he had to keep up the act but not appreciating it in the slightest.

“Quite unhelpful, Mr. Vagabond,” he tutted, pushing him to sit back and running his hands over his arms and chest in as professional manner as possible. There was a wound near his left shoulder that made Ryan hiss as Trevor trailed a finger along it, but otherwise his vest seemed to have protected him.

“I can’t see anything delaying transport,” Trevor reported to the SWAT officer, standing back up and pulling off his latex gloves. He glanced over his shoulder. “Do we have the green light yet?”

The SWAT officer shrugged, thrusting his chin into the direction of the door, indicating for Trevor to leave the room. Trevor left without a backward glance, no matter how much he wanted to. But Ryan was alive, and they had a plan to get him out. That had to suffice.

The cop was pacing further down the hallway, gesticulating rudely at his phone as he listened to the other end.

“-know thing’s are a mess, I just need to know if the Chief’s approved the prisoner’s transport-” The cop grit his teeth as the voice on the other end talked, too low for Trevor to catch. “Look, I’ve got the EMTs and the ambulance here, they’ve got orders- then ask one of the senior detectives! The Chief’s secretary! Find the papers, I don’t care…!”

Ray walked up just as the cop exclaimed, “Finally!” and ended the call. He followed the cop back to them, giving Trevor a questioning look. Trevor let his mouth quirk into a quick smile, before smoothing his expression out again.

“Can’t get a hold of the Chief, she’s busy, but Captain Gibson gave the go ahead. Paperwork’s not done yet, but they want him up in Penitentiary as fast as possible.”

Blaine was one of Burnie’s old contacts on the force, Trevor mused. He must assume this was a break-out attempt, or at least sounded good enough to defend his approval later. He might even create them a fake paper trail making it seem like the Chief ordered the transport. Nice.

“Alright. We’ll join as escort,” one of the SWAT guys decided, indicating himself and his fellow teammate. Trevor’s heart jumped. Fuck. He should’ve brought a gun, shit.

“That’s not necessary,” Ray blurted out, shooting Trevor a panicked look. At least it seemed panicked to Trevor, who might be projecting a little. But when Ray didn’t continue, he knew the other didn’t have a good idea. The guards looked at them, attention starting to turn into suspicion.

They needed an excuse. A good one… They were an ambulance, what could they use…?

“We’ve got... sedatives! He won’t be a problem once he’s inside the transport,” Trevor offered, smoothing down his cloak and giving the guard a smile. “Though we’d appreciate the help in securing the prisoner on the way there. Handcuffs, too. Just to be sure, you understand.”

That seemed to put them at ease.

“Of course,” the SWAT officer said, slinging his AR over his shoulder and nodding to his companion. “Let’s get the hostile. Where are you parked?”

The last was directed at Ray, who had returned to radiating calm. “Just off to the side by the entrance. Barricade’s been moved to give us an easy way out.”

Things went smooth after that. Ryan put on a show of struggling against the SWAT guys grabbing him by the arms, hands cuffed behind his back and limping on his shot leg. By the time they reached the ambulance it started bleeding again. With guns pointed at Ryan, they unlocked the cuffs and pushed him down on the gurney before handcuffing both wrists and ankles to either side.

And then they watched and waited for them to sedate the prisoner. Fuck.

Trevor hadn’t thought that far. He’d never given anyone a syringe, and he wasn’t sure Ray knew how to, either-

Except Ray was already rolling up Ryan’s sleeve, cleaning the skin inside his elbow with an antibacterial wipe and pulling over an infusion. It was labeled ‘NaCl solution’, Trevor saw and relaxed. Saline, to treat for blood loss. Good idea. Ray worked quick and efficient, calling out to their SWAT escort, “Hold him down, please.” before inserting the needle.

“He should be out in less than a minute,” Ray said dispassionately while Ryan struggled against the cops. Trevor checked his wristwatch, putting a hand on Ryan’s shoulder and squeezing at the half-minute mark. His struggles turned sluggish, before subsiding entirely.

After another moment to make sure he wasn’t faking it, the SWAT guys left the ambulance and Ray went back up front, Trevor staying behind with Ryan to monitor his vitals. The moment the doors all closed and the ambulance pulled forward, Ryan’s eyes snapped open, hand flailing wildly, looking for Trevor-

Trevor grabbed his hand and squeezed.

“Hey, Rye.” His smile wavered, water gathering in the corners of his eyes. Trevor blinked. “You gave us quite the scare.”

“Trevor,” Ryan croaked, squeezing his hand in turn. That broke the dam.

“I thought- I thought I’d lost you,” Trevor admitted, water pouring down his cheeks. “I- I saw you fall.”

“Shhh. I’m fine. I’m fine, my dear. I’m here. You got me.” Ryan laughed, a rough and bewildered sound. “You came. You saved me, my love.”

“I… yeah.” Trevor wiped his sleeve over his eyes. He almost hadn’t. If it hadn’t been for Ray-

Ray was oddly quiet. When Trevor looked up, he saw the sniper watching them in the rearview, conflicted emotions flashing over his face. Trevor swallowed and turned back to Ryan. He had to pick the locks of four handcuffs, and make sure Ryan’s leg was okay. It still bled sluggishly.

Priorities.

He could thank Ray later.

36 notes · View notes