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vagrantblvrd · 7 years

Text

Break My Bones (1/1)

Summary: Gavin got into this life in an odd way.

Notes: Prompt fill for Anon who wanted Gavin and Ryan working together before joining the FAHC. This is...somewhat along those lines? /o\

AO3

Gavin got into this life in an odd way.

Never really meant to do it at all, but there was Dan. Goofy and sweet and a kind heart, watching out for Gavin in school. Bruised knuckles and bloody noses because Gavin's always made for an easy target.

Smaller and the kind who stuck out. A beacon for trouble, and in came Dan. Fists swinging and cocky taunts and a stupid smile when Gavin pulls him to his feet afterward. (Losing as many fights as he wins, but he never shies away, never backs down. Just wades in and pulls Gavin out and whatever happens after that happens, doesn't it?)

Dan with his silly jokes and rapt attention when Gavin tells him some new bit of information he learned in school or off on his own, curiosity never satisfied. Easy smile and always willing to listen to Gavin going on and on and on about the things that catch his interest and never a word of complaint.

The two of them growing up thick as thieves, couple of idiots against the world.

It starts small, Dan and his unwavering loyalty and Gavin can't do any less for this idiot who's been at his side for years and years now.

Watching an airshow on television – pair of idiot kids who don't have the money to see the real thing and make do with what they do have. Dan's soft “It'd be brilliant, wouldn't it?” as they watch the acrobatics on the screen. Impossible and amazing and a wistful look on his face.

Planes are expensive, and anyway, the ones that manage to catch Dan's eye aren't the little propeller-driven things they see flying overhead from time to time. Personal aircraft and small cargo, no.

He likes speed, doesn't he. Flashy jets with sleek lines and the kind of power to them that hurls them into the air and leaves the ground far below. Dull splotch of color and open sky as far as the eye can see.

There's really only one place he can go for that, but there are requirements to be met first. Ones Dan can't, and it's all so stupid and an insult and Gavin -

Well.

He's always had a bit of a way with computers, but he's not good enough just yet to magic up the kind of miracle Dan needs, but he's clever. Resourceful, even, according to the comments teachers have made to his parents when they thought he wasn't listening.

Growing up the way he has, small-ish town and people knowing one another, Gavin understands favors and the way you can make them work for you if you're clever about it.

So he sets about collecting them, picking and choosing and uses his way with computers to help. Discovers he knows someone who knows someone, who knows someone else who might be able to fudge Dan's paperwork. Just enough for the right price. (A little favor, really.)

It's time-consuming and tedious and Gavin loses sleep and collects little debts along the way because favors go both ways sometimes, but this is for Dan, and well worth it.

Definitely worth the look on Dan's face when he gets a call one day. Runs all the way to Gavin's because he's smart, isn't he, under all the silly jokes and comical buffoonery.

Stares at Gavin like he's never seen him before, and asks, “What did you do?”

And Gavin, he pulls his headphones off and turns away from his computer and one of his projects and looks at Dan and asks, “What are you on about?”

========

Dan gets his planes and the sky and Gavin has his favors and little debts that grow over time. End up being the reason he leaves England.

In the end Gavin thinks it's a fair enough exchange when there's nothing interesting left for him in England with Dan gone so much of the time and he discovers Los Santos in all her glory.

========

Gavin finds himself working for small-time crews and even smaller gangs, content with hitting a convenience store or dealing in things like stolen cars.

Small things that net them money and little to no attention in a city with bigger problems. Keeps them under the radar, doesn't draw the attention of larger crews in the city or earn the wrath of the gangs scuffling for territory like dogs with a bone.

It's perfect, really. Gives Gavin time to get his feet under him in a foreign city, foreign country, learns who pulls the strings and who burns them. Learns to pick and choose as he goes along, careful in the beginning to remain a non-entity in Los Santos. Just another petty criminal who's got a way with computers and is known to dabble in other electronics, nothing to make him stand out from the crowd, just yet.

In doing so he hears about the dreaded Vagabond long before he meets him in the flesh.

At first he doesn't realize the Vagabond is an actual person, just thinks it's some kind of bogeyman the people of Los Santos have collectively created. Some strange cryptid dreamt up to explain away the bizarre things that happen here. Disappearances and other things no one ever takes credit for but everyone knows about.

And Gavin, well.

He finds it all very interesting, doesn't he.

Drinks in the stories he hears from the people he works with after he arrives in Los Santos.

Giddy, almost, like kids telling scary stories late at night and half-believing the monsters would hear, come looking for them.

“I hear he takes souvenirs,” Eddy says, missing teeth and not the brightest, really, but he likes to talk.

Tells Gavin things he shouldn't, but it's harmless enough because they're crew, aren't they?

Eddy looks around, but it's just the two of them in this little dive bar and a bored bartender who's been cleaning the same glass for the past ten minutes. Leans in and lowers his voice as if he's afraid someone might overhear and says, like it's a secret, “Ears.”

Gavin pauses mid-drink and carefully sets his bottle of beer on the table in front of him. Eyes Eddy like maybe he's had one drink too many, gotten all turned around in that funny little head of his.

“'Ears',” Gavin says, because surely he's misheard? “Are you telling me - “

Eddy raises a hand to one of his ears and makes a slicing motion along with the appropriate sound effect as he looks Gavin dead in the eye.

Says, so quiet it's barely a whisper, “Carl says he's seen him take toes, too. Just lops them off like it's nothing!”

Gavin -

“He sounds terrifying,” Gavin says because that's clearly what Eddy's going for here and he'd hate to disappoint.

Eddy beams at him, drunk as anything, and wobbles his way to the bar for another drink, leaving Gavin alone to a bit of thinking.

========

A few months later and Gavin's crammed into a small apartment with a different crew. Laptop humming away as his little programs work at cracking a bit of a problem, and a pair of hired guns on the other side of the room gossiping.

Oh, he's sure they'd call it something else if asked, but it all boils down to the same thing in the end.

Bored and restless as they wait for orders and not much else to do but talk to fill in the silence with a broken television and spotty cellular service.

“You hear what happened to Charlie?” one of them says, short and stocky and apparently colorblind. “He pissed the Vagabond off.”

Gavin glances up, but the others are too engrossed in their story to notice the scrawny hacker who happens to be blatantly eavesdropping.

“Oh, shit,” the other says, mouth dropping open. “He dead?”

“Guy dropped him off a a roof,” the first one says, equal parts horrified and impressed. “Fucking Batman shit right there.”

There's more, but Gavin misses it as his laptop chirps at him, attention dragged back to the actual problem at hand and not some nebulous figure running around the city striking fear into the hearts of its inhabitants.

========

It seems each new crew or gang he finds himself working for comes with a new story or tale of terror involving the Vagabond.

Some sort of image of the man forming itself in his mind piecemeal with each new bit of data. Incomplete and at times impossible because surely not? Surely someone so terrifying, so utterly monstrous couldn't possibly exist, and yet so many people seem so certain.

“Guy's a freak.”

It's the one with a thing for explosives, arson very near and dear to him and quite a temper to boot. Loud and exuberant when he gets going, and Gavin is fascinated because he's another one who likes to talk. Can go on and on and on about just about anything if you get him started, but he's far smarter than Eddy.

Doesn't talk about crew business, gives Gavin the old side-eye when he starts hinting that way.

Michael's part of a crew who went looking for a hacker and found Gavin. Works for the them to pay off some debts and then he plans to get out of Los Santos altogether if he can. Find something better than what he's doing now.

“Well, obviously,” Gavin says, handing Michael another beer. Wonders where he puts it all as he takes a drink, smirk on his face when he sees Gavin watching.

“You're not so bad,” Michael says, as though it's something he doesn't like admitting. “So I'm gonna give you some advice if you want to stay alive in this shithole of a city.”

Gavin feels himself smile because Michael's being serious here isn't he. Watching Gavin like he knows damn well he's not going to listen to whatever well-intentioned advice he has to offer and doing it anyway.

“Stay the fuck away from the Vagabond,” Michael says, irritation leaking into his voice because Gavin's still smiling at him, still not intending to listen to a damn thing he's saying “Guys like him? They're nothing but trouble.”

Gavin hmms, because it's sweet, this. Michael warning him off this little mystery that's gotten its hooks into Gavin, and Michael swears as he flicks the bottle cap off his beer at Gavin's face, embarrassed.

Growls at Gavin, more bark than bite, “Fucking idiot, you're going to get yourself killed looking for him, aren't you?”

Gavin shrugs, honestly hoping not because that wouldn't be very interesting at all.

Michael snorts and holds his beer out to Gavin in a mocking toast, crooked little smile on his face because he's done his good deed for the day. Not his business if Gavin's the sort of idiot to dismiss whatever warning he's passing on to him, but good luck not getting himself killed anyway.

========

Gavin's certainly looking forward to getting a chance to meet this Vagabond character, but there are so many other interesting people in the city he keeps running into in the meantime.

People like Michael that Gavin takes to keeping an eye on in simply because he happens to like him. One of the few people in this damn city who looked at Gavin as though he was an actual human being and not simply an asset brought in to tackle a problem. Fill in a role no one else in his crew could.

Took him aside and told him to watch out for the handful of hired muscle brought in, big burly bastards with a habit of pushing anyone smaller than themselves around. Warned Gavin off looking for the Vagabond when he realized Gavin was that kind of foolish.

And now there's a sniper.

Another few months down the road and Gavin's working with a new crew. Uninspired bunch, really, but they've got grand plans and their money's good.

The sniper's a freelancer who sticks to himself, quiet and unassuming and some kind of reputation to him that has the hired guns eyeing him warily.

Trustworthy enough because he's the tight-lipped sort, and the rumors say he's worked with the heavy hitters in town from time to time, and young.

Damn good shot, and that alone would make him interesting – this young and already so skilled? But he has to go and have this mysterious air about him, too. Quiet and aloof and disinterested in the goings on about him, there to do what he's been hired for and gone the moment his part's over.

And Gavin, because he's curious, sidles up to him one night. Skies above Los Santos clear and bit of light from the stars shining high above.

Something to the way the sniper's been around the crew that niggles at Gavin, reminds him of his first few weeks in Los Santos. New to the city and working with strangers who'd just as soon sell him out as lend a helping hand if things went south on them and so very aware of it.

“Lovely night,” Gavin says, because he likes interesting things, people, but good lord is he awful at making conversation sometimes.

The sniper grunts, glancing at Gavin and toying with a spent casing from his demonstration earlier that day that earned him a spot in the crew and a hefty payday at the end of the job.

Shiny bit of brass he's rolling back and forth, end over end, like a nervous tick. Some bit of restless energy, and Gavin hums absently because he's clearly not going to get far with the sniper like this, is he.

Stranger than the others all put together, probably, holed away with his computers and gear and odd little accent in a city where things like that stand out. No real loyalty to any crew he's come across in all this time.

So Gavin shrugs as he takes out his phone and pulls up some silly game he'd found a while back and never really has the time to play in between work and collecting favors and bits of information he happens upon.

Blocky figures and an insanely busy street and Gavin barely makes it ten steps before his character gets brutally flattened by a truck. He scowls down at his phone and tries again, makes it seven steps this time and a station wagon comes out of nowhere.

And again, and again, and again, and -

“Jesus Christ, you suck at this.”

Gavin blinks, thumb hovering over his phone's screen and looks over at the sniper. Sees the expression on his face like he honestly cannot believe anyone could possibly be so awful at a simple game like this one.

“I'd like to see you do better,” Gavin says, like that's any kind of dare, and the sniper snorts.

Flings the casing away into the shadows and holds his hand out for Gavin's phone, a crooked little smile on his face.

“Challenge accepted, asshole.”

========

Gavin's got a way with computers, works at staying on top of technology as it creeps into the world because being obsolete in his line of work is...not ideal.

“What the hell?”

It's a bit of this, a bit of that and someone's managed to find it, which means it's back to the drawing board for that little gadget.

Still, whoever's found it is a curious one. Pokes and prods and Gavin winces at the squeal of feedback, tugs his headphones down around his neck, but not before he catches a muffled, “Geoff, take a look at this - “

Gavin rubs at his ears as though that's going to do anything for the annoying ringing noise he's hearing. Stares at his laptop screen and wonders just how much trouble he's going to find himself in for leaving the damn thing where he did.

Spot where a former crew liked to do business, little restaurant somewhere downtown with shady owners and even shadier clientele. Quiet little booth in the back with a lovely screen of potted plants and obviously the kind of place he might pick up useful bits of information here and there.

There's nothing too incriminating that might lead back to him, no specialized parts or painstakingly engraved initials on its casing or the like – Gavin's seen it, here in Los Santos. Idiots with egos and a need to let the world know how smart they are, so bloody proud of their intelligence and no damned common sense to them at all.

The kind who think they're too smart to get caught, for anyone to find a way to trace things back to them, and Los Santos is the kind of place where people like them just...disappear.

There one day and gone the next, and no one really surprised about it at all because being smart isn't enough in this city.

“Shit.”

Gavin's not the only one in Los Santos who has a way with computers, and he's made a mistake here. Gotten bored, reckless, in a city where so much is the same old thing day in and day out and that's not a good thing for someone like him.

Has him packing up his things and looking for a place to go to ground for a bit. Find a new place to live because he's been in this little apartment for a while now. Worked for several crews since he moved in here, and no doubt there are more than a few people who'd like to get their hands on the hacker they hired who helped break them down.

========

Living in Los Santos, Gavin has come to appreciate the fact that people who lived in the rundown apartment buildings he called home were smart enough not to ask questions. Didn't bat an eye at the way he kept odd hours, would be gone for days, weeks at a stretch at times.

Knew better than to ask in a city like this, and it's spoiled him a bit, because when he moves he decides he's gotten tired of shitty plumbing and spotty heat in the winter. Doesn't like the way the battered little air conditioning unit struggles to spit out lukewarm air on the hottest summer days.

Digs into one of his accounts and splurges. Gets a place in a well-to-do neighborhood that comes furnished with minimalist decor because that seems to be the trend at the moment.

For the most part his neighbors are far too polite to come out and ask what it is he gets up to, coming and going at all hours the way he does.

Of course that doesn't stop the old biddy across the way from trying to catch him at whatever it is she thinks he does.

Heard a noise or thought there was a delivery for her. Thought her precious little teacup poodle had gotten out of the apartment again and was looking for her.

She catches him when he comes dragging in at three in the morning once. Dirty and scruffy and looking more like someone who'd be bodily tossed out of the building than a tenant. Her glasses glinting menacingly as she watches him fumble the keycard a time or two because he's exhausted and coming off a week's worth of stress crammed into less than a day, two, possibly, because he's lost track of all time.

Made a mistake, cost his employer a good deal of money and paid for it when his hired muscle got a little hands on with the tech guy. Knocked him around a bit, made sure he'd remember not to do it again if he valued his teeth and appreciated having working hands.

“You look tired, dear,” she says, suspicion thick in her voice as she peers out at him from the safety of her doorway, fluffy bunny slippers peeking out.

“Long day,” Gavin answers, grateful for the absolutely ridiculous sunglasses he's wearing to hide that beast of a black eye he's sure to have by now. He doesn't mean to laugh, not with the way his ribs are aching, but there it is anyway. “Killer, even.”

She makes a disapproving noise as Gavin manages to get the keycard in on the third try. Gavin slips inside and stops bothering to hide his limp as he drops his bag by the door and makes for his fridge and the ice packs piled within.

Even with his upscale apartment vastly improved heating and cooling systems, Los Santos is still the same dirty, mean city underneath it all and it pays to remember that, doing what he does.

========

Gavin's working for a group of smugglers operating out of a little airstrip hidden in the mountains somewhere north of Los Santos when he finally meets the Vagabond.

The area is quiet and isolated and Gavin's taken to working in a shed just inside the treeline.

Old thing, starting to fall apart from neglect and the camouflaged netting covering it isn't doing a damn thing about the holes in the roof that lets water in when it rains.

Gavin ends up scrounging for containers to catch the water, plastic bottles and jugs and chipped and half-broken mugs. Makes for an odd sort of music when it does rain, drips and drops and splatters when they overflow and Gavin's too involved in his work to really notice.

“Jesus Christ, this place is a disaster.”

Gavin jumps at the unexpected voice, looks up to see a looming figure a few feet from him. There are camp lanterns set around the shed for light, giving off uneven lighting because they're old, battered things and Gavin thinks he can be excused for not realizing who he's talking to at first.

“I didn't realize I'd be having guests,” he says, tired and exhausted after days of this. Stuck in the middle of nowhere and an employer who expects him to work miracles with the shitty equipment he's been handed. “Otherwise I'd have taken the time to tidy up a bit.”

There's a pause, long enough for Gavin's brain to catch up. Realize what he's just done. Gone and mouthed off to this hulking brute whose face he can't make out in the dimness and a strange sort of stillness to him.

Remembers just how small the shed is, how the rain muffles sound. As if anyone down in the main hangar would come running if they heard noise out here. Too busy getting drunk or sampling their ill-gotten goods to even notice if something was amiss.

The figure snorts, something amused to it as they turn to look at Gavin.

Tall, dark, and menacing, Gavin's brain notes, and -

“Really?”

A black skull mask.

Some small part of him had thought that bit was a lie, some kind of embellishment to make the Vagabond seem more frightening than he is, but apparently not.

“What?”

There's a bit of a growl to the Vagabond's voice as he takes a step closer to Gavin who's just too tired to have it in him to be properly intimidated.

“Your damn mask,” Gavin says, hand making a circular motion in front of his own face. “Bit dramatic, isn't it?”

Tired and annoyed, since this was meant to be a short little job. Do a bit work and be back in the city in a week, week-and-a half at most, and here it's been nearly three. Complications and setbacks and unexpected delays, and now this.

His employers bringing in someone like the Vagabond Gavin assumes, but as the man continues to stare at him without saying a word, uncertainty starts to creep up.

The shed's a good distance from the main hangar, and with the rain coming down like it is, it would be difficult to hear much over the sound of it. Things like gunshots or yelling or anything, really, and the gun Gavin carries is in his equipment bag against the wall. The knife he uses more as a makeshift tool than a weapon is in another pocket of said bag, and he really should be better about keeping said things on his person instead, shouldn't he?

“You must be Gavin,” the Vagabond says after a long, long moment where Gavin contemplates going for his bag even though there's no way he could get to it in time given the man's reputation. “I was warned about you when they hired me.”

Gavin opens his mouth for some kind of comeback, and ends up sighing instead.

“Lovely,” he says, watching the Vagabond watching him, something definitely amused to the angle of his head as he looks Gavin over, sizes him up. “Wished they'd thought to tell me they'd hired you, though.”

Might have kept him from having a bit of a heart attack just now.

========

The Vagabond's quiet, hint of menace to nearly everything he does as though it's just the natural state of things for him.

The odd thing is that he usually finds his way to Gavin's little shed at the end of the day.

Makes sure things run smoothly with the small cargo planes that fly in and out, keeps everyone in line, that kind of thing.

Doesn't seem to like to spend more time than necessary around the other hired muscle. Makes his way out to the shed and settles himself in the corner of the shed where someone set up folding chairs some time back. Old shaky things that are falling apart, but the Vagabond doesn't seem to mind.

He never actually speaks to Gavin, just gives a tip of his head in acknowledgment that he's there at all when he walks in and does his own thing.

The first few days of this he'd just sit there, staring at the wall of the shed for a bit before getting bored, or restless, and then he'd pull out a set of throwing knives. Play some kind of incomprehensible game that would have him making little noises of annoyance or satisfaction, given how well he was scoring that day.

The fifth day of that he starts poking around the shed and unearths a box of books someone's left behind and sits back to read.

Gavin hadn't known what to make of it at first. Wondered if he was there to keep an eye on Gavin, make sure he was doing his job. Monitoring the radio frequencies and making sure the computer network the smugglers were using out here were secure, among other things.

But as the days passed and the Vagabond steadily worked his way through romance novels and paperbacks with utterly bizarre artwork on the covers, he dismissed that notion. Decided the man was just bored, not interested in whatever the others got up to when their day was over.

And Gavin, he's finally face-to-face with this terrifying figure, local urban legend, and has no damn idea what to make of him.

All those stories and bits of gossip, information he managed to put together about this particular bogeyman and they don't seem to match up to the real thing. At least, not with what Gavin's seen of him this far.

“What do you think of ears?” Gavin asks one night, so tired he can't even read the words on his laptop, so he's given the whole thing up as a lost cause. Saved all his work and powered his laptop down, left it to charge.

Fiddles with his phone, thumb finding little dings and dents and scratches from him dropping it all the damn time.

The Vagabond looks up from his book and stares at Gavin.

“What?”

There's no growl to his voice now, just confusion, and that's another thing.

For the most part the man stalks around the place like some kind of big cat, quiet and even more menacing for it. Doesn't seem to talk when it's not necessary, more content to let his reputation preceded him and let the others scurry to obey when he does speak.

But then he comes out here and settles himself in his usual spot in the corner and reads like someone walking into a little coffee place somewhere. Picks out a book and sits himself down to read like it's commonplace.

“Ears,” Gavin says, pushing on even though some small part of him is demanding to know what the hell he thinks he's doing. “What do you think about them?”

The Vagabond cocks his head, actually thinking about it for a moment before he shrugs and says, “They're nice?”

That doesn't answer the question as to whether or not he has some kind of grotesque souvenir collection of ears and – Gavin almost gags thinking about it – damn toes, now does it.

Makes it seem less likely though, because someone who'd do a thing like that, they'd probably be excited at someone asking about it, wouldn't they? Finally found someone who might share the same interest, hobby, and talk about it for ages with them?

“I suppose,” Gavin says, not really sure what else to say because really. Ears are just sort of there, aren't they.

For a moment it looks like the Vagabonds about to say something, maybe volunteer the information that he does, in fact, have an ear collection somewhere, or ask if Gavin's lost his damn mind, but no.

The man shrugs and goes back to his book and Gavin's left with awkward silence and more questions than answers, which seems to be the norm when it comes to the Vagabond.

========

Week four of Gavin's extended stay in the picturesque mountains around Los Santos and he's losing his damn mind.

His employers have promised him that it's only for a few days more, and his part of things here will be finished. He'll be glad to see the last of this place, leaky roof and dirty floors and all, but there's the little matter of his frequent guest.

The Vagabond has finished every last book in the stash he discovered and turned to sharpening his knives, an alarmingly large collection of the things. Things from fixed-blade combat knives to a set of throwing knives and everything in between. Seems especially fond of a wicked looking knife with a curved blade.

Catches Gavin looking on and smirks – must do, for it to be so evident in his voice when he speaks.

“For slittin' bellies open,” he says bit of accent sneaking in as he tucks the knife away in the booth sheath he's been carrying it in. “Old favorite of mine.”

Gavin takes a sip of his coffee, long gone cold and bitter and the only thing keeping him from embarrassing himself too badly at the moment at the enthusiasm in the man's voice.

Clears his throat delicately because the damn Vagabond is still watching him. Likely hoping for a reaction of some sort because it seems he loves trying to get one out of Gavin.

“Lovely,” he says, and tries not to think about just how many bellies it has slit open, or why something like that would be the man's favorite.

The Vagabond huffs out something close to a laugh and turns back to his knives.

Gavin, coffee held in his hands and computer at his elbow watches the Vagabond. Odd man, clearly fond of his little theatrics, what with the mask and the way he talks. Carefully crafted to add to his reputation, and that is very interesting indeed, isn't it?

========

Week five with a handful of lies from his employers and things turn to shit.

Gavin wakes up to a hand over his mouth and that damnable skull mask above him, blood freezing in his veins because -

“Keep your voice down,” the Vagabond says, voice barely more than a whisper. “The Feds are here.”

Gavin blinks up at him, sleep-fogged mind unable to make sense of the words, and then he hears yelling and what he recognizes as gunfire faintly in the distance.

He nods then, and the Vagabond studies him for a moment before removing his hand. Takes a few steps back as Gavin sits up, searching for his shoes and pulling his jacket on. Watches Gavin sweep his equipment into his bag.

They slip outside, keeping to the shadows as they move away from the shack and stick to the cover the trees provide. He catches glimpse of figures rounding up the hired muscle.

“There's a hiking trail a mile in that direction,” the Vagabond says, leaning close to keep his voice from carrying. “We can follow it down the mountain to a road and make our way back to Los Santos.”

Gavin tips his head towards the airstrip and the agents searching the area, floodlights illuminating the area. There are a few K-9 units, and as they watch see one bolt into the woods at the back of the airstrip to drag one of the hired goons into the range of the lights.

“...If we don't get caught,” the Vagabond amends.

Crossing a mile of unknown terrain in the dark with agents searching the area along with K-9 units?

That's not the best plan out there, really.

Gavin rolls his eyes and points to one of the smaller hangars at the back of the air strip. Dangerously close to where the agents are setting up some kind command post while they lock the airstrip and surrounding area down, doable if they're careful about things.

There's an old Cuban inside the hangar waiting on repairs. She'll fly, but not too far. Definitely won't make it to Los Santos, but they should be able to make it out of the search area the agents have set up. Should be a pair of parachutes in it they can use if she goes down before they can reach a decent landing site.

Not the best plan out there either, but the odds are slightly better in their favor. (Very, very slightly.)

“You can fly that thing?”

Gavin nods because Dan may have gotten his planes and a lifelong dream, but he's still Dan, isn't he. Lovable buffoon with the kind of undying loyalty that's rare enough to find these days.

Saw the kind of life Gavin was setting himself up for and was determined to do what he could to make sure Gavin was prepared for whatever he'd run into without Dan around to watch his back.

He didn't teach Gavin how to shoot, no, but he damn well made sure Gavin can shoot well. Hit what he aims for and better besides with what he learned in the military. Taught him how to fight – or, well. Taught him how do well enough for himself if he ever got into a tight corner because Gavin hadn't exactly been keen on that bit.

Buckled down and at least listened when Dan turned to him, smile on his face and worry in his heart and an exasperated “Look, do this for me, all right? Can't bloody well be watching over you the way I used to, give me this much at least, you idiot.”

And when Dan came to see him after Gavin made the move to Los Santos, weeks of leave saved up, he went and called in a few favors of his own. Took Gavin up in one of his planes, and gave him a taste of what it was like to have the sky wide and open and so damn gorgeous it was no wonder why Dan had chased after it for so long.

When they were back down on the ground, took him over to a little single-engine plane and taught him how to get there on his own, so yes.

He can damn well fly the bloody Cuban.

“It's pretty simple, isn't it?” Gavin asks. “Just don't hit the ground and all.”

The Vagabond stares at Gavin as though he's trying to decide how much of an asshole Gavin's being at the moment, and sighs.

“I mean,” he says, watching a pair of agents walk past a few feet away. “You're not wrong.”

========

Their escape, such as it is, doesn't exactly go smoothly.

One of the K-9 units notices them, and it's a panicked run to the hangar with the Vagabond popping off shots to keep the agents off them. Manages well enough until they send in one of the dogs and the damn thing glances the Vagabond's leg just as they reach the plane.

From there it's running a bit of a gauntlet, bullets pinging off the Cuban's fuselage as they take off, one engine smoking slightly.

The Vagabond's using strips of his shirt to wrap up the bite on his leg. Literal bloody mess, but he keeps insisting it could have been worse. That the dog barely even touched him, which is very clearly a lie, isn't it.

Gavin's watching the great big idiot from the corner of his eye.

The man's abandoned his mask, said it wasn't great for night operations like this and to Gavin's disbelief he's been wearing face paint under it all this time. Disconcerting pattern, because of course it is.

One of the agents got incredibly lucky and managed to clip the fuel line, which means they won't be reaching the highway at this rate. Can try for one of the smaller roads along the way, but there's not enough clearance for the Cuban's wingspan which would result in a potentially ugly little crash, or they could find a good spot to jump out, hope that whoever packed the parachutes knew what they were doing.

“How far away are we from the lake?”

At a guess, they're five, maybe ten minutes out, which – of course – is when the Cuban's one working engine sputters and dies.

“I'm starting to think your plan may have been a better idea,” Gavin says, smiling a little as the Vagabond laughs at the way their luck's been going tonight.

“I don't know about that,” he says, leaning back in his seat as Gavin coaxes the Cuban into keeping them in the air a little bit longer. “I mean, this one's been working out so well for us.”

========

The Vagabond's a heavy bastard.

Only a few inches on Gavin when it comes to height, but he outweighs Gavin a good bit between muscle and however many weapons he had hidden on his person at any given time.

Still -

“Might want to consider a diet when we get back to the city,” Gavin says, leaning down to help the Vagabond over the rockfall they've encountered.

Boulders and other bits and pieces blocking the trail they've been following. No other way around it and the Vagabond hindered by his dog-bite leg.

“I'm not fat,” the Vagabond hisses, glaring at Gavin as he hauls himself up. “Also, shut up.”

Gavin bites his lip, moving aside to give the man room while he checks the makeshift bandaged on his leg.

Dawn's a little way off, they're almost to the closest road and so far there haven't been signs of pursuit.

“We might actually get out of this,” the Vagabond says, sound a bit as thought he honestly didn't expect them to after all their little setbacks.

Gavin snorts, shooting him an amused look.

Not quite so scary now after watching him flounder through the underbrush the first mile of their trek back to civilization. Before he finally gave up on whatever bit of idiotic pride kept insisting he could manage on his own, no need for Gavin's help at all, really.

========

Gavin's the one to flag down a passing car. Seems the lesser threat between the two of them, and still half a dozen cars go by before someone actually stops.

No Good Samaritan, though, the way the big burly lumberjack hopeful leers at Gavin, eyes raking over him in a distinctly unnerving manner.

“Why hello there,” the man says, wide smile and this look to him Gavin recognizes as he steps out of the cab of his truck and moves towards him.

Gavin backs up a step, two, keeping careful distance between them until he sees the Vagabond slip out of the trees beside the road. Gun in his hands as he crosses behind the truck and calmly presses the barrel of his gun against the man's spine.

“We're going to borrow your truck for a bit,” he says, nice and pleasant and still somehow terrifying. “You want to live, don't give us trouble.”

The man's face clouds over, dark and ugly and Gavin keeps an eye on him as he moves around the two of them to get to the truck. He watches through the windshield as the Vagabond leans in to say something to the man that has him flinching hard.

Sees the hesitation before the Vagabond gives the man a shove towards the side of the road, backing away until he's even with the truck and hop into the driver's seat.

They leave the man behind in a cloud of dust, the Vagabond's knuckles bleeding white on the steering wheel.

“Well,” Gavin says with forced cheer. “That went well, didn't it?”

========

They part ways at a little gas station on the south side of the city.

The Vagabond eyes Gavin, as though he's not sure if he should be left to his own devices in this part of town.

“You're sure you're going to be all right here?” he asks, eyes taking in the people loitering in front of various stores, yelling coming from somewhere off to their right. “I can drop you off somewhere else.”

Gavin shakes his head and looks around. The neighborhood's changed a bit since he's been here last, but he recognizes the faces he sees.

Knows he's safe enough here, that it's smart not to let someone like the Vagabond know where he calls home, because this is Los Santos and you just never know.

“I'll be fine,” Gavin says, mouth twitching into a smile at the skeptical look he gets for that. “No need to worry.”

========

Gavin takes a few jobs here, a few jobs there.

Works with different crews around the city and goes back to keeping tabs on Michael. On Ray, and after the man saves his life, the little one with the terrible fashion sense because Los Santos is a dangerous place and Gavin's a bit of an idiot.

He hears about a new crew on the rise here in the city, headed by someone with powerful connections and the kind of ambition that gets people like him killed if they're not careful.

Makes a little mental note to avoid getting involved because it's bound to be the kind of trouble that won't end well for him.

========

“I'm going to ask you one last time,” the thug says as he looms over Gavin with a bit of metal in his hand.

A knife, Gavin knows. His own blood on the blade and everything seems to hurt and overall it's not been a good day for him.

There's water dripping from a broken pipe. Yellowed ceiling tiles and this little spot Gavin's been staring at for a while now, neck aching, but it's better than looking down at the floor.

Blood and vomit and ruined shoes, and honestly, not a good day at all.

A hand in his hair and Gavin goes along with it when the bastard turns his head to look at him. Sees his lumpy face and many times broken nose, that scar winding its way across one cheek and down to vanish under the neck of his shirt.

Cruel eyes and a sneer on his face as he leans in.

“Where are the files?”

Gavin blinks, hurting and tired and so very done with everything and says, “I don't know what you're on about.”

The thing is, and Gavin swallows down laughter that no doubt would come out a bit hysterical at this point, is that he honestly doesn't.

Had just been minding his business. Hands in his pockets because it's autumn in Los Santos and the air has a bit of a bite to it now, crisp and cold and sharp.

Decided it be the perfect time for him to sit down and sift through the recordings and bit of information he's been gathering for months.

And it had been going well, all things considered. A couple of weeks had gone by quietly enough before he got a craving for food from a little place that didn't deliver. Went out to grab some take-out humming some half-remembered song from the radio with his stomach growling gently.

Got a block, two away before a great beast of an SUV screeching to a stop in front of him at an intersection. Men bristling with weapons hopping out, and Gavin's fast, yes, but not fast enough and so he'd been brought here.

Dragged down into an old building that had seen better days and forced into a distressingly solid chair in this ugly little room. Bare light bulbs hanging from the ceiling and peeling wallpaper and warped floorboards that creak whenever the muscle behind him shifts his weight. When his interrogator circles around him, stops just out of view and looms.

The door opens and Gavin's interrogator sighs, disgusted with this mess of an idiot he's been dealing with for hours now. Releases his hold on Gavin's hair - and Gavin tries, he does - but his head is heavy and his chin comes to rest on his chest.

Hears his interrogator say, “He's not talking.”

Gavin waits, a beat, two, and whoever's come into the room grunts. Footsteps coming closer and Gavin sees boots enter his field of vision. Feels fingers on his jaw, head being raised to see a black skull mask.

“Leave him to me,” the Vagabond says, cold and impersonal, a professional. “I'll get what you want out of him.”

Gavin does laugh then, chokes a little on blood and spit and honestly this has been a shitty day all around. He catches a glimpse of his interrogator leaving – fleeing – the room leaving him alone with the Vagabond.

Far and away more terrifying than the man who'd settle himself in Gavin's workspace to read trashy novels day after day.

“Fancy meeting you here,” Gavin says as the Vagabond continues to stare at him. “Read any good books lately?”

For a long, long moment Gavin thinks he's finally pushed too far. Gotten ahead of himself with this menacing figure he's half been chasing after since he heard about him, interesting little enigma that he is, but then the Vagabond sighs.

Pulls his hand back and studies Gavin. Takes in his injuries, cuts and slices and other things along those lines and all of it meant to hurt. Push Gavin into talking, spilling everything he knows but hadn't worked to plan since Gavin has no idea what it is he's meant to know.

“No?” Gavin asks, wondering why it is he can't seem to shut the hell up, as the voice in the back of his head that sounds remarkably like Michael is yelling at him to do. “That's a shame.”

There's a fair bit of staring after that, sound of water dripping and voices beyond the room they're in. Words indistinct but tone clear, angry, irritated, and Gavin's been here for quite a while, hasn't he. Long enough for them to decide to bring in their last resort in the Vagabond.

A man with the kind of reputation that has people coming up with all sorts of rumors and stories about him, each one more terrifying than the last. Someone you never want to cross, to end up on the other side of a job on.

Someone you certainly don't want to annoy, especially when you're in the kind of situation Gavin's in, and yet -

“You never shut up, do you?” the Vagabond asks, and Gavin's expecting it to be cold, mocking, considering the circumstance, but it comes out sounding more amused than anything else.

“I've been told it's a flaw of mine,” Gavin admits, because he has, time and again and yet -

The Vagabond pulls out a wicked looking knife.

Turns it this way and that, light catching on the blade and honestly, it makes for an excellent intimidation technique. Looming figure dressed the way he is with that damnable mask and the bloody knife, but Gavin's seen the man reading period romance novels for God's sake.

Remembers their little escapade with the Cuban, that long hike down the mountain and the drive back to Los Santos.

All those little moments in between, and some part of him wonders what happens now. (Because this is Los Santos, and you just never know, do you.)

The hallway outside this ugly little room has gone quiet, as though the goons and thugs and other undesirables have decided they have better places to be. That it wouldn't be wise to be lingering out there while the Vagabond sets to work.

And really, no one would dare interrupt the Vagabond when he's prying someone's secrets out of them, bloody and messy and so very thorough.

There's a long, long moment where Gavin wonders where that leaves him, and then the Vagabond sighs again.

“Don't make me regret this,” he says, and drops the damn knife on the floor between them.

Close enough that Gavin could, if he was so inclined, stretch out his leg and drag it closer. Could, if he had the time, find a way to get it into his hands and work at his binds. Find some way to escape or at the very least make a damn good attempt at one in any case. Odds stacked against him but Gavin's always been luckier than he should be.

The Vagabond looks Gavin in the eye and says, in the flattest tone possible, “Oops,” and looks the other way.

========

Gavin moves, and then he moves again, because paranoia is a thing in Los Santos and he's learned to listen when it creeps up on him.

Doesn't seem to help in the end, though, when the Vagabond comes calling a few months after their previous run-in.

“I need a hacker,” the man says, taking in the boxes pushed against the bare walls of Gavin's new place, something amused to his voice when he looks back at Gavin. “You happen to know where I could find one?”

Well now, Gavin thinks, mouth curving into a little smile. Isn't this interesting?

#freewood #Anonymous #prompt fills #kings of nowhere #vagrant fic

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