Summary: It’s a sad story. It’s a sad tale, it’s a tragedy. It’s a sad story, but I’ll tell it anyway.
It had been almost a century since the apocalypse, Geoff and his boyfriend, Jack, were struggling to make ends meet. But somehow, Haywoodstown mines was a thriving business, despite the fact that no one was ever seen leaving the mines. Geoff heard the legends of the mines and was curious to see how much was true. He takes Jack with him one night to go searching for answers. On their search, they run into a young man in a well-tailored suit. The man offers to tell them a different story from mines.
It’s a love story, it’s a tale of a love that never dies. It’s a love story, about someone who tried. And there was a railroad line on the road to Hell. There was a young man down on bended knee. And brothers, thus begins the tale of Michael and Lindsay!
Chapter: 9/10
Word Count: 2,175
Pairings: Michael/Lindsay, Ryan/Gavin, Geoff/Jack
Song: Wait for Me II, Doubt Comes In
First / Previous / Next / AO3
“And Michael and Lindsay make it out,” Jack guessed.
“You sure? ‘Cause I did say this was this was a sad story,” Jeremy replied.
“Hm…” Geoff thought aloud.
“Yes?”
“I have a theory on what’s gonna happen next. I just don’t want to be right.
“Well, we’ll see if you are.”
The group got to the railroad track. “So, is Michael gonna get on the train car first and he’s not allowed to check if I got on behind him? I think we’ll already know whether I’ll get behind him or not,” Lindsay said.
Ryan sighed. “No, I’m not making it that easy. You’ll have to walk along the track.”
“Think you can manage?” Gavin asked.
Michael and Lindsay nodded. “I think I can.”
“Alright,” Jeremy started. “Michael, you can walk beside me. Lindsay, you gotta walk behind.”
“Got it,” Lindsay replied.
“Ready whenever you are.”
“I’m ready,” Michael said.
“Me too,” Lindsay said.
“Okay. Just remember,” Jeremy said as he started to walk down the path. Michael quickly caught up to him and Lindsay got behind the two of them. “Meanest dog you’ll ever meet, it ain’t the hound dog in the street. He bares his teeth and tears your skin, but brother, that’s the worst of him. The dog you really got to dread is the one that howls inside your head. It's him whose howling drives men mad and a mind to its undoing,” he told Michael as the three of them walked away.
“You think they’ll make it?” Gavin asked Ryan as they watched the group walk away.
“I don’t know,” Ryan admitted.
“Ryan, you let them go.”
“I let them try,” Ryan replied with a sigh.
Then how ‘bout you and I? Are we gonna try again?” Gavin asked, wondering if their fight was truly over.
“It’s almost spring. We’ll try again next fall,” Ryan replied, remembering just how important the outside world was to Gavin.
Gavin broke out into a grin. “Wait for me this time, luv?”
“I will,” Ryan replied with a smile. Gavin reached over and pulled Ryan into a huge hug.
Jeremy continued to lead Michael and Lindsay out of the mines. As they walked along, Lindsay started calling out, “Wait for me, I’m coming. Wait, I’m coming with you. Wait for me, I’m coming too, I’m coming too,” from behind. This was enough to remind Michael of Lindsay’s presence.
“You got a lonesome road to walk,” Jeremy reminded Michael. “It ain’t along the railroad track. It ain’t along the black-top tar you’ve walked a hundred times before. I’ll tell you where the real road lies: between your ears, behind your eyes. That is the path to Paradise, and, likewise, the road to ruin.”
“Wait for me, I’m coming,” Michael and Lindsay said together. “Wait, I’m coming with you. Wait for me, I’m coming too, I’m coming too. Wait, wait.”
A mysterious black fog started to swirl around Michael’s head. “What the fuck is this?!”
“Wait. Wait...” Lindsay still called out from behind.
“Dammit, I don’t think this is one of Ryan’s tricks,” Jeremy said.
“Should we keep walking?”
“We gotta. If you guys get out of here, he can escape the fog.”
“The Fates are trying to screw things up,” Jack said.
“Good guess, brother,” Jeremy replied.
“Don’t do this, Fates. They’re so close,” Geoff murmured.
“What, what is this!?” Michael demands in his cloud of thick black fog surrounded his head.
“Doubt comes in,” the voice of all three Fates started.
“And strips the paint,” Mariel’s voice added.
“Doubt comes in.”
“And turns the wine,” Mica’s voice said, next.
“Doubt comes in.
“And leaves a trace of vinegar and turpentine,” Meg’s voice finally said.
“Where are you? Where are you now?” the voices asked. Michael began to quiver with fear. “Doubt comes in and kills the lights. Doubt comes in and chills the air.”
“Doubt comes in and all falls silent. It’s as though you aren’t there,” Michael said, quietly.
“Oh no,” Lindsay said as she heard Michael’s thoughts of doubt.
“Where are you? Where are you now?” Michael asked along with the voices.
“Michael, you’re shivering,” Lindsay started. “Is it cold or fear? Just keep singing. The coldest night of the coldest year comes right before the spring,” she called out, trying to break through Michael’s fog.
“I think the Fates heard what Ryan said in his panic attack and are using it against Michael,” Jeremy said to Lindsay.
“Why?”
“They probably think a heartless man is better than a spineless king.”
Back in the fog, Michael was still being taunted by the voices of the Fates. “Doubt comes in with tricky fingers. Doubt comes in with fickle tongues,” the voices said.
“Doubt comes in and my heart falters,” Michael said as he shook. “And forgets the songs it sung.”
“Where are you? Where are you now?” Michael and the Fates ask.
“Michael, hold on, hold on tight,” Lindsay tried again. “It won’t be long ’cause the darkest hour of the darkest night comes right before the dawn.”
Michael screamed in anguish and pivoted on his feet to turn around. The second he did, the fog lifted. When he opened his eyes, he saw Lindsay there. Lindsay gasped as her eyes met Michael’s.
“Lindsay. I… I don’t know what just happened…” Michael said as he began to tremble.
“Fates!!!!!” Jeremy yelled. The Fates then appeared in front of Jeremy. “I can’t believe you’d use Ryan’s panic attack against these guys!!!”
“It’s what Ryan would have wanted,” Mariel explained.
“NO, IT’S NOT!”
“He made us, so we know what Ryan would have wanted better than you do,” Meg taunted. Jeremy growled in response.
“We are his voices of reason, after all,” Mica finished.
“JUST LEAVE!!!!!!” Jeremy screamed.
“We’ll see you later then,” all three Fates said.
Meg walked over to Lindsay and patted her on the shoulder. “And we’ll see you later, too,” she said. Then all three Fates vanished.
“We… failed…” Lindsay whispered as tears began to trickle down her face.
Michael ran over to Jeremy and began shaking. “Jeremy. You could just let us walk back the way we were supposed to and we can pretend this never happened.”
“I…” Jeremy paused and sighed. “I can’t do that.”
“Why not?!”
“’Cause if I don’t tell Ryan what happened, then THEY will. I’m really sorry, brother.”
“I…” Michael said as he began to weep.
“Michael…” Lindsay said, crying as well.
“I’ve… I’ve dammed you…”
“Michael…” she moaned as she walked over to him. He pulled him into a hug and they cried together.
“I… I’m so sorry…”
“I still love you…”
“I’m sorry guys, but I think I need to take Lindsay back, now…” Jeremy trailed off sadly.
“Just… let me kiss her one last time…” Michael pleaded. Jeremy nodded and Michael and Lindsay’s lips crashed together. The pushed their tongues into each other’s mouths like there wouldn’t be a tomorrow, because there wouldn’t be a tomorrow for their relationship. They finished their kiss and pulled each other into a deep hug.
“I’ll love you until the end of time,” Lindsay told Michael as she held him close.
“And I will never love again.”
Jeremy gave a defeated sigh. “I think we need to go back now,” he informed them.
Lindsay released her hug and stepped away from Michael. “Goodbye Michael,” she said softly as she turned and walked over to Jeremy.
“Goodbye… Lindsay…” Michael said.
Lindsay got back over to Jeremy and he shook his head. He then began to walk back to the mines and Lindsay followed behind. Michael wept more tears than he had ever wept before. He didn’t know how he would live the rest of his life without his love. He wipped the tears away from his face and sighed. He knew he had to go back to the surface alone, so he began his lonely journey home.
“NO NO NO!!!!” Geoff yelled in anguish.
Jack’s eyes had begun to water. “Geoff…” he quietly said.
“There was a railroad line on a road to Hell. There was a young man down on bended knee. And that is the ending of the tale of Michael and Lindsay,” Jeremy concluded.
“THAT CAN’T BE HOW IT ENDS!” Geoff yelled.
“Geoff… do you feel something over this story?” Jack asked.
“YEAH! And I was rooting for Michael but he went and fucked it up!”
“Cause, here’s the thing, to know how it ends is to still begin to tell it again as if it might turn out this time. I learned that from a friend of mine,” Jeremy explained.
“Well tell us the story again and give it a happy ending, this time.”
“Geoff, I really liked this story, but he doesn’t need to tell it again,” Jack told Geoff.
“Well…” Jeremy started. Then he sighed. “That wasn’t actually the end of the story.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, I normally don’t tell this when I normally tell people the end but, I like you two. The interactions with you along the way made this story fun to tell again. I’m gonna tell you guys how the story really ends, the true ending, ‘cause you guys have earned it.”
“Thank you.”
“Well, come on. I can’t wait to hear this,” Geoff said in excitement.
“So…” Jeremy began.
Michael continued to walk down the rail road track by himself. It was the most depressing walk of his life. “Guess it’s back to the outside world by myself,” he said to himself.
He had almost made it the opening of the mines when he heard someone yell, “WAIT!!!!” He turned around and saw Mr. Haywood running after him. Mr. Haywood had almost caught up with him when he paused and grabbed the wall. “God… pencil pushing… has made me out of shape,” he wheezed.
“What, come up here to rub in the fact that you own my wife’s soul?” Michael asked with a scowl.
“No… not in the slightest,” Mr. Haywood said as he stood up. “I actually came up here to thank you,” he said, walking over to Michael.
“Thank me… for what?”
“For saving my marriage. Gavin hasn’t looked at me with this much love in years. And I haven’t seen him smile down here in, well, ever.”
“Well, I’m so glad your marriage is saved, because mine is destroyed,” Michael replied.
“I’m very sorry about that. I did not actually want the Fates to trick you like they did.”
“So, can I have Lindsay back then?” Michael asked with hope.
“No, I’m not going back on what I said. Everyone saw the exit requirement I gave you, and they know it didn’t work. If I go back on it, everyone will see me as weak. Was it fair to you? No. But, I can’t change what happened.”
“So, you did come here to rub it in.”
“No! I came up here to offer you a proposition,” Mr. Haywood said.
“Alright, Mr. Haywood, what’s your proposition, then?”
“Please, call me Ryan.”
“Okay, but what are you offering?”
“You’ll never be allowed to enter the mines again in your life…” Ryan started.
“Yeah, I’m already not really interested.”
“BUT, Haywoodstown will become your afterlife.”
Michael raised an eyebrow. “Aren’t you basically asking me if I want to damn myself to Hell?”
“Hell is what you make of it. Haywoodstown doesn’t have to be Hell if you don’t want it to be.”
“I…”
“And that way you’ll get to spend the rest of eternity with Lindsay.”
“I… I…”
“So… do we have a deal?” Ryan asked as he held out his hand to shake.
“I… Gavin told me to never make a deal with you…” Michael said, nervously.
“I talked to Gavin about this before I came to get you. He and Jeremy said they’d even play messenger for you and Lindsay. It will be like she isn’t even gone.”
“I…” Then Michael sighed. “I don’t really have anything else I can lose,” he said as he grabbed Ryan’s hand. They shook hands and sparks few off of the handshake. “Whoa,” Michael said as they finished the handshake.
“I guess you have to go, now. But, I’ll see you again in six or seven decades; not that long if you think about.”
“Are you kidding me?! Seventy years is a long time!”
“Eh, time blends together down here,” Ryan said as he shrugged.
“Well… I guess I’ll see you later… Ryan…” Michael said as he turned to walk away towards the exit of the mines.
“See you again soon, Michael Jones,” Ryan said as he waved goodbye from behind.
Michael wasn’t exactly sure how he was supposed to feel anymore when he left the mines. He had basically just damned himself to working endlessly in Haywoodstown mines in his afterlife. But, he would get to spend the rest of eternity with Lindsay. When he really thought about it, he guessed he could say that it was worth it in the end. He left Haywoodstown, smiling. He knew he would see Lindsay again, one day.
Part I | Part II | Part III | Part IV | Part V | Part VI | | Part VII | Part VII.5 (NSFW) | Part VIII | Part IX | Part X (Final)
Once you get out of Los Santos and onto the highway, it's pretty easy to go real goddamn fast.
Ryan teases the throttle, edging up to eighty, then eighty-five, then ninety. The glittering lights of the city shrink in the rear windows of the cars ahead of him. There's not much traffic, but there's enough. He weaves in and out, cutting it too close, never checking his mirrors or his blind spots. Horns doppler away behind him, momentary shrieks in the night. The Akuma growls, eating up the flat desert road.
Faster. Faster. Ninety-five, a hundred. The engine's running hot, deafening. Red and white lights blur in his vision. His breath fogs the visor of his helmet. He whips into the HOV lane and scrapes the knee of his jeans on the concrete divider. He can still taste Gavin in the back of his throat.
Faster. Faster.
He swerves around a minivan and takes the side mirror off a Prius. Sparks zip past and a sharp pain splinters through his elbow. There's a wide stretch of open road ahead. Ryan guns it.
The Akuma surges forward, bucking up so sharply it almost throws him off. His hands white-knuckle on the handlebars. He heaves his weight forward and the front tire slams back down. His teeth crack together and his stomach lurches. He never lets up on the throttle.
One-ten, one-thirteen, one-fifteen, topping out. The bike screams out into the wide open spaces of the Grand Senora, a comet, a meteor. Every twitch of Ryan's shaking hands threatens to reduce him to a greasy smear on the pavement. If that's how he goes, so be it.
Faster. Faster. Faster.
The Akuma has nothing left to give. The throttle's wide open, the engine a deafening roar. He flattens himself against the bike while the wind rips at his jacket. He can't fucking steer like this, the next patch of traffic is racing towards him, it's not enough, it's not enough, it's not enough. . . .
He whistles between a semi and a pickup and the vortices shove him hard. He loses control of the bike. The handlebars wrench in his hands. The whole bike fishtails. He fights it. He careens across four lanes and into the dirt. He comes off the bike.
The ground knocks his breath out. He tumbles so many times he forgets which way is up. The helmet cracks like a gunshot. He skids to a stop in a cloud of dust. The bike smashes into something with a tremendous crunch.
Son of a bitch.
Ryan lies there in the dirt for a long time, waiting to be able to feel his body again. All he's getting right now is pain and adrenaline, so much that he's just floating in a sea of them. The visor of his helmet is covered with a meteor-storm of scratches. His ragged breathing is loud inside it. Headlights rake past like the beams of a dozen lighthouses. If anybody saw him wreck, they don't care. He's a ways from the road, it's dark, he's wearing black. Unless the bike's on fire, nobody's going to notice him now.
As his mind settles back in, he takes a slow inventory. At least a couple of his ribs are broken. He doesn't think anything else is, but he hasn't tried moving yet. He doesn't think he's injured his spine, but it might be hard to tell. Breathing is still going well, and from the way his heart pounds in his ears, that's still working, too.
With one clumsy hand, he reaches up and flips up the visor of his helmet. Cool air rushes in over his eyes. Half the sky overhead is still greyed-out by the lights of Los Santos. He didn't manage to get that far, after all.
Typical.
Groaning, Ryan rolls onto his side and pulls the helmet off. His broken ribs shoot pain through his chest and he winces, but he's had worse. The helmet rattles on the desert pavement when he drops it. The back of it is split wide open. The night air combs cold fingers through his sweaty hair. He's shaking like crazy, floaty and weird from the adrenaline. His eyes won't focus. He wonders if he's concussed. He lifts his head and looks around for the Akuma.
It's about a hundred feet away, lying at the foot of a plume of dust, or maybe smoke. It doesn't look like it's on fire from here, but he fancies he can smell burning plastic. Ryan coughs, and gets another volley of protests from his broken ribs.
By the light of the passing cars, he heaves himself to his feet and staggers over to the bike.
Oh yeah. He's gonna be walking home. The white smoke of failure is dribbling out of the engine, and all the electronics are dead. The key's snapped off in the ignition. Both tires are shredded. That big crunch noise was apparently just the bike hitting the ground after going over a bump in the berm. The paint job's ruined.
"That'll buff out," he says weakly, and then coughs, because his lungs are full of dust and smoke.
Ryan stands there for a good minute and a half, just staring, out of things to do. He's bleeding in a couple places, road rash striped up one calf where his jeans got yanked up in the crash. Everything is sore, all his muscles wrenched up tight.
He tells himself he's lucky to be alive. He doesn't feel very lucky.
Slowly, he turns around and sits on the bike. He fishes in his pocket for his phone—which is fucking shattered too, of course. He sighs and drops it into the dust, resting his elbows on his knees. He lets his head hang heavy. His eyes drift closed.
He can still see the look on Jeremy's face as he died.
Lacing his fingers together, he squeezes his temples with his thumbs. There's a lump in his throat that he can't swallow down, a disgust he can't compartmentalize. He's still shaking from the crash. Every breath sends arrows of pain shooting through his chest. His head is muzzy, his eyes stinging.
It's not enough. It's not enough.
"Fuck," he whispers. His breath tastes like blood, and shitty energy drinks, and Gavin. He chokes back vomit, and tears, and the scream that's been boiling in his chest for months.
The worst part about it all is that Gavin's right. Nobody sees the Vagabond's face and lives. That's Rule Number One. Jeremy was dead the moment Ryan took off the mask. No matter what else is true, that fact is absolute. It's Ryan's fault for trying to go off-script, Ryan's fault for not following orders.
Why can't he just follow orders. Why can't he be the perfect assassin that Gavin wants, that the crew needs. Who does he think he is, anyway? A person? No. He's the Vagabond first and foremost, a scourge and a terror, the myth, the legend. He doesn't get to be Ryan anymore, and this is why.
Because Ryan is a strong, independent, well-adjusted man who can't do anything right.
It's why he even built the Vagabond in the first place. Working IT in some shithole call center gave him enough repressed rage to burn down a hundred cities the size of Los Santos, and there was nothing he could do about it. His first gun sat in his safe for nine months because he could never bring himself to use it. He just didn't want to go to jail, didn't want to get gunned down by the cops, didn't want to lose his job and his shitty apartment and his stupid little weekend hobbies. Shooting up his office, however tempting, would've made things inconvenient.
The mask was a much more impulsive buy than the gun, but it turned out to be a much more dangerous one.
Ryan had a lot of skills, even before he started practicing in earnest. Guns got on well with him, and so did bikes and cars. He's got the IT thing covered head to toe and back to front. He robbed his first bank about two years ago, on the weekend, with the mask and the gun, and went back to work on Monday because he didn't have anything better to do.
A thousand dollars wasn't much of a haul, in the grand scheme of things, but the rush was incomparable.
He's not sure when it got so out of control, when the Vagabond stopped being a costume and started being an entity, when Ryan became an accessory to his own life. He's not working that IT job anymore, that's for sure, and he's moved out of his shitty apartment.
He kills people now. That's a thing. It's a thing he's never really quite come to terms with, because he always does it with the mask on, and hell, people are all fucking awful anyways, so who gives a shit, right? Everybody deserves to get their head blown off. So long as he doesn't get caught, who cares? His conscience withered up and fell out years ago, long before the first bank. He guesses he's probably a serial killer, technically. Or something like that. A shitload of people are dead, either way.
But there's Jeremy. Or there was. He didn't seem so bad. He was just young and scared and doing his job.
And Ryan—as the Vagabond—was just following orders. So it's not his fault.
Isn't it?
Before Ryan can spiral any deeper into his own head, his earpiece chirps. He just about has a heart attack. Of course, of all the things to have survived the crash, of course that did.
"Ryan," comes the voice in his ear, and holy shit, it's not Gavin.
"Lindsay?" he croaks. His voice is rusty, hoarse. He has no idea how long he's been sitting here.
"Hey," she says. "Uh, you don't have to, like, respond if you don't want to. Just, well, Gavin mentioned you were, uh, out of town? For the night? So I wanted to just let you know that I can feed Edgar, if you're gonna be gone for a while, or. . . ."
Ryan rubs his eyes. He's so tired. Everything hurts. If only, he thinks, the Vagabond was a real person, and not just Ryan in a mask. If only he could be that cold and hard and empty, all the way through, all the time.
"Thanks," he says. "That'd be great. It's . . . gonna be a long night."
"Sure, sure," says Lindsay. "And hey, y'know, if you need anything else, uh, just let me know, okay? I would've called your phone, but it's off, so . . . so yeah. Gavin's letting me use the thing, because—we were kiiiiiinda worried you might've, like, wrapped yourself around a telephone pole or something? But it sounds like you're fine, so, I'll just—yeah."
"Yeah," says Ryan. There's a moment of silence, and then he blurts, "I wrecked my bike."
"You huh?"
"My—my bike. It's sorta . . . um . . . totaled. I might be a little stuck. Don't—tell Gavin. About the bike."
"Jesus, Ryan! Are you okay?"
No. He's so not fucking okay, he's the least okay he's ever fucking been, he wishes he'd left the helmet at home so he could've just spattered his idiot brains out all over the fucking desert.
"Yeah, I'm fine," he says. "Just uh . . . I miiiiiight need a ride home?"
She sighs. He can almost hear the comical marbly noise of her eyes rolling.
"Fine, I can come and get you. Where are you?"
"Uh. Somewhere off the Fifteen. To the—to the Los Santos side of Barstow."
"Nearest mile marker?"
"I'd have to kinda hike back to the highway, and I'm . . . not really. . . ."
"Still in the Vagabond getup, huh."
"Yeeaaaahhh, kinda."
"Okay, so give it to me in hours-driven."
"I don't know that that'll be much help."
"Why?" Her voice is annoyed, anticipating a stupid answer, which he gives.
"I was maybe going a little bit over the speed limit."
"A little bit, or a lotta bit?"
"A lotta bit."
"How much?"
"Iiiii was goin' about . . . uh, Real Fast miles per hour."
"Goddammit, Ryan. I didn't wanna have to do this, but I guess I don't have a choice." Her voice becomes muffled as she turns away from the mic. "Hey, Gavin, I'm gonna need his coords."
Ryan's blood turns to ice. Gavin's been listening the whole time. Gavin knows what he was out here doing, and Gavin will know why. Ryan rubs the painful lump on the inside of his left forearm, the hard knot just under the skin.
Gavin also, somehow, convinced him to get microchipped. There's no getting away from Gavin.
"All right," says Lindsay. "Hang tight, I should be there in about uh, an hour and a half. Okay?"
Why do I keep redesigning Gav’s dress? For the sole purpose of making it easier for me to draw. I change it little by little. This is the first time I’ve redesigned my babes at the same time.
I dont wanna say I spent the last few days making this but I also wanna say that I love my sad son
Basically, the beginning is Ryan helping Gavin be more outgoing and as the other kings (Geoff mostly) are learning to relax around Gav, Jack is attacked by a mob and is injured severely, Geoff blames Gavin and wants him arrested and possibly killed, Michael holds Geoff back because he believes Gavin would never do something like that and is unwilling to see his friend put to death. Ryan, who loves Gavin but still shaken up by the event, demands Gavin leaves, Gavin does and while hes in a state of shock and heartbreak because his love might believe he really is a monster, he starts to succumb to the Netherworld’s insanity until he's crazy and really does invade the kingdoms with the mobs. As the other kings (besides Jack) prepares for battle, Ryan watches as Gavin, his Gavin, becomes a monster. When Gavin is floating in front of Ryan, its an ironic scene because the way they met is Gavin, who didn't have full control over his floating abilities, was attempting to leave the Ramsey Kingdom back to his domain out of resignation (everyone, minus Michael, was wary of him). Ryan sees him and talks him out of it, holding out his hand to Gavin, Gavin tearing up when he realizes Ryan isn’t scared of him.
OH MY GOD I HAVE BEEN LOOKING FOR YOU FOR AGES "i saw your sit up straight gavin how dare you ill sit as gay as i please" and ive been looking for you for s o l o n g i have been blessed by the meme th a n k
I loved that comic…have a redraw of it cause why the hell not!
