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feralrunaway · 3 years

Text

Rat

Pairing: August Walker x teenage OFC (platonic)

Word count: ~1.5k

Warnings: homelessness, cursing, crime, implications of abuse, implied murder, August’s disdain for religion

A/N: I’ve never written for August before, so I hope I do this justice. This story takes place after MI6, several different timelines. Please heed the warnings before reading, thanks!

——————

Their eyes connected across the dark, crowded club.

A nostalgic smile touched her perfectly glossed lips, the slightest mirror of which ghosted along his rigid features, only for both to disappear before anyone could notice. A secret smile. An acknowledgment.

...mankind is drawn to his self-destruction like a moth to the candle.

A decade of transformation. Of skills honed. And yet the depth of connection over shared experience remained.

*A rooftop entrance. A door ajar.

Accessible once, and he hoped still. A place to lay low until he could reestablish contacts and repair his identity. One of the few places he could recall that even his trusted associates knew nothing of.

The lock had clearly been picked, alerting him to his safe house having been compromised. Not by the authorities, no. But by the lump of diminutive human lying under a pile of dirty blankets in the attic.

A cocked gun. A warning. The bored, disinterested girl shifted to sit under the blankets and stare petulantly in his direction.

“I found it first, Scarface. Get your own squat.”

It took a lot to surprise August Walker. But this live grenade of teenage attitude glaring daggers at him was enough to qualify. Her eyes briefly absorbed his expensive, if disheveled, clothing, danced over the gun in his hand.

“Are you a fucking cop?” she stood slowly.

August chuckled darkly, but the inherent threat in the sound was not perceived by the adolescent occupying the loft hideaway belonging to him. Was she brain-addled?

“I suggest you scurry along, little rat.”*

“Fuck you.”*

It is the first step toward the ultimate brotherhood of man.

Her mentor. After all these years, he hadn’t changed. Well, the scars were mostly gone. Only a slight puckering remained next to his right eye, easily concealed by an errant curl. But the same man occupied the expensive suit. Money had its uses. He had taught her that.

* A desperate time. A questionable meal.

“You got this where?”

She rolled her eyes as well as any youth.

“It’s clean. The grocery on main puts their overstock out every week.”

“You’re eating out of a dumpster.”

She scoffed. “So are you if you want to eat tonight. Never hurt me before. You’re free to come up with your own shit, moneybags. More for me.”

“What if I were to propose a solution beneficial to us both?” he eyed the slightly expired food and week-old produce. He had no intention of a recognizable face and bounty on his head making him settle for scraps. “Earn your stay in my safe house.”

She did well. Better than he had anticipated. He watched her walk down the street, charming a clothing shop clerk while nimble fingers pilfered this and that, changing both clothing and personality before his tracking eyes at each stop she made, until suddenly he gazed upon a simple, bookish young adult simply shopping for groceries for her family at home.*

His prodigy. A quick study. With a few lessons of her own to teach him.

*A midnight ambush. An unexpected out.

The rat was long gone before even August managed to divert himself safely away from the house. It had been a small team. Nothing he couldn’t halt with a few well timed fists. He was the Hammer after all. But now his hideaway had been compromised. And they had picked up his trail.

It was difficult, if not nearly impossible for a man his size with such distinguishable scars to make his way down a city street while avoiding pursuant agents from every angle.

A small hand tangled in his shirt. A barely pulled punch. Her finger to her lips, she tugged him down through the open manhole.

Filthy, stinking tunnels. Narrowing, narrowing until his broad shoulders barely squeezed through. Until finally they opened up into the broad arched chorus of entries leading to any path of their choosing.

“Welcome to the underground, old man. Pick your poison.”*

Today, mankind has been handed the opportunity to escape his destiny.

August worked best alone. He had never understood what kept drawing him back to her. Why the presence of this feral spitfire of a child was tolerable. Perhaps a mutual understanding of the true evils operating in the world.

*A special day. A present with meaning.

“It’s my birthday today.”

“Oh? And how old are you now?”

“Fifteen.”

“…how long have you been on your own, rat?”

“Maybe a year and a half now. I’m not sure. Don’t get all sympathetic, old man. It’s better this way, trust me. I do just fine on my own.”

She needn’t understand that he felt no pity about it. He could relate. He knew the type of things that would cause an adolescent to take a crack at life on their own. It didn’t take much searching to discover where she had come from. The child of a pastor, the kind that spit vitriol about sin and promised fire and brimstone. The kind of man that hid his own abusive deeds and indescretions behind a pious front.

Any belief in a spirituality with no other proof, other than the cravings to project one’s self over the rational thinking of the others must be eradicated.

Two days later, August was gone, only leaving behind one thing.

She read the headline of the newsprint again and again.

“Local church up in flames, two missing. Officials continue the search.”

Under the headline, in elegant, efficient script:

Happy Birthday, Rat.*

...by averting disaster, they serve to delay a peace that can only come through an inevitable baptism of fire.

“I miss the Phantom of the Opera look. You should have kept it.”

“There is benefit in being inconspicuous, as I recall you saying once,” he murmured, eyes indicating the siren red dress and dripping diamond jewels framing her delicate face and body.

She laughed, loud and genuine. “There is also benefit to be had in boldness, as you and your devilstache well demonstrated to me.”

*A back alley altercation. A job gone wrong.

He hadn’t seen her in two years. Now he watched from above as she evaded multiple assailants. Ducking and twisting, the little rat managed to slip through their grasp time and again. Her small frame and wiley nature worked to her benefit. Until it didn’t. One punch to the gut saw her laid out, winded, one man hovering above her and another with a gun trained to her head.

August had seen enough. Four quick shots and they were down. He sauntered down the stairs and over to her prone form.

“Scarface. Perfect timing, you handsome bastard. I’ll just be on my way.” she was winded, but no less crass.

“Not a chance, Rat,” he pulled her to standing by the nape of her neck. “There are a few things you need to learn.” He held out a hand. She leaned forward, spitting several sparkling diamonds into his open palm. “The first being that blatant theft never leaves you an out. Learn your exchanges and plan for them well before extraction. When you have another party interested in the payload, you have well-financed protection.”

He secretly reveled in her education in hand to hand combat. He always preferred fists to weapons, whenever possible. Her squirrelly evasive maneuvers were intriguing and useful, evidence of her time on the street, filching whatever she needed a day at a time. But if she were to ever be overpowered, she had a long way to go.*

The suffering I bring you is not the beginning of the end. It is the beginning of a greater mutual understanding through common suffering.

Neither looked at the other as they observed the room. Watched for their mutual target.

The comfort of working in tandem was welcome. She rarely utilized the assistance of others. There was, after all, only one man she had ever trusted.

*A romance gone wrong. A late night call.

“I need a place to lay low for a few days.”

“How did you get this number?”

“I met a man once who wore sin on his upper lip. He taught me a few tricks.”

August smiled at the other end of the line.

“I will send you the address. You will send me his name.”*

Here I will emphasize clearly that the judgement upheld against us will be one of human hands, not of a god or other wordly being.

Both of their gazes fell to the intended target as he broke away from the crowd.

“My buyer won’t be happy if I let him go.”

“Will we finally find ourselves at odds over this transaction, Scarface?”

“Hardly, Rat. Now scurry along. This one belongs to you.”

With that, he set down his drink. He walked toward the exit, fully trusting that this would be a job well completed.

And so, the cycle continues.

Casting one final glance in her direction, he realized that the unfamiliar sensation he always felt around her, that drew him like a moth to the candle, had a name:

Pride

(Nov 27, 2020)

#August Walker #rat #daughter walker #taming the cavillry #feral

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