You saw Ryan’s jaw clench as you could hear the faint sound of carolers down the road. You grabbed his hand and for a brief moment, you could see him relax as he turned to look at you. He didn’t say anything as you turned and crossed the street.
“Remind me why I can’t kill the carolers?” he finally said as you two were halfway down the block.
“Because as fun as it is to break you out of jail and watch the police squirm as we do so, let’s save it for a more fun crime like a bank job,” you said nonchalantly as you squeezed his hand.
He still didn’t look pleased, “Fine but the real crime is them inviting themselves over to random houses and singing off key.”
“Well, lucky for you we live in a penthouse and the only caroling we might get is from Jeremy at three in the morning drunk off his ass,” you pointed out.
That caused him to finally crack a smile and lean over and kiss the top of your head, “The only acceptable form of caroling.”
Pairing: FAHC Jeremy x Reader
Day 12 of Fics Advent Calendar 2017. Read the others here
Summary: Jeremy really doesn’t think Rimmy is a secret...right?
WC: 523
I'm glaring, the woman shrinking away from my rage. The night bites, but no way near as hard as my venom, the rain attempting to wash away the pain littering the streets. She takes a cautious step forward and I stop her with a snarl. “You've gone too far this time.”
She pulls a face, throwing a gesture to Jeremy shuffling his feet behind me. “I did this for you, Y/N. You needed to know that he’s lying to you.”
Jeremy flinches, looking to me in shame. I don’t spare him a glance, too enraptured in the woman. “This is my life, and I don't need you in it, Steph. You can't help it, can you? You were always poking through my shit, didn’t trust me. Try fixing your own damn problems rather than creating more of mine.”
She doesn’t listen, taking another step forward as my hands ball into fists. “Aren’t you hearing me?” she wails, and I can’t tell if her makeup is running because of the tears or rain. “You're running around with Rimmy Tim. The only this worse that this fucking psychopath is the Vagabond!” My face hardens, seeing right through her supposed concern. “Come home, well sort it out and call the police. I still love you, Y/N. We can still fix this.”
“First of all, Ryan's fucking lovely. Second, of course I know he’s Rimmy Tim; he’s not lying or hiding it. Nothing, not his murderous tendencies or your grovelling, is going to change the fact that you’re a manipulative bitch. You’re abusive, and don’t deserve me.” I spit the final words at her feet, turning to an astounded Jeremy and grabbing his hand in finality.
He looks nervous in the face of my anger, but stumbles along without complaint as we duck and weave between the buildings. Spotting shelter he redirects us, street light spluttering above.
“You know?” His voice is pained and loaded with guilt as he anxiously rubs the nape of his neck.
I smile, giving his hand a squeeze before letting go and stepping into his confused arms. “Oh course I know. I’m not stupid.”
“But how?”
“Everything you own is either purple or orange. It’s a dead giveaway.”
I laugh into his relief, hugging him close. His arms tighten, his eyes closing as he savours my company. I can feel his breath against my neck, warm as it whispers through my hair. “My god, I fucking love you.”
Then searing pain hits, exploding through my back and blooming across my chest. I jerk away to look down in confusion, the tip of a blade jutting from between my breasts.
I try to speak, words just gurgling bubbles as I collapse into Jeremy’s arms with a croak. He’s panicking, hands clumsily tearing away my shirt and applying pressure, desperate to stem the bleeding.
Through the fog I can barely see her behind me, struggle to make out the wicked smile and hand covered in bloody splatters. She’s backing away, shrieking into the phone receiver as my body goes cold. “Oh god, someone come quickly! Rimmy Tim just stabbed and killed my girlfriend, please!”
SUMMARY: The rescue mission takes an emotional turn as the crew comes face to face with the members they had lived three years believing to be dead.
WARNING: Graphic depictions of violence, blood & gore
WC: 2209
The noise that rips its way out of Ryan’s mouth is enraged and animalistic as he surges after Gareth, charging with his shoulder to force him against the plaster wall, desperate to get him as far away from you as possible. His body impacts against the surface with a sickening crunch, cracks tracing the shape of his shoulders against the wall as if his breath had escaped and fused with the building. With a growl, the Vagabond slams Gareth’s head backwards, hands wrapping like clamps around his throat; his thumbs resting on his chin as he begins to crush his windpipe.
Distracted and filled with resentment, he doesn’t notice the grunts entering until they’re on top of him, momentarily allowing Gareth a window of opportunity to escape. Slipping free with a pained and choked gasp, the rival man’s eyes are daggers as he watches his men trying to subdue the Vagabond’s rage. “Well” says Gareth while wincing, readjusting his collar and gingerly stepping around as the masked man; of who lashes out to grab one of the men. Viciously, he hurls him into the wall headfirst, his neck ramming into his spine as he crumples into an immobile heap. Managing to struggle to the doorway, Gareth spares a shudder as Ryan turns to the remaining grunt, the Vagabond latching onto him and digging his fingers into the man’s throat, causing blood to spurt as his nails pierce the skin and close off his air supply; “I think it’s my time to leave.”
He swiftly pulls a sticky bomb from his person, hurling it across the room and out into the hallway, the beeping only ceasing once a powerful explosion rips open the wall. Moving effortlessly he makes his way across the floor and out of the gaping hole before Jeremy is able to grab him, his fingers skidding against the fabric on his wrists. Swearing; his eyes prick and stomach churns as the clatter of a smoke grenade hitting the floor, seeing panic bubble inside of his chest while he lurches further into the room to take cover.
The loud pop is followed by a sharp fizzle, smoke emanating from the small object and leaving the men choking, engulfing the space and swirling into their lungs. White and thick, shadows are all that remain of their hindered vision, blinded and confused. Crawling and feeling across the floor, Jeremy attempts to find you, his fingers touching a cool metal object that stings at his skin. With a start, he realises his fingers are curling around your cybernetic leg; his stomach twisting unhappily as he pulls it closer and attaches it to his side.
The sound of gunfire echoes through the door, the shots ringing out in quick succession while Jeremy heaves; chest burning as he sees a Gavin-shaped shadow rush into the white haze, golden pistols in hands. “There’s more on the way” he states breathlessly, rubbing his eyes with a fist, his eyelids burning as he searches and grabs Jeremy’s arm; pulling him towards the door “We have to leave, now.”
“No!” yells Jeremy, his voice harsher than intended “we have to get them.”
“This isn’t a hostage situation, J; we can’t bring them!”
“They aren’t hostages” Ryan’s voice is strained, tense and pained. “Gavin, help Jeremy with Ray” he instructs the two men, but Gavin doesn’t move; too shocked by his words. “Ray?” he stammers, eyes wide and searching through the smoke, panic rising. Ryan draws closer as the smoke billows around his form softly, now visible and cradling you to his chest with gentleness Jeremy had never witnessed from the Vagabond. Pushing his confusion aside, he directs Gavin towards Ray, a semi-conscious pile on the ground, and begins to lift him; balancing his weight between himself and a silently sobbing Gavin.
“Geoff!” Bellows Ryan, the name ricocheting through the hallways as he escapes the room, holding your body close to his chest. “Geoff, we need a medic!” he tries to call again, his voice catching in his throat; Jeremy and Gavin stumbling behind the Vagabond as he twists and turns through the hallways. following the sound of the returning voice. “Get out the front, you assholes!” Geoff stands tall and yelling between a flurry of gunfire, shooting indiscriminately at the few remaining men atop the hill as he becomes visible.
Working his way through the building, the cool air does little to ease the fire raging inside the Vagabond as he pulls up to Geoff, taking cover by pressing himself against the wall. With a clumsy action, Jeremy and Gavin do the same, Ray letting out a small moan as his body rocks against the brick. Stealing the man’s attention, all Ryan can utter is a desperate “please” as he holds out your limp body to Geoff, his eyes pleading and bloodshot.
Geoff stops, ducking away from the returning fire and joining his crew to peer at your body as it is cradled to Ryan’s chest, his face shifting from the confusion sparked by Vagabond’s out of character generosity and kindness to that of anguish and disbelief. Reaching out, he brushes the hair from your face with a tattooed hand; his touch as gentle as the gasp that leaves his lips. Rushing over to Jeremy and Gavin, he lifts up Ray’s head, watching as the younger man blinks back at him in disorientation, slipping in and out of consciousness.
“How is this..?” he can’t finish his sentence, unable to find the words as his head shakes back and forth. “Geoff, please” Ryan urges, again offering your body to him, his face dressed in pain, “I have to get to Michael.” Nodding silently, Geoff takes you into his arms, extremely cautious when handling you; careful of your wounds and slowly weeping leg. “She needs Jack, now.”
“C’mon sweetheart” he coos down to you, holding you tightly as he begins to jog to the waiting vehicle; “we’re not losing you this time.”
Jeremy and Gavin are quick to haul Ray after their boss, keeping a steady pace and throwing a glance back to Ryan as he settles into the Vagabond again, his eyes crazed as he shoots each of the remaining men without error before he races back into the building; following the early embers of the flame-happy demolition man.
“Jack!” Geoff roars, approaching the van as quickly and smoothly as his legs will carry him, shielding your face from the spray of dirt erupting from the sticky bombs Jack was hurling from the vehicle’s roof. “I thought you said we weren’t doing hostages” Jack growls, her red hair whipping around her face viciously, face set into a scowl. “We’ve gotta get moving” Geoff pants up to her, but she doesn’t turn to acknowledge him, instead funneling her concentration into clearing the road in preparation for the escape. “Get down!” she cries before tossing another explosive at the embankment, a lone, pained scream and sharp gurgle signalling that all the men had perished.
Hopping down she readies herself to lecture the rest of the crew, and remind them that hostages in this situation would only do more harm than good; but then her eyes fall on Ray, his groans of pain becoming stronger and more noticeable. Her attention then moves to you, curled in Geoff’s arms and shaking beneath the cold sweat locking your being into unconsciousness as her face contorting in horror and guilt.
“What in the fuck, Geoffrey?” she demands, but Geoff is already moving towards the back of the van; “there’s no time.” Jack’s fingers clutch the handle before sliding the door open, helping Geoff lower you carefully onto the makeshift medical gurney installed in the back; “She needs immediate attention”. Geoff then turns to help load Ray inside, grateful that as the man begins to regain consciousness his limbs cooperate with their efforts. Lying him down gently by your side, he beckons a shell shocked, badly bruised Jeremy and softly weeping Gavin into the van after him.
Swinging into the front seat, he starts up the engine, peeling away and circling the building to relocate towards the pickup point as Jack begins to tend to you. Swerving towards the flames, Geoff flinches instinctively, before turning to throw Jeremy a hard look; “What the fuck is going on?” Jeremy shakes himself, dragging his gaze away from your bruised face to stare at Geoff with a tormented expression; but he is unable to pull the words from inside him. “Jesus, Jeremy” Geoff growls, screeching to a stop, Gavin scurrying to the van’s door and swinging it open to beckon the distant figures of Ryan and Michael; “why the hell are you hanging out with my dead crew?!”
The explosion erupting from the building cuts off Jeremy’s reply, the shattering of glass flying towards the van as everyone shields themselves. Quickly, Ryan and Michael run to the vehicle and clamber into the van as Geoff pulls away, putting as much distance as possible between the rest of the crew and the now blazing building. Panting heavily, Michael collapses to his knees besides Ray, face covered in soot and sweat, eyes searching his face is disbelief.
“Ray?” Michael’s voice cracks as he shakes a man he never expected to see again, face paling as Ray groans and coughs. Slowly, his eyes drift open, squinting as he takes in his surroundings, before flinching at the sight of the crew; staring sadly at him. “I... err, what?” he manages, his voice raspy as it forces its way out of his bruised, constricted throat to pierce the heaviness in the air; “I don’t understand-“ his words are cut off as Michael hugs him, face screwed up as his emotions get the better of him; shaking. Taken aback, Ray winds his arms around Michael, of who is now struggling to hold in the tears. It takes a moment for Ray to process the situation before closing his eyes and letting go of his anger; clinging tightly to his friend. “We thought we’d lost you” chokes Michael, his voice thick with tears; “oh god we lost you”.
Watching the display the crew is shaking and silent, thought Jack continues to work, remaining incredibly stable on her feet as Geoff flings the getaway car around corners and darts through the streets. Unable to look away, Jeremy watches as the Vagabond removes his mask, tears trickling slowly down his smudged cheeks as he steps around Michael, offering the young man a gentle and comforting squeeze of the shoulder and ruffling Rays hair affectionately. He continues to scoot past Jack and towards your body; ignoring the fiery woman’s scolding. Gently he repositions you as best he can, resting your head in his lap whilst Jack checks your ribs for breakage or urgent damage, his hand running through your hair as he stares down at you; lost.
“Almost there” states Geoff, turning the final corner and racing down the street; skidding the van into the warehouse and opening his door simultaneously, jumping out as it pulls to a stop. Quickly, he is at the vans side door, ordering the crew out so that he can help get you to the medical bay. Clambering out, Ray struggles to maintain his balance, Gavin and Michael supporting him as he wobbles. Now standing in a huddle, the crew watch as the Vagabond stands, gently pulling you into his arms and swiftly following Jack.
“We have to get the shrapnel out” Jack says as she pulls on her medical gloves, rolling the surgery cart up next to the bed Ryan is lying you carefully across. “Put some gloves on, and for god sakes; get your hair out of the way”, she doesn’t look at him to see the agony his face is contorting with, instead moving to face your torn and tattered leg. Doing as he’s told, the Vagabond runs to the sink and removes his face paint, sterilising himself before returning to Jack, of who is administering a drip and anaesthetic into the vein lacing across the top of your hand.
“Are you with me, Ryan?” she asks, finally looking up into his blue eyes, pleading him to remain in control. The Vagabond nods tightly, trying to hang on to his unfeeling personal. “take this” Jack hands him a pair of medical grade pliers, and his stomach lurches as he is instructed to begin the removal of the nails littering your flesh. With a deep breath he begins to work, tugging on the metal and feeling your skin cling to it in resistance before it comes free, only to be dropped into the collection dish to his left.
Hours pass like this, his head pounds with every dislodging, teeth grinding as he feels your body tense beneath his fingers. Still, Jack works diligently beside him, her dedication and expertise obvious with each action. Every now and again her eyes flash to one of her oldest friends, biting her lips and letting her words fall into your lap; “you didn’t know”. She is soft and gentle, and yet her words burn against Ryan’s chest, constricting against him momentarily. With a shaky breath, he retracts his hands; looking sorrowfully down at your face, letting his fingers stroke your hair; “but I didn’t check”.
In a swift and lightning quick motion you’re rocketing back, Jon’s blade skidding across the arm you’d raised in defence; Gareth’s simple smile stretching into a morbid grin. Bruises make promises as your body clatters to the floor, the water clinging to your clothes helping you slide away from the madman stood before you. Despite the Cheshire swirling in your chest you can’t bring yourself to rush forward and attack, instead concern overwhelming all other emotion screaming inside of your head. Determined, you manage to crawl across the ground amidst Gareth’s cold chuckles. Pulling Jon’s face into your hands your fingers curl around the tape and rip it away, his lips left chapped and irritated. You press your forehead against his frantically, his hands finding yours and holding on for dear life. “Oh god, you’re okay,” is all you can quietly choke, eyes brimming with tears that you refuse to shed. Anguish flashes across his face, burrowing into the deep hollows surrounding his uncomfortably bright eyes. “Okay, so about that,” his voice is rough, rasping painfully through his throat, voice box struggling to play a tune with broken strings, “please don’t look down.”
“Why?”
Before you can stop yourself your eyes have drifted downwards; raking over his mangled body to see the glass protruding from infected wounds while they ooze puss – deep scars having healed only to be torn open again. It’s not the sight of his hands littered with cigarette burns that sparks the fire in your belly, nor is it the vicious brands singed into his forearms to scrawl derogatory slurs. Instead it’s a sight so familiar you want to scream, want to claw your eyes out so that you could never see such a thing again. But you can’t. Rather you are left to take in the sight of the empty space occupying what should have been his leg; severed at the knee. Your stomach lurches as bile rises, feeling yourself turn green while a painful cold settles over your shoulders and into the tops of your ears. His stump glares back at you, having healed completely with skin folding like a parcel, a clean amputation on the opposite side of your own.
Slowly you stand, the red mist descending over your vision as you stare at his mutilation, his eyes brimming with sorrow. You can’t quieten the screams inside your mind. You can’t force any thought into your mind, plagued by the sight of your brother. You’d been too late – why were you always too late? Every time you’d never been quick enough, no matter how hard you’d tried you couldn’t save them. You’d lost so many. So, so many. But not Jon, you can’t lose him like Amber. You can’t wake up every morning swimming in the blue waters of his eyes, knowing they’ll rush into your throat and clog your nose; drowning you in guilt. You refuse to never utter his name again for fear of pulling apart at the seams. You won’t lose Jon, not like her.
In an instant the Cheshire has you snatching a gun and spinning to point it at Gareth, a bitter snarl curling on your lips. His movements are quicker grabbing the barrel of the gun and twisting you arm. With a small yelp you have no choice but to move with him to save your arm from snapping; vicious growls resonating in your chest. You don’t realise how far you’ve moved until the gun points down at Jon. You watch his head shaking back and forth, barrel pointed at the temple and voice distorted by the blood pounding desperately in your ears. And then you’re struggling, kicking out and twisting best you can to break free, but each move Gareth has foreseen; pulling your strings like a puppet. “You know,” starts Gareth, voice pleasant and conversational as he forces his fingers around your own, trapping them as you spit your snarls; “I heard that if you destroy a certain part of the brain you can kill an immortal. Why don’t we test that out?”
You know as soon as pressure increases on your fingers that you should be closing your eyes to block it out, but you can’t leave Jon alone. Instead you’re staring into his eyes, shining and full of a forgiveness you don’t deserve. He barely manages to speak, “it’s okay” continuing to ring in your ears far longer than the bullet that slides through his skull. A gentle cry is all that’s left inside of you, falling from your lips to join his body collapsing to the ground. His hair traces his descent, pooling around his empty face and shielding the eyes that stare into the nothingness. Quiet. It’s far too quiet. You’re on your knees, metal biting at your skin. Hands reaching out to brush away his wild hair, leaving his eyes to fade before you; the water receding as the tide goes out one last time. You can’t push his name past your lips, the Cheshire already building up her walls and blocking him out. You’re fighting desperately, refusing to let him fall into the same hole you’d buried Amber, nameless for far too long. Instead your shaky hands cradle his head in your lap, stroking back his hair with the same nervous energy you’d seen him do so many times before. You had so much left to talk about, so much left to explore. And now you were holding the world in your hands, feeling hope drain away and pool sticky and red around your feet. No matter how gentle you are the truth shatters against your shoulders, curling over and pressing your forehead against his for a final time; a mourning wail tearing through your ribcage.
“What a shame.” The words lap at the edges of your consciousness like water at the shore front, cold and biting. “It’s always the pretty ones.” You try to block him out and focus on Jon, fighting with the Cheshire for control as she tries to rage against your sorrow. You’re clutching his hand, willing him to squeeze your fingers, chocking on your sobs as they fall limp in your grip, palm slipping away. “He’s not coming back.” You rebel against the statement, body trembling and teeth grinding so hard your jaw was starting to set. You wouldn’t forget the sound of his laughter, nor the way his lips twitched into a lopsided grin. You wouldn’t let his memory be tainted with anger – you just had to hold on. “Just like Amber.”
You can almost see her kneeling with you, a soft smile on her lips as she places a tiny hand into Jon’s remaining. A deep and shaky breath smudges your vision with unshed tears, “look after him, baby.” Your whisper is soft within the pounding rain, hammering heavily against the metal container and weeping over the loss of such a good soul. At your words the weight lifts from your shoulders, leaving you incredibly alone and numb; watching as Amber pulls Jon away in your mind. Eyes closing to allow the tears to trickle.
“You know,” Gareth’s words are clear now, cutting through the tension thick in the air; “I’m pretty sure it was all your fault.”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about.” Your hiss is sharp and vicious, the Cheshire redirecting her rage towards the chuckling man, and you welcome her like an old friend. “You didn’t think I’d do my research before I got here? I’m offended!” The heavens continue to pour, but the sky is the only one left weeping. Instead darkness throbs in your mind, encasing your heart in ice, impervious to the burning rage flickering within your chest. “Funny thing is, you really should have seen it coming. Did you honestly expect them not to come after you? Of course, she didn’t – see it coming that is. Bullet tore straight through that baby’s eye. Very impressive!” He seems unfazed by your silence, pushing forward with blatant disregard, “what, don’t want to tell me all about your little girl?” Your body stiffens as a response, but not defensively. Rather the Cheshire tenses inside of you, ready to pounce and waiting on your mark. “Oh,” his voice isn’t surprised, despite the nature of his exclamation, “or maybe you can’t. You really are just like me.”
You bark out a laugh, harsh and rough, battering against the walls while you let Jon slide away from your knee. Gareth sucks in a offended breath, venom lacing each word. “Oh, The Cheshire’s too good for people like me. How ignorant. At least I know I’m a fuck up, don’t tell me; the Cheshire’s a coping mechanism? And the Vagabond’s the same, right? Oh please! What fucking losers, you have no idea.” Each dark chuckle lashes at your exposed back, whipping into your core to drag out a concept you’d long since abandoned. The ring of heavy footsteps clomps towards you, shaking beneath your knees until your hairs are standing. A rustle of fabric sees him crouching to your left, a genuine smile teasing beneath the malice. “Do you want to know why the Cheshire’s such a hassle?”
A glint of anger is the only indication he’s able to process before your elbow swings upwards, colliding with a wicked crunch into his windpipe. He hurtles back, stumbling and clutching his throat while he gasps for air. Each cough racks through his airways, eyes narrow and offended as you stand – the Cheshire as strong, dangerous and angry as she’d ever been. “Oh, there she is,” he chokes. Regaining composure he tries to mirror your stance, unable to achieve the same level of intimidation, body flinching with every inhale. “You’ll never be able to get rid of her,” he coughs again to clear his throat, eyes flashing “your body thinks she’s the original copy. With every death you’re brain’s going to reconstruct her, over and over again until there’s nothing left. Same for that frightful Fabio character you like so much. Same as me.”
“You going to start making sense any time soon?” you growl, eyebrow rising curiously, almost bored. He chuckles, wincing and slightly ruffled by your cool demeanour. He doesn’t have time to react as you rush at him, a right hook smashing against his jaw before an uppercut catches him in the stomach. Doubling over the back of his head is met with the downwards force of your opposing elbow before a front kick sends him back. He doesn’t retreat, instead steadying before blocking your next punch, forearms clattering together. Another swing, another blinded opportunity. A firm and powerful slam of his palms against your chest, only defended against with your arms forming an ‘x’, has your heels skidding against the floor and sliding back with the force.
“Don’t you remember the explosion, Y/N?” Though his words are strained from exertion they send a hungry fire through your mind. You can’t see, trapped in the Greek humidity as the blast rolls towards you, a glowing orange chasing through the cool marble hallways. Taking advantage he pulls out Jon’s blade, swinging the hilt upwards into your gut and knocking you to your knees. His next move brings around a punch and has you bouncing into a crouch, cybernetic sweeping out to topple his balance. In an arc he falls and releases the weapon, legs lifting above his head as it smashes against the ground, container shaking. From your crouch you leap over his still falling body, fingers snatching his foot. The sound of his face turning to grind across the floor rattles satisfyingly through you, continuing to flip until his body passes over your own to smash into the opposite wall. The impact is intense, the crate you occupy shuddering unsteadily while he falls to his knees. Chuckling and shaking to his feet he brushes the dust away from his jeans, face displeased by the state of his outfit. “So you don’t remember then,” he smiles, conversational despite the blood tracing the shape of his neck and collar bone, seeping into his shirt. “How very interesting. Does that mean the nail bomb doesn’t ring any bells, either?”
You aren’t giving him the courtesy of listening to his taunts while your head and face prickle painfully in the memory, instead charging forward to collect Jon’s blade from the floor; bringing it up in a smooth swing to slice at his face. Instead he dodges, weaving away and digging and elbow into the back of your neck, muscle screaming in pain. “Oh, you guys were such a mess. You and Ryan, I mean.” His teasing does nothing, but the second elbow that comes down is anticipated. Catching it in your hands you twist into his back, hearing the skin tear and pop as you push it too far, blood spurting through his scream. A swift kick forces him onto his front, Gareth clutching at his right arm, limp and useless. “That’s not fair, we were about to get to the brain and nails bit.”
Rolling to his feet his back faces you for a moment, tempting your charge. You lunge forward; face searing from the impact of his powerful backhand. Your body ricochets against the wall, using the surface as leverage to fling upwards and tear a pipe from the roof; bringing it down with a crack. He bellows, stumbling back and clawing at his jaw, stray teeth tumbling to pitter against the floor. With a start you push forward, smashing the pipe into his kneecap, his buckling bringing his head down and into your next upwards golf swing. Falling backwards he snatches at the hem of your shirt, dragging you close before his hands come around your ears in a sharp clap. Then the world is ringing, sound searing through your head until the momentum carrying him back brings his foot up, front kicking you away. The sickening crunch of your ribs fracturing beneath his shoe cracks with the thunder rolling above you, leaving you breathless and on your hands and knees; arm curling around your side.
Somehow he manages to pull himself up; regarding you with a rage you hadn’t seen in him before. It was obvious that he enjoyed the sound of his own voice, unaware of your proximity to the closest blade and powering on with his narrative. “You know, I had the same thing happen to me when dear ol’ Geoffrey decided to blow me up. Funny what shrapnel on the brain will do to an immortal. Nails are worse, I’ll admit. You one-up me on that. Still, that much metal shooting through a person’s hippocampus and frontal lobe can really change your outlook on life. Your personality, you know?” He lurches towards you, right arm hanging far lower and fingers brushing the bottom of his knee; swinging sickeningly as he approaches. A smile twists across his lips as he takes the upper hand, watching you squirm to keep you ribs in place long enough for them to heal into fractures and keep from puncturing your lungs. You blink hard and frantically, trying to clear the blood that had traced to your eye from the cut above your eyebrow, smudging your vision red.
“A damaged brain doesn’t have much to work with, but it does its best. Goes with the stronger traits and builds from there. Problem is,” he picks up the pipe you’d dropped, spinning it playfully, “emotions can make the whole process a little messy. Still, immortality’s a stubborn thing. If all it’s got is anger and murderous intentions, hell; what else does it have to reconstruct?” He kneels down beside you, victorious and beaming “and it’s just a never ending cycle. Each death brings with it more anger, and further solidifies that personality until you aren’t you anymore. You’re the Cheshire. Just a burning pit of pointless, misdirected rage.” And then you feel his hand smoothing back your hair comfortingly, his tone shifting to a deep, resonating sadness and understanding. “Welcome to the club.”
You swing the blade you’d managed to work your way upwards, catching him off guard and slicing away what was left of his arm. His guttural screams are thick and wet as blood gushes from the wound, arm falling to the floor and rolling back and forth. You stand despite your aching ribs, the movement shifting what felt like sand beneath your skin. And then you buckle into a duck, an explosion rocking the stack of containers you were in and tearing away the walls and roof; remains of the structure rattling in the rind whipping around you.
The outside battle rages on, Mama Bear shooting past in a lone jet as Michael retakes the perimeter on his own, the jovial Brit unheard within the chaos. Rain pelts down, stinging your open wounds and blinding your vision; Gareth clutching his stump in disbelief and agony. “You fucking bitch!” he spits through his teeth, trying to pull himself up and collapsing, “all you’ve done is get in the fucking way!” You’re advancing on him, each step ringing out powerfully, cracks of light tracing the sky above. “All I wanted to do,” he manages to regain his balance, leaning into his stance, “was brutally murder Geoff and everyone he’s ever loved. He deserves, you know that! I’m as broken as you are, why don’t you understand?!”
He shrieks as you crouch, launching towards him and forcing his back against the remaining section of wall, ribs aching beneath your touch. With a shudder the structure strips away, taking you with it and leaving you both to plummet towards the ground unbelievably far away. You plant your feet and push up off his falling body, rocketing him quicker towards the earth as you turn in the air to dive after him; blade ready. Your momentum drives you through the space, cutting through the air and then his elbow, his shrieks filling your ears as you roll onto the ground, body smashing beside you.
You’re breathing heavily, air rasping through your raw airways and legs shaking from the impact. You can barely register the mayhem unfolding around you, the smell of burning bodies washing away with the rain. The battle is quietening, at least. No longer are men streaming in, instead they litter the passageways. Though the sound of gunfire persists, the urgency that had rattled between the containers and into the bones of your crew had settled into a slow hum. The trembling sounds escaping Gareth’s broken body, however, have no problem catching your attention. Straightening up you pass your gaze over Ryan, his mask in hand and watching you with glittering eyes. Hair whips around his face, blond tendrils plastered to his face and tracing the sharp structure of his jaw. You can’t make out the emotion buried within those dark circles, but at this point you don’t care. All that matters is the poor excuse for a human being at your feet, spitting insults into the stream of his own blood.
Your back faces Ryan, willing him to look away while you let the Cheshire out to play without her chains, muscles tense and restless. It doesn’t take long until you’re standing above him, feet either side of his hips and face a vicious mask carved with gold shimmer and splatters as black as soot. The tightness in your chest doesn’t ease, instead growing increasingly frantic as he squirms, trying to drag what remains of his body away. “What are you gonna do, kill me?” he yells to the sky, his final triumph “I’m immortal!” You don’t respond, instead bringing the blade down on his other shoulder, slicing the skin and smashing through the bone, his kegs kicking out and knocking your knees as he screams. You stay steady, breathing hard amidst your crew’s destruction as it slowly dies down.
You’re floating, out of control as you stare murderously down at the man between your feet. Ryan’s face creases in worry at your anger, body running cold as he bellows at anyone who’ll listen to him – ordering someone towards the crate you had fallen from. At his instructions Michael is rushing up the side of the stack, Ryan watching with panic and a dropping stomach as Michael’s broken wail tears through the shipyard at the sight of Jon. You feel the blade lift in your hands, see the gleam of metal shift as you ready for the next strike, but cannot concentrate through the rage poisoning your mind. With a final smile Gareth watches the Cheshire; dangerous, imposing, and in complete control. “You’ll never be more than your anger.”
“You’re wrong.”
And then you’re thrusting down, knees buckling to carry to forward to spear the blade through his skull. The bone cracks and splits, skin peeling back and curling while you lean in the hilt, watching the life drain from his smirk. Adrenaline continues to course through your veins, numbing you to the blood loss and dizziness tugging at your mind. Yanking away the skull lets off a breath as the vacuum is released; before your screams claw out of your throat and just don’t stop. Each slash brings the sharp edge across his face, smashing his face to pieces until the features merge. Around you the sound of Ryan and Ray clearing out the remaining men barely registers, instead you don’t break free of your frenzy until a bloody pulp throbs into submission beneath you. But even then your body won’t respond, throat running raw as screams continue and his chest splits open. You discard the blade, hands coming down to claw at his flesh and force through to his rib cage, a swift punch cracking free the bone to open the lungs. There’s no more sound, ears ringing into silence while your voice escapes you, whimpering into Gareth’s chest cavity and pulling out the organs to hurling them away.
You don’t notice Ryan until his hands are tugging you away, arms vices around you to force you to still. The Cheshire thrashes within you, desperate to maim what was left until he had never existed. Wipe the world clean of his hatred, of every trace. You knew that the vain hope was useless, knew that the destruction of all he was would never bring back Jon; but you had to try. Damn it, you had to try. But you can’t, instead Ryan’s kneeling with you, your legs kicking while you try to tear free. You had to get back to the corpse, had to tatter everything so that there was no way he would be granted life after taking one so important. Jon deserved better than this, Jon was better than this.
The soft humming doesn’t register immediately, rather nibbling at your raging insanity while Ryan presses his face into the curve of your neck. His arms are still strong around you, but not restraining. Their comfort slows your thrashes, chest heaving until his hums are all you hear. And then you go slack, collapsing into his gasp and letting him hold you as he world comes crashing down against your battered and bruised heart.
A/N: Get excited. 34 and 35 are gonna fuck you up.
All Chapters
SUMMARY: Lets Heist
WC: 2109
Warm sunlight seeps into your skin, rousing your from a deep sleep. Though your eyes remain closed each of your breaths draws in the morning and expels the aches of the past few days into the sheets. You let yourself enjoy the normality of the moment, Ryan’s soft breathing shifting through your hair and tangling in his own as it brushes across your cheek. Lying on your front with an arm tucked under your chest you legs splay out, Ryan’s strong arm wound around your waist; comforting and familiar.
It comes as a surprise that your mind is clear for the first time in weeks, despite your throat being thick and raw from the tears the night before. Your ravaged heart is lighter, shoulders moving with ease as her face swims past. No longer does the sight burn, instead leaving a mild sting without the Cheshire rearing her head – nowhere to be found. A pleasant sigh ruffles against your skin, arm tightening for a moment as a light groan escapes the slumbering man’s lips. Eyes squeezing shut to block the delicate sun dusting his eyelids. You shuffle closer, fingers running across his cheek and eyes mesmerised by the calm radiating from him, “morning dear.” His voice is husky and clogged with sleep, still it courses through your veins like wildfire, tugging against the corners of your lips as he places a kiss against your forehead; “hey there, sweetie.”
“Sup?”
The second voice has you shooting up from the bed to see Ray occupying your couch and digging into a large bowl of your cereal. Legs crossed and face content despite the bruises circling his eyes. You narrow your eyes before rubbing them, hands falling into your lap with a gentle thud; “the fuck are you doing here?” Ray offers you a shrug and a wide smile around another mouthful, “eatin.”
“Wait, but how?”
“...with a spoon.”
“Y/N please, it’s too early for murder” mumbles Ryan into the pillows, stretching out his limbs and wiggling his toes. You reach back to him, fingers finding his and moulding together. “Well,” you return your attention to Ray, “did you at least save us some cereal?” The man chews slowly, guilt stretching across his face as you narrow your eyes. Quickly he shovels the rest of the cereal into his mouth, forcing an incoherent apology through, “you’re a lil bitch, Ray.”
Ryan moves to sit up in bed, smiling at the man as he shuffles his back against the headboard. Instinctively you curl into his side, unable to deny the happiness swelling in your chest. Even though Ray always seemed to eat you out of house and home, you couldn’t help but enjoy the company of your two favourite people.
It doesn’t take long for the past few days to begin nagging at your peace, Jon surfacing within your mind and bobbing uncomfortably for your attention. Your heart lets of a painful pang, concern for your brother quickly working its way into your content moment and tainting it like a poisonous undercurrent.
“Stop looking so fucking depressed,” Ray teases, jabbing his spoon in your direction while Ryan presses a light kiss to your shoulder, humming; “Trevor and Matt are working on decoding the final few lines of data, then we should have a complete location to work with.” Not trusting your voice you simply nod, Ryan’s fingers tracing soothing circles against your hip. “Thanks,” he smiles to Ray, of who returns the sentiment with a thumbs up and a raise of his now empty bowl; standing to put it away. “No problem,” he replies while closing the dishwasher and pulling the milk from the fridge, finishing off the tea he had started for the three of you whilst you were sleeping, “we should know what’s up in a couple of hours.” He balances the mugs between his two hands, shuffling towards the coffee table and managing to place them down without spillage. “Until then,” he snatches the remove off the couch, plonking into the cushions with a wide grin, “wanna play a game?”
“God DAMN IT Ray!” cries Ryan mournfully, watching the bullet shoot through his character from beside you; ray and Jeremy sandwiching you in an overflow of blankets from the other side. “One fucking time, just let us win one fucking time!”
“Can stop a Hispanic with a cause!” he cheers, kicking his legs about and getting them caught in the blankets, struggling to break free. Seeing his moment to strike Jeremy abandons his controller, pointing to Ray as he quickly begins trapping himself, “GET HIM!”
Ryan launches across you, scrambling from the blankets to get to Ray past Jeremy, wrestling for the controller. With a jolt they slip from the couch and to the floor, hollering and kicking indiscriminately. “No, NO! It was all a rouse!”
“Fuck yeah!” Your victorious exclamation rings out as you kill the final or your friends, pulling your legs up to avoid the scuffling men at your feet. Amidst the giggles and yelling a knock at the door has you standing, leaping over the flailing limbs to greet the visitor. Standing outside is Trevor, his hair swept back and so blond it almost shone white, mouth opening and ready to act professional. At the sound of the fighting inside the apartment he stops, eyebrows furrowing as he peers past to watch the pile; face bewildered.
“What’s up, lovely?” you ask, leaning against the frame as he continues to watch the sight before him; absolutely enthralled. Shaking his head he stammers for a minutes, a flurry of ‘I, errs’ tumbling from his lips. You wait patiently, eyes trained on your family – Jeremy trying to crawl over Ryan to reach the couch but the man wrestling him back down. “I erm, well, we’re in.”
The heist room is yet again cluttered with bodies huddling into the space, tension rippling through the air like wind over water. Your eyes are watching Gavin across the table while he works into a tiny mirror, hand flicking the golden eyeliner across his lid in a smooth motion. Absentmindedly your fingers touch your cheek, pulling away to watch the shimmer of colour glow across the tips – the Golden Boy having passed you his compact to splash gold across your eyes; the Cheshire materialising in front of the crew and picking at their nerves. Beside you Ryan clutches his skull mask, staring at Geoff creating ruts in the floor from his pacing. Ray is on your other side, completely at ease while he plays with his hot pink sniper rifle. A white masquerade mask perched against his forehead.
You manage to draw your gaze away from Gavin and the rest of the crew, coming to settle on Geoff while he fidgets, Jack having stopped his movements while whispering frantically to him. With a shaking breath he calms down and expels his worries, Jack quickly pecking the side of his temple with a kiss before disappearing into the crowd of bodies. He clears his throat a moment later, the noise harsh in the silence draped over the room. Still he has everyone’s attention instantly, all eyes trained on his and listening like their lives depended on it.
“The shipyard,” he starts, turning to pin the photograph up on the notice board, containers littering the space, “Matt tells me that there’s no way he could be hiding somewhere else, too much traffic to this area.” Matt nods from your right, continuing “the coding showed that the visits are incredibly frequent and for long periods of time.”
“We investigated a little further,” pipes in Trevor, leaning an elbow on the table, “and found that the whole yard is being rented by a Mr. Gareth Benson.”
“Had a drone fly over, the place is crawling with his men, small number of cops out of uniform. It’s armed to the fucking teeth,” concludes Matt, impatiently pushing his hair out of the way.
Geoff taps his notepad with the end of his pen once, “good work guys. So,” he turns back to the board to place an accompanying aerial shot next to the entrance, “here’s how it’s going to work. We hit it tonight, in teams. In and out, kill everyone we can.” Everyone is nodding, sharing glances at potential team mates along with murmurs of agreement. Your eyes are still trained on Geoff, tracing the frizz of his moustache and the creases on his forehead. He waits until the room quietens again, sweeping a hand towards Trevor, Lindsay, Meg and Matt. “We’ve got our eyes sorted, each of you are going to be watching one group and passing along intel when needed. Matt, you can hack into the security cameras, right?” a small nod from the man, a confirmation. “Good. Get drones out there too, as well as body cameras. We’ll need everything we can get.”
Moving on Geoff then jabs the pen towards Gavin and Michael, the two men a stark contrast against each other – gunpowder and gold. “You two are taking the outer perimeter. We need as many explosives as possible, cause a distraction and pool everyone inside. No one gets out alive. Think you can handle it?” Grins meet his raised eyebrow, Michael’s face splitting into a wild beam while Gavin nods eagerly. “Put on a show,” he squeaks, kicking his feet up on the table, “I think we can do that.” Michael swipes at them, knocking them off and back to the floor with a glare, “not on the fucking table, jack ass. Jeez.”
“Ray,” Geoff addresses the man beside you, his attention drawn away from his sniper for a moment, “you’re our sniper.”
“Fucking surprise, surprise.” Geoff ignores him, motioning to the aerial view and marking out 4 small points, “these are the best places for you. Feel free to move between them as needed, you’re the only one I trust to shoot a bullet over my head.”
“You really shouldn’t.”
“You don’t make things easy, do you?”
“Nah.” Despite his jokes Ray takes the job seriously, clambering through the crowd to the map and jotting down the points he could use, indicating a few more that might also be beneficial. Trusting him, Geoff gives him the go ahead to add a few more before he returns to your side.
Finally the leader turns to you, regarding your group and Jeremy sitting on the floor, bouncing his leg. “What’s your fucking name again?”
“Cheshire,” says Ray, sounding genuinely surprised Geoff had forgotten. However the small hum shakes Geoff’s moustache, and you shrug. “I don’t think the three of us have a team name.”
“Sure we do!” pipes in Jeremy from the floor, looking up at you with a smile, “I’ve thought of everything.”
“Well?” Geoff’s foot taps impatiently, his anger hanging in the air, “what is it then?”
“Get this,” Jeremy holds out his hands, presenting his idea “Crazy Short Temper.” You stare at him while Ryan chuckles, ruffling the man’s purple hair, “how are you so good at this?”
“It’s a gift.”
Forging forward Geoff begins to rule off his orders, stealing your full attention. “Crazy Short Temper, you guys are going to be our main point of attack. You’ll be in the thick of it, fighting towards the centre,” the pen scribbles across a red container in the middle of the yard, stacked at least 6 high, “and towards the shithead.” You give a sharp nod, feeling your body straighten and grow cold, “Jack and I will be giving you air support. Each of us in a jet and doing what we can to cause as much destruction as humanly possible.”
Leaning across the table Geoff’s face grows serious, eyes flashing menacingly as he addresses the rest of his family, “This is gonna be a shit storm.” Everyone hangs on his words, shuffling in place under the intense gaze he was offering, “I don’t want anyone to die here. I get that we can generally go running around without a care in the world, but remember; we don’t know if there are any negative repercussions to immortal deaths. We do know that if you lose a part of your body and it’s destroyed, you’re fucked. So, no stupid deaths and for god sakes stick together.” He stands again, this time looking at you sitting ramrod straight in your seat, Cheshire seeping into your veins. “First person to have eyes on the fucker needs to blow his brains out. We’ll deal with the organ thing later. And if you find Jon,” his eyes go to the rest of the room.
“I don’t care what you’re doing; just get him the fuck out.”
WARNING: Graphic depictions of blood, gore and/or torture
WC: 2372
Ray feels himself being shaken awake, his finger tips trembling painfully and humming with lights. Half unconscious he draws his hand closer, taking in the intricate wiring with confusion before rocketing up straight, eyes wide and alert. Staring at his hand, he feels himself beginning to panic, fear clawing its way up from his stomach and using his ribs as a ladder. Shaking himself and trying to level his head, Ray struggles from the blanket he had cocooned himself inside of and scrambles from the couch. “Fuck!” he exclaims, staring down at his hand as the painful sensation continues to shoot through his fingers; your interlinked distress signal crying for help with impatient hums.
He starts pacing frantically, unsure what to do; his movements sharp and clumsy. Such a signal only sounds when the cybernetic enhancement is damaged; and this could happen for a wide array of reasons. Trying to calm himself down, he thinks of the possibilities and attempts to ease his heart rate. You could have tripped and fallen, could have been submerged in water for too long; but none of it fit with the deep pit of anxiety beginning to form knots in his stomach.
Reaching for his phone, he presses his fingers to the back of the device, flinching as the technology draws the information from his cyber fingertips and inside of its mechanism with a warm shock. Left stinging, he scrolls through the data your signal had sent, becoming angrier as he listens to the audio recording contained within the internal black box.
“Now that I have your attention - Make sure he’s watching - I think we need to get a few things straight”
The sound of your bloodcurdling screams are accompanied by your leg’s silent distress call, the faint beeping lacing as an undertone beneath a sickly, wet tearing sound that echoes uncomfortably throughout the apartment; burrowing its way into the carpet.
“I’m in charge here”
Ray moves with unwavering determination, slinging his weaponry together as his hands shake; a stream of curses running under his breath. Readying himself, he uploads the location of the signal to his phone before bolting out the door and into the cool night without a moment’s hesitation.
“All you’ve gotta do sweetheart, is tell us where your boyfriend’s crew hangs out”
“Fuck you”
The punches come quick and sharp, pummelling into your tender stomach mercilessly, causing you to double over while trying to stifle the groan. Lifting your head, you stare at him, his square face furious and pink; eyes the colour of muddy dishwasher water. It had been at least four hours. Four hours since the first time they forced glass into what remains of your weeping leg. Four hours since you’d promised yourself that you’d kill them all, slowly.
“C’mon darlin’” he tries again, his dirt-brown hair plastering to his forehead from the exertion of beating you; “make it easy for everyone.” You purse your lips, face empty and expressionless. “Gary” you guess, watching the man look taken aback before snatching a screwdriver from his pile of torture devices scattered across the floor and forcing it into your leg, your shriek echoing against the walls. “Oh yeah” you mock, smiling sweetly at him through your snarl; “you’re definitely a Gary.”
“Where the fuck are they hiding?!” he bellows at you, the vein in his neck pulsating. You laugh, despite yourself, the cold sweats and immense pain allowing delirium to make its bed in your mind. “Now Gary,” you say, but he’s already on you, snatching the glass buried deep in your wound and twisting it viciously, a howl of agony ripping from your chest. “You filthy whore” he mutters, his face so uncomfortably close to your own that you could play join-the-dots with his pours. “That’s no way to talk to a lady” you pant, ramming yourself forward and head butting him, his nose crunching and spurting against your hairline.
He stumbles back, clutching at his face to try and subdue the gushes of blood running through his fingers. “You just don’t know when to quit” he says, drawing a large packet of industrial nails from his pile on the floor, grasping a hammer in his other hand. Approaching you, your heart begins to thump in your chest, sweat beading across your forehead as you watch him place the tip of the nail against your torn flesh, the hammer hovering over its head.
Four hours is all it had taken for a group of alternating men to mutilate your leg joining beyond recognition. You look at it now, a sorrowful stump adorned generously with decorative shards of glass, barbed wire, pins, staples, cigarette butts and a screwdriver, now finding yourself gifted with your very own flesh and blood morning star.”Last chance” he warns, pushing the long nail tip against your skin, feeling your leg spasm and stomach churn; “Tell me!”
“You really have a way with women, don’t you?” you mock, tossing your head back and chuckling, hysteria lacing in between your words. He inhales sharply, driving the large nail through your skin with a harsh hit from the hammer, your flesh searing as you squirm. “You’re no woman” he spits, placing another nail against your skin as you draw breath through your locked teeth “you’re not even human.” The nail is harder to push through this time, the shrapnel cluttering its path; still it continues to tear as you scream. “You’re not worth the legs you stand on”
Ray’s body trembles as he peers through his scope, attempting to get a handle on the small building nestled deep in the woods, just beyond the shipyard. It had taken him far too long to get to this point, and the numerous hurdles yet to overcome were overwhelming to say the least. Trying to steady himself, he isolates one of the many guards tracing their routes around the structure, a bullet firing from his barrel with a soft pop. The man drops instantly, the fragments shattering his skull and the momentum carrying him into the shrubbery.
Letting out a deep breath, Ray continues his motions, never once missing a shot. The exterior of the site slowly goes quiet after half an hour of silently picking off each living being, with the final shot speeding through the last guard’s eye socket as a car pulls up beside the body with a swerve of its tires. Confused, he watches as 3 men exit the vehicle, their bodies frantic. One man waves his arms above his head as the larger barges past, closely followed by a slimmer individual, rushing for the entrance.
Pulling his weapon up, he makes his way silently down from his vantage point, hopeful that the other unknown men trying to enter the building will serve as an appropriate distraction. Slinking across the dead street he presses his back to the building, waiting for a moment before hauling himself up onto the sill of an open window; snaking his way inside.
The force snaps Jeremy’s head backwards, his jaw stinging as Gareth’s knuckles make contact. His silence had been frustrating for their captor, of who was trying his best to remain civil despite the horrendous wounds he was inflicting upon Jeremy’s body. He’s pacing now, back and forth in front of the young bound man, a smile still dancing across his lips before his attention returns. “Look man” Gareth says, rolling his wrist and flexing his fingers, “You’re really gonna want to start talking.” Jeremy just stares, his cuffs biting at the skin of his wrists as he tries unsuccessfully to break free; face a vicious snarl.
“All I want is to talk to dear old Geoff”, his arms open and face warm and welcoming, “and then we’ll let your little girlfriend go. We might even drop her off at the hospital.” The anger inside Jeremy is beginning to rise, flushing in his cheeks and tightening his chest. He remains silent, focusing on the feeling of the ties around his wrists, the circulation almost severed. “Wouldn’t be much of a waste” he muses thoughtfully, lifting Jeremy’s head to face him; “no one wants damaged goods.”
He pulls back his fist to strike again, but the sound of yelping and gunfire stops him. Standing, he pats Jeremy on the top of his head before providing an apologetic smile; darting out into the hallway after the sounds and letting the door swing closed with a clatter. Alone, Jeremy lets his body begin to shake, his faint cries crawling their way up from his chest and rasping from his mouth as his ribs ache against his bruises.
Struggling, he attempts to break his binds by flexing, unable to gain enough force to snap free. Taking in a deep breath, he moves to stand, his legs twisting uncomfortably as he hops; throwing himself back onto the ground with as much strength as he can muster. The chair creaks uncomfortably, and he repeats his process; pulling himself to his feet and falling against the surface; pain surging through his legs and spine.
The sound of the door makes him stumble on his final jump, his body tumbling free as the chair splinters into pieces; his hands snatching at the chunks before grasping them like a weapon. “Need some help with that?” jokes a deep voice, and Jeremy immediately drops the wooden shiv and falls to his knees, a half relieved and half anguished squeak escaping his lips “Ryan!”
The Vagabond watches him closely, face calm and shoulders relaxed as he pulls Jeremy up, steadying him on his feet. “C’mon” he says, hauling the shorter man along with him; stumbling out the door. With the blood rushing back to his legs, Jeremy begins to find his balance, pulling away from Ryan with a frantic expression. “The exit’s this way” Ryan motions, but Jeremy is shaking his head frantically; Gavin skidding into the group with panic in his eyes.
“The fuck is going on, Jeremy?” Gavin demands, his voice high and erratic, “who’s that woman screaming?” Jeremy turns, grabbing at the Golden Boy’s collar and pulling his face level to his, face desperate and eyes pleading. “Which way is she?” Gavin points behind him to a door ajar further down the hallway, the sounds of a struggle trickling across the ground. Then Jeremy is running as fast as his legs will carry him, tripping over his clumsy legs as the Vagabond pushes past him, barging into the room before Jeremy can utter any form of warning.
The ground is cool against your chest and stomach, stinging at your forearms as you prop yourself up, staring in disbelief as Ray shoots the man towering above you through the small window on the cell door. With a victorious cry, he rushes in and crumples to his knees next to you; pulling your face into his hands as he presses his forehead against you own. The moment of comfort lasts for a short moment before he’s working frantically trying to pull you into his arms and manoeuvre your broken body out of the door.
“Took you long enough” you laugh airily, your body heaving as your open wound drags against the ground, the shrapnel tugging at your skin and catching in the uneven stone. “Oh, excuse me!” he exclaims, balancing you against his side and wrapping an arm around your waist, supporting your weight; “I didn’t realise that this is your idea of a first date.” You rest against him, trying to remain in the realm of consciousness, vaguely aware of your cybernetic leg swinging against his side.
Unable to gain enough control over your combined movements he lets out and infuriated huff, the sound of footsteps quickly approaching the open door. Placing you gently on the ground, he draws his gun, aiming it at the entrance with steely determination. “This is the last time I’m letting you go on dates without me” he grumbles, firing shots and downing two men as they pull into the room; “there’s going to be a rigorous testing procedure!”
But Gareth is faster than the others, agilely launching across the blockage caused by his dead men and throwing himself at Ray, tackling him to the ground. With a yelp, Ray begins to thrash, trying to escape his grip; the gun clattering across the floor and beneath the bleeding bodies. You want to scream as Gareth lifts him above his head, smashing his body back against a wall as the plaster crumbles and disperses in a puff of dust; but you can’t manage a noise.
Instead, you begin to crawl, hauling your body across the ground as quickly as possible, fingers diving under the cooling corpses and desperately searching for the weapon. “Oh no you don’t!” roars Gareth, his hands tightening around Ray’s neck as he throttles him, tossing him aside as his struggles subside and clawing fingers fall numbly. He smiles cruelly, snatching at the many defiling objects that are exposed from your wound, dragging you backwards as you scream and thrash in agony.
Mind going fuzzy, you begin to lose focus as the pain stretches through your veins and digs into your bones. Still desperate, you try to wiggle free, but his hands are firm against what is left of your leg; shredding the flesh and mangling the muscles in his vice grip. He continues to pull you backwards, your nails biting into the concrete as you scream and struggle, unable to find purchase amongst the shallow cracks. With a smooth movement he flings you against the wall, your head smashing backwards before falling to your knees; blackness creeping into the corners of your vision.
“Cheshire?” you name is a barely audible whisper slipping from lips of the figure standing in the doorway, but at its utterance saw everything stop. Struggling, you lift your head, its weight far too much for your neck; and then your eyes meet his. “Y/N?” You watch as his piercing blue eyes buried deep in the skull’s sockets grow with grief, his body completely frozen in shock as he stares at you; hearing you croak out his name; “Rye...”
The ground rushes towards you, your body going willingly, unable to continue the battle to stay conscious.
SUMMARY: The crew is beginning to feel like a family again, and families have traditions. Yours just happened to be Saturday morning pancakes with assistant chef Ryan.
WC: 3030
Geoff had long since left you to your own devices to find somewhere more comfortable to sleep, and though it had been lonely you’d found solace in the silence achieved before the sunrise. Jeremy is the first of the crew to drag himself from his cave and forge a path to the coffee machine, oblivious to your existence as you regard him over your third cup of tea. A pang of sympathy shoots through you as you take in the exhaustion set in his bones, his bright eyes dim beneath the large bags carving across his face.
He makes it as far as sitting at a table opposite your own to drown himself in caffeine before he notices you, watching him as his exhaustion seeps away whilst your eyes gleaming impishly within similarly large bags etched permanently into your features. With a start he brightens, his face lighting up into a beam and a surprised ‘oh!’ slipping from his lips.
It doesn’t take him long to detach himself from the chair and make his way over to you, plopping down with a smile and splash of coffee. “Mornin,’” he says cheerfully, sipping the scolding liquid and pretending not to feel it burn the inside of his mouth as you snigger, “you sleep alright?”
“Yeah,” you tell him between mouthfuls of your drink, “it’s nice to actually sleep in a bed again, and not on a gurney.” He laughs at your statement, the room instantly feeling lighter as your voice joins his. “At least someone got some sleep,” he complains, pressing a palm to his eye and rubbing away the grogginess while grimacing comically; “my studio is right between Gavin and Michael.”
“Aww fuck,” you giggle, patting the top of his head as he rests his forehead against the table with a groan, “you’re welcome on my couch any time.”
“I might have to take you up on that,” he mumbles into the table top whilst you giggle, beginning to stand and move into the kitchen. “As long as you don’t mind waking up as early as I do.”
“Ew, pass.”
“Your loss,” you smile, messing with his hair as you pass him, diffusing the purple with your fingers.
“You hungry?” you call to him while begin to rummage through the cupboards for your supplies, his head lifting at the prospect of food. “Fuck yeah,” he beams as you arrange your set up, laying out ingredients and stepping back to admire the station, “what do you have in mind?”
“Pancakes,” you tell him as he moves to sit at the kitchen island eagerly.
“Wait, where are you going?” he asks as you start to leave the room, but you throw him a reassuring smile, “I’m gonna need one last thing.”
Jeremy’s can’t contain the utter astonishment plastered to his face as he watches you pulling a sleepy and barefooted Ryan by the hand, his sweatpants and maroon t shirt tossed clumsily onto his body, hair tumbling in golden waves around his face. The unfamiliarity of the man stood in the kitchen leaves Jeremy in shock, unable to comprehend the sleepy softness of his features while Ryan bends down to allow you to place an apron around his neck; groaning lightly.
You beam up at the man stood before you and stand back to admire him in his ‘kiss the cook’ apron, Jeremy’s whooping causing him to squeeze his eyes shut and groan again. “Your hair is in the way,” you comment, tapping your chin as he looks at you through warm eyes, secretly enjoying himself despite the laughter erupting from Jeremy perched at the bench. Snapping your fingers you stop his hands that move to tie his hair up, instead zipping away and returning with a plain black cap and passing it to him. “It’s only hygienic,” you tell him with a shrug as he turns the cap around and brushes his hair from his face, positioning it backwards and offering you a kind smile.
“Good to go,” he says, voice deep and husky from sleep. With joy you spin to the counter, only to have him grab your hand and subtly remove the ring you had forgotten you were wearing, your face turning a delicate pink as he repeats, “it’s only hygienic.” An abashed smile quickly flits across your face as you turn back to the bench and begin to open bags of ingredients, Ryan now chuckling to your side and putting a few frying pans on the heat, a blob of butter in each.
“God, it’s almost as though you know what you’re doing!” exclaims Jeremy, leaning his arms on the island counter and peering into the bowl you were dividing flour and sugar into. “Well, yeah,” replies Ryan as he returns from the pans and opens the free range egg carton, cracking six into a jug, “we used to make pancakes every Saturday.” You can’t help the giggle that disperses flour into the air at Jeremy’s utterly flabbergasted face as he stares at the scariest man he’s ever met, of who is now moving smoothly through the kitchen as if it were his second home.
“Oh, my god,” comes an eager voice from the kitchen entrance, Jack bounding into the space cloaked in a bright and flora dressing gown, her hair a mess of fire atop her head, “are these Mad Hatter Pancakes?” She rushes over to the bench and grabs Ryan by the shoulders to stare at him suspiciously, their faces perfectly level to one another before she pulls him into a tight hug. “Oh fuck I’ve missed you, Ryan,” she breathes over the small pained noise being crushed from Ryan’s lungs, his arm trying clumsily to pat Jack reassuringly on the back. Finally releasing him she jabs a finger at you while you begin to portion out baking powder, her eyes narrowing; “whatever you’re doing, just keep doing it.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
With a satisfied nod she backs out of the kitchen, racing to her room to change out of her sleepwear and gather up the rest of the crew, her excited voice echoing through the hallways. “Okay, so I have a question,” pipes in Jeremy as Ryan sloshes milk into the jug containing the eggs, beginning to whisk them frantically, the younger man tearing his eyes from the hallway Jack had disappeared down, “what the fuck is a Mad Hatter?” Ryan shrugs as he puts the bowl down with its contents now combined, leaning around you and letting a gentle hand move to your lower back to warn you not to step back. “It’s our team name,” you tell Jeremy, minding out of the way as Ryan plucks the salt from your side of the counter, returning to his concoction and cracking it in. “Mad,” you point to Ryan and he yawns loudly in response, “Hatter,” you motion to yourself and Jeremy nods in understanding.
“Like Alice in Wonderland,” he says gleefully, watching as you combine the wet and dry ingredients together, offering the final bowl to him so that he has something to do. “Exactly like Alice in Wonderland, it’s what inspired the name Cheshire after all,” you respond, handing the dirty materials to Ryan after he turns the heat of the pans down, moving them to the sink. “Cus you’re like, an insane cat who enjoys playing with people’s safety?” His words cause a chill to drift across your shoulders while you carry more items to the sink, Ryan’s scrubbing motions stopping for a moment as he hears Jeremy’s question. Chewing your lip, you turn back to him with a cloth and wipe the surface down, “almost, it was the favourite character of someone close to me. She was so in love with the book.” Your words fade away as you force your mind to lock, restraining it from venturing into the past.
Jeremy’s face drops slightly as he offers you an apologetic smile, handing back the bowl he had managed to mix completely, lump free and faintly bubbling. Taking it from him you return the smile and quickly brush past Ryan as he finishes the dishes. Readying the measurement cup, Ryan joins you with a lopsided grin while firmly grasping his own. “On the count of three,” you tell him, his head nodding vigorously as Jeremy inches closer to get a better view; “three!”
Batter flies into the pans, the two of you expertly filling the cups and pooling the liquid onto the steaming surface until all of the batter is gone and 5 large frying pans are sizzling, happy and full. High fiving each other you slam your palms together, finger gunning one another as quick as possible, only for you to realise you were a fraction behind. Gasping you collapse to the floor with a cry of ‘blarg’ while Ryan laughs deeply, Jeremy’s higher pitch filling the room as you rise to your feet again, clutching a spatula and a wide grin. “The fuck did I just watch?!” questions Jeremy through his confused amusement and leaning back in his chair, only to fall off it and splatter onto the floor.
You have to wipe the tears from your eyes as you double over in reams of laughter, clutching your sides as Ryan crosses his arms and leans against the table, lowering his forehead onto them as he chuckles uncontrollably. “What’s so funny?” you hear Ray’s voice ask from the entrance, groggy from sleep and watching the scene unfold in front of him with confusion. Managing to stand you let your giggles subside, beaming at Ray’s dishevelled self while move back to the frying pans and thrusting a second spatula into a still laughing Ryan’s hands.
Ray’s eyes widen as he realises what you’re cooking, suddenly becoming incredibly eager as he bounds to the bench, stepping over Jeremy with a yell of ‘every man for himself!’ as he scampers into a stool. As Ryan and you begin to flip the pancakes to reveal the golden crust you can hear Jeremy struggling to his feet before sweeping through the kitchen and collecting every type of topping he can find, littering the bench with empty plates and cutlery. Ray is too busy greeting the rest of the crew as they file in, faces lifting as they inhale deeply, murmurs of ‘Mad Hatter Pancakes’ rolling through the room.
As you both pile plates high with pancakes and place them on the counter the mounds disappear almost instantly, the crew shovelling them onto alternate plates before drowning them in their favourite toppings. The kitchen fills with warmth and happiness as you beam, Ryan returning to the pans to shift the remaining food onto a serving plate. You can’t help the love swelling in your chest as you watch your family huddle around one another laughing, Ray pulling an intense frown and holding two thumbs up above his head while Jeremy looks over his shoulder from talking with Trevor as he demolishes his breakfast, giving you and affectionate smile.
From across the kitchen you watch Geoff attentively converse with Jack, intense admiration and respect in his eyes as he observes the woman stack her pancakes and dress them in butter and maple before tucking in, laughing at Geoff’s stories in between bites. Matt has a clumsier and impossibly high pile of pancakes for his frame, but you can help but admire his determination as he joins Ray and digs in. You let Ryan pull you into an affectionate hug before he busies himself around the kitchen, too caught up in the atmosphere before you make your way over to Jeremy and Trevor, having not previously introduced yourself to the blond man.
He swallows and looks nervous as you approach, but a strong clap on the back from Jeremy fills him with confidence. “Trevor,” he says happily while giving you a one armed hug, “I’d like you to meet Y/N.” You offer him what you hope is a friendly smile to ease his fears, and he seems to settle as his shoulders relax. “Hey,” he holds out his hand to shake your own, eyes warm and their depths constantly moving like molten caramel, “it’s nice to finally meet you and not be threatened.”
“Wait, have I threatened you before?” you ask, eyes narrowing slightly as a blush rises in his cheeks. Ryan joins yours group, a plate full of pancakes and a pleasant smile adorning his lips. “Yeah, remember?” interjects Ryan, munching on his breakfast, “Trevor worked at the liquor store by the boardwalk that we blew up a few summers ago.” You smile broadly, flashing your teeth at the memory before realising the trauma you must have put him through. “Oh god, I threatened you with a fucking knuckle duster,” your voice is affronted, but Trevor just laughs and scratches his jaw, your eyes faintly making out the pale scar you had left behind. “Jesus, I’m sorry man,” you try to apologise but he waves away your concern, grinning. “Don’t be, if you hadn’t nearly killed me I wouldn’t be here.”
“Wat?” the word is short and abrupt, making Jeremy and Ryan chuckle together between shovels full of pancake. “After the ordeal I tried super hard to become a part of the crew, didn’t happen until you’d... you know.”
“But, why?”
“Oh, so I could kill you in your sleep.”
“Joke’s on you, I don’t sleep.”
“Ouch.”
“I also don’t die... It’s a new development.”
“Don’t crush his dreams, Y/N,” Jeremy lectures you as Trevor lowers his head sadly, kicking his feet. “I mean,” you start, watching Ryan out of the corner of your eye as he detaches himself from your left and heads towards the kitchen to put his plate away, “I’m flattered. Really, I am. It’s good to have goals.”
The sound of a woman shrieking happily crashes through the gentle happiness you had found yourself in, whipping around on high alert only to stop at the sight Meg holding her arms open wide and bouncing in front of a sheepish Ryan, her purple locks swinging effortlessly. “Ryan,” she complains joyfully as he leans in to hug her, “I came by your place when we landed, but I couldn’t find you.” Pulling away and narrowing her eyes she looks him over suspiciously, taking in his warm demeanour and comfortable clothing with a delicately raised eyebrow.
“What’s happened?” asks Meg suddenly, steering Ryan away from the crew by his elbow, her face concerned while Gavin shrugs and loads up a spare plate before joining yourself, Jeremy and Trevor. You greet him happily by bumping a shoulder into him, grinning as he tells you how much he’s missed Mad Hatter Pancakes. However, you still keep an eye on Ryan and Meg, curious as to what she could possibly be worried about. “Are you in the middle of a personal crisis?” she demands in a hushed whisper while gripping onto Ryan’s arm, “do you need support or something?” You hear him chuckle and try and reassure her that he’s fine, but she isn’t having it. Instead she crosses her arms and raises an eyebrow questioningly, “what’s going on with you, where did you sleep last night?”
“I mean...”
“Are you doing drugs?”
“No, not at all; listen, Meg, did Gavin not tell you-”
“Is it a girl?”
“One of them is female, yes...”
“Rye Rye, you better tell me what the hell you’ve been doing before I call someone to take you for a psychiatric evaluation-”
Her words cut off as Ryan rushes over to you and grabs you by the collar of your hoodie, pulling you back to Meg as her mouth hangs open, before he throws his arms out to direct her attention towards you. With an awkward wave you blush slightly after having overheard their conversation, but you pull her into a hug as she begins to cry your name. With tears streaming down her face she laughs through her sobs, returning your hug while Ryan steps back and beckons Ray to join the fray. Gingerly he shuffles from his seat, the idea of facing emotion so early in the morning very off-putting, but as soon as Meg spots him she released you and embraces him as well.
“Gavin didn’t tell you?” Ray manages to ask whilst his face is smooshed into Meg’s shoulder, and she just shakes her head, “what an asshole.”
“Speaking of assholes,” starts Geoff, standing from the table as Michael and Lindsay finally enter the kitchen. Lindsay pulls you into a bone crushing hug, her pastel pink hair tickling your nose as she tells you how happy she is that you’re not dead anymore whilst Geoff clears his throat to capture everyone’s attention. “Thanks to our resident chefs we should be all set for the day. We’ve all got our assignments and I want everyone on their best behaviour. This shit is important,” he jabs his finger at Gavin, of who yelps in offence, “so let’s do this right.”
The crew begins to disperse from the kitchen and join up into their respective teams, Ryan huffing beside you before beginning to tidy up the kitchen. You follow his lead, moving to collect the plates left scattered across the tables until Geoff stops you. “I’ve got something for you to do,” he says, holding out a piece of paper, “There’s a guy I’d like you to go and interrogate, he’s a relatively new and influential news personality in Los Santos.” You raise an eyebrow, listening attentively as Geoff speaks, “Lil J and Ryan are the only ones who’ve actually spoken to him, and that was way before he moved down. But he’s known to be a resident expert for this immortal crap. It’s about time we did some research.”
You stare down at the name and address written on the page in surprise while Geoff regards your expression curiously. “You’re fucking kidding me,” you manage, passing the paper to Ray of who is as equally shocked as you. “You’re serious?” demands your partner, handing back the details as Geoff smiles. “Turn it over,” he tells you, and you follow his instructions, “it’s your second task.”
SUMMARY: A domestic situation soon turns dangerous when the cops show up
WC: 1790
PART 21 IS A 3000 WORD FIGHT SCENE, SO GET PUMPED
“Well, this is very domestic,” Ryan jokes into your ear as you push the shopping cart through the aisles, pulling your feet up to ride it until it draws to a stop. You let out a prolonged and dramatic groan, tossing your head back in irritation. “I’m not good at domestic,” you complain bitterly, catching an amused sideways glance from Ryan. He scans the wall of food in front of him, trying to ignore the frustrated noises you were making as you kick your feet and shuffle over to another shelf, searching for the ramen. “It’s not so bad,” Ryan replies as he scoops 4 packets off the shelf before dumping them into the cart, “you like shopping.”
“Alright, maybe I do. But not when everyone else is out catching crooks and we’re here making homes.”
“C’mon, Y/N, it’s nice.”
“I don’t make homes, I explode them.”
“you exploded it one time,” he smiles, reaching out to take both of your hands, swaying back and forth on the balls of his feet, “and it didn’t really count.” Offended you yank your hands from his while he sniggers, snatching trays of ramen and struggling back to the cart, “I’m just going to take my ramen and leave.”
If you were to be honest with yourself, you’d found settling back into your old life surprisingly easy, and were in fact thoroughly enjoying wandering through the aisles and sneaking snacks into the cart. You could tell Ryan was as equally happy as the bounce in his step matched the constant grin that adorned his face. “You can’t leave,” he teases, pulling the front of the cart as you perch on the back, letting him serpentine through the shelves, “I have the car keys.”
“We came in a monster truck.”
“A bad decision, in retrospect. It has no space for groceries and four people.”
“But Jeremy insisted,” you point out, heart twinging at the memory of him pouting and begging to let him take his brightly coloured monstrosity into the world. “You’re just as much to blame as he is,” insists Ryan, grinning at you.
“Speaking of four people...” you comment, looking around for Jeremy and Ray while being unable to locate their giggles between the aisles, “where the fuck did we leave our kids?”
“Oh god, I thought you had them?”
“hell no, they’re yours on weekends”
“it’s not my weekend, Y/N.”
“I’m a terrible mother”
“Yeah you are, you lost the kids!”
“Oh FUCK,” comes Ray’s scream as an explosion rips through the street, car alarms blaring as Ryan and yourself share a frantic look, darting to the front of the store. “I’m okay,” claims Ray while he pulls himself to his feet, wobbling slightly as you stare at him in panic; his body littered with large gashes. “What the fuck happened?!” you demand, rounding on Jeremy for an explanation whilst Ryan begins to check Ray over, despite his assurance that he feels fine. “He was trying to put his weapon away, but he was juggling them all and his rocket launcher went off,” Jeremy explains quickly, your eyes growing wider at his words.
“I’m gonna take Ray to the closes med bay,” states Ryan, but Ray shakes his head to dismiss his concern; “Nah dude, I’m completely fine.” Ryan raises an eyebrow questioningly, watching Ray sway back and forth, “you are not fine.”
“You’re just being paranoid.”
“You’re bleeding all over the floor.”
“No i’m not.”
“It’s ruining your shoes, Ray,” Ray looks down in surprise, shuffling in the blood pooling at his feet. “Oh,” he says in realisation as his face drains and pales, “I guess maybe I’m not okay.”
And then he collapses forward into Ryan’s arms, the older man sighing and shifting Ray onto his back. Supporting his weight Ryan offers you a reassuring smile, Ray groaning into Ryan’s shoulder as his blood seeps into his clothes. “I’ll get him sorted,” he says, “his wounds should only take a few hours to heal up. We should be able to meet you at Jon’s at 2 or something.”
“Sounds like a plan,” you manage, watching him as he piggy backs Ray away, his body bobbing against his back.
“What a shame,” says Jeremy sadly, disappearing back inside of the store with another empty cart. You follow him in suspiciously, eyes narrowing as he pulls up to the freezer section and begins stacking tubs of ice cream into his trolley while shaking his head. “You know, these things happen,” he continues, adding boxes of cornettos, “completely unintentional and unavoidable.”
“You fucking blew him up just so you could get snacks,” you accuse, collecting your own cart as he zips past and heads towards the candy. “How dare you!” he exclaims, glaring as he swipes skittles onto the mound he was creating, offended. Snatching at a large box of sour candy he wraps his arms protectively around it, his expression outraged, “never talk to me or my son again.”
“You just exploded my son for a bag of gummy bears!” you cry, picking a packet from the shelves and hurling it at him, the plastic smacking him in the face before falling into the trolley. His nose wrinkles and eyes narrow while he huffs, spinning the cart and storming off in the direction of the energy drinks. “Ray knew what he was doing when he accidently exploded himself,” declares Jeremy, scanning the shelves before pulling countless amounts of red bull down, “and he certainly would have no way of knowing what would happen to be able to ask me, in advance, to get him red bull.”
“You’re fucking kidding.”
“I don’t like your tone, young lady.”
“I’m older than you.”
Another offended squeak and Jeremy is off again, gliding on the back of the cart and holding out his arm to direct most of the chip aisle on top of his mountain of junk. “The fuck are you doing, you know you could have gotten all this stuff without blowing up Ray and, I dunno, nearly killing him?!” you growl, stopping suddenly and plucking one of the grocery list items from the shelf and adding it to your own haul. Jeremy looks at you shamefully, his bottom lip jutting out into a pout, “Ryan always tells me I’ve had too much sugar.”
“He’s fucking right,” you grumble, shaking your head and continuing with the list while trying to ignore Jeremy’s incessant bouncing, occasionally having to yell ‘put that down!’ whenever he reaches a sneaky hand towards the shelves.
“I can’t believe you delayed an important meeting just for some snacks,” you mumble into the fridges while you check the eggs for cracks before placing them on the pile, Jeremy offering you a grin. “Not just any snacks,” he corrects, following you to the cash register and helping load up the conveyor, “ice cream.” You roll your eyes at him and greet the female clerk quietly as she finished her phone call, glaring half heartedly at the man bouncing to your left. “The question is,” says Jeremy, dividing the shopping and unpacking his own cart, stacks of ice cream and candy piling up behind a grocery shop you had tried to keep healthy, “what are we going to do for the next 1-3 hours while Ray heals up?”
“We could go out for lunch?” you suggest, becoming aware of the fact your groceries hadn’t started moving yet, eyes fixating on a male assistant behind Jeremy as he bends to collect something beneath the register. Jeremy doesn’t follow your gaze, instead picking up the subtle shift in your body language and bristling while he side steps around you. The sound of a safety clipping off accompanies the man as he stands smugly clutching a shot gun, the barrel staring at you confidently. “I’m afraid you won’t be able to make the reservation.”
You roll your eyes and lightning fast whip a pistol from your side, firing a bullet into the shot gun’s barrel and causing it to explode in the man’s hands; his shrieking shaking through you as flesh hangs viscous from his fingers. “And I’m afraid your one liners need work,” you state through the cruel smile twisting across your lips, Jeremy rushing at the female clerk and smashing his knuckles into her jaw, knocking her out. “Also,” you approach the man as he falls to his knees, scampering away and searching the floor for something to protect himself. Levelling your pistol you push the cool metal into the centre of his forehead, “it’s Cheshire, if you don’t mind.” The bullet tears through his skull at point blank range, littering chunks of brain matter across the shelves with a sickly splatter.
“I hate punching girls,” complains Jeremy, shaking out his hand before meticulously shooting each of the store’s security cameras, “still feels wrong, you know?”
“Deal with your moral compass later,” you order while you move through the store quickly to peer out of the front doors, taking cover as a bullet flies in your direction and barely misses your head. Jeremy stares down at the device strapped to his wrist in shock, angrily exclaiming, “we didn’t even do anything!” at the 3 stars flash across the screen.
“Doesn’t matter,” you state, grabbing his elbow and pulling him swiftly towards what you assumed to be the store’s back exit, the sound of helicopters and sirens growing closer, “they must have been with Gareth.”
You’re running through the stock aisles, releasing your hold on Jeremy in advance of removing the black bandana from your back pocket and tying to around your nose and mouth. You don’t have to look back to know Jeremy is adorning himself with sun glasses and a wide, white cowboy hat as you arrive at the back door. “Pig’s must have done a deal with the fucker,” he observes while pressing his ear to the heavy wood, grimacing at the sound of police swarming through the streets, “LSPD’s been after our asses for months.”
Jeremy steps away from the door, motioning politely to you with a friendly smile, “ladies first,”
“I never knew you were such a gentleman, Rimmy,” you smirk, a coolness rolling through your body, muscles alive and restless in anticipation. Jeremy throws you the same manic grin you had seen him wear the night you had met him, “I’m a stand up guy.” You chuckle darkly, letting the viciousness of Cheshire seep into across your back like ice, “I really hope not, or you’ll be no help to me.”
“I suppose I could change my perspective, just this once,”
“Good,” you raise your cybernetic leg to hover your foot in front of the door before smashing it open, your weapon ready to go, “cus it’s on.”
