Chapter Text
Trevor paused when he spotted Franklin by the house entrance, extending his arms with a smile. “Oh, my N-word!” He greeted with a rough chuckle, making his approach and bracing a hand against the fence. “Wassup, homie, uh?” He vaulted the fence.
Until his foot got caught against the railing, causing him to face plant onto the pavement with a grunt.
Franklin failed to hold his surprise, bursting into a fit of laughter while the older man scrambled to push himself to his feet. “Is that how you act, huh? When a friend makes a mistake, huh?” Trevor questioned, offended and maybe even embarrassed.
The younger man coughed, struggling to calm himself down as he raised his hands in an attempt to ease the approaching man. “No, man. No.”
“Really?” Trevor snarled. “Oh, so what, it’s just me getting hurt? Is that funny?”
“No, man—”
“Well, fuck you!" The grody man snapped, circling Franklin. “I’m gonna put you in the fucking ground you laugh at me again!”
Trevor’s outburst was enough to calm Franklin down, any laughter ceased because now shit was real. “Man, calm down.”
“I have met a lot of assholes in my life, but you…” The older man paced around him, pointing a cranky finger. “Oh, you’re not long for this world if this is the way you fuckin’ act. You little jumped-up motherfucker!" He snarled, breathing heavily.
Franklin sighed. “Look, how about this, man? Calm down. It was funny at first, man. I made a mistake,” he admitted, trying to save his ass and calm the angry man down. “Unfortunately, man, you fell. It was funny, alright? I apologise.”
Trevor turned away with a growl, before turning back with a deep breath. “I accept… your apology. Okay?” He didn’t bother to wait for a response. “Alright so, let’s hug it out,” he held his arms out, Franklin believing him and stepping closer.
Until Trevor yelled and pretended to punch him. Laughing at the younger man’s face at his shocked expression. “Right? Yeah, I fuckin’ got ya!”
“Oh, so you’re funny, huh?”
“Fuck no, I’m not funny,” Trevor corrected himself with a groan, hunching down as he hissed, “I’m a fuckin’ asshole." He groaned again, massaging his temples as a wave of ache washed over his head. “Fuck, I… I had a difficult childhood.”
Franklin looked the man up and down, both confused and concerned as hell. “Damn, man, you alright?”
Trevor put a hand up. “I’m just… I’m just fuckin’ on edge, you know? Look, I love you, right? But… I would’ve…” He took a shaky breath. “I would’ve just fucking—”
Franklin grimaced. “Look, look, man,” he held his hands up. Maybe changing the subject would help calm the crazy man down. “Lester said you had some information for us about Michael.”
“Michael?” Trevor briefly paused at the name, before turning around. “Fuck Michael! I hope he’s dead!”
“Man, I know y’all two, man. Come on, man,” Franklin sighed. It was always the same bullshit when it came to the two. “You two had beef before, but what the fuck happened in North Yankton?" He asked. “Somebody pinched him, man. Who?”
Trevor sighed. “My friend Ron met these Chinese assholes. They’re from Yangshan in China,” he explained. “We had some problems. They mistakenly thought Michael was a human being and kidnapped him.”
“Yeah, and now it looks like they’re holding him somewhere in the city,” he pointed out.
“I guess,” Trevor rasped.
“Come on, bro.”
“Well go fuck yourself,” Trevor snarled. “You want that piece of shit, that’s your fucking business, alright? He’s dead to me, alright? And chances are, if and when I see him, he’s gonna be dead to everyone else as well.” He started walking away.
After finding Brad’s corpse instead of Michael’s— after writing letters to the prison that was supposedly holding Brad for almost a decade , he couldn’t give two shits about what happened to Michael. The most he hoped for was the Chinese to do their job right and kill that dumbass— clean the world from narcissistic, lying assholes like Townley, and save him from problematic people like him.
He was still sore. He was angry. He was sad. After all those years— thinking he’d lost his two best friends, fucking everything turned out to be a lie and he would never forgive Michael. Ever.
“Bro, don’t do that,” Franklin made an attempt to stop him.
Trevor growled. “You’re pushing your luck, pal,” he warned.
“Oh come on, man,” Franklin groaned, unafraid. “Look, I don’t know what the fuck went down in North Yankton, but Michael’s in trouble and it’s ‘cause of you,” he reasoned. “We gotta go save him.”
Trevor scoffed loudly, turning around. “And why? After he fucking lied to me about literally everything, why should I help you save a pathetic waste like him, huh? Tell me!"
“Because I do everythin’ without a question for your dumbass!” Franklin snapped back. “Every time y’all ring me, I pick up the damn phone. Everytime y’all call me over, I come the fuck over,” he listed. “Oh, and every time the three of us meet up, I deal with both of your whiny asses,” he added. “So please, just this once, help me out, man. I can’t leave a brother hangin’, but I can’t do this shit alone either.”
Trevor was breathing heavily by the end of Franklin’s reasoning, pacing around the walkway as his mind raced with choices. Every inch of his bones was telling him to let the bastard hang— let him die, but something else was telling him to do it. Help Franklin save that fucker.
And then what?
"Fuck!" he shouted. “Fuck you!” He huffed, frustrated. “Alright, let’s go save that piece of shit, then.”
Despite the seething rage Trevor seemed to be threaded with, Franklin was relieved. Whatever the issue was between them could wait for now, he figured. They could sort this shit out later, when one of them wasn’t on the verse of death.
“C’mon, man. I’ll drive,” he motioned, walking to his car and climbing in, ringing Lester by the time Trevor actually climbed into the passenger seat with a grumble.
“Hey, it’s me and T,” he spoke up when Lester answered.
< What did Trevor say? >
“Man, Michael’s being held by a Chinese crew… because of Trevor,” he briefly eyed the grody man before starting up the engine and commencing their journey, surprised that Trevor was choosing to stay silent.
< The irony isn’t lost. I’m sending you an app for your phone, Michael just came back online. This’ll track its signal. It’ll work better the closer you get, so be careful. >
“Sure.”
“Can always count on you, Wheels,” Trevor barked out before Lester ended the call.
Franklin shook his head, driving them towards the location his phone was directing them to. “Alright man, is there anything I gotta know about the Chinese? Like, how many are gonna be there and shit?”
Trevor hummed in consideration, watching the scenery change as they drove by. “Well, obviously there’s gonna be a lot of them. They’re mostly after me because of some communication issues, you know? There were misunderstandings when we negotiated business deals,” he explained, before chuckling darkly. “So I guess it’ll be a pleasant surprise when we show up.”
“Shit, I ain’t even gonna ask about what misunderstandings y’all had,” Franklin sighed. “We just gotta find Michael and get him out of there before it’s too late— it’s sayin’ they’re keeping him at the 'Raven Slaughterhouse'.”
Trevor winced. “Ah, that place…”
“What? You know that place?”
“I know that it’s used as a front by the Chinese for their super-secret illegal activities. Meat shop by day, illegal shit by night— or, whichever way they prefer,” he shrugged, before grinning. “If we’re too late, we might be having Michael-burgers for dinner.”
Franklin scrunched his nose in disgust. “Man, you’re disgusting."
“I’m just fucking with you, F! I haven’t tried human meat yet, and I don’t plan on having Michael as my first. He's probably got more fat than meat on his ass,” he muttered.
Franklin shook his head, “Man, can you quit talking about eating Michael? We gotta focus,” he shifted the topic. “Anyways, we’re almost there. I’m gonna park the car across so we can check the place out first,” he stated, turning into another road— the slaughterhouse just up ahead.
Soon enough, Franklin rolled the car to a stop, exiting and rounding to the trunk so he could retrieve his rifle, handing one over to Trevor. “Alright, man. We gotta get this shit done quickly, alright? We find Michael and get him out of this place.”
Trevor patted Franklin’s shoulder. "You just focus on getting Mikey out while I have a little chat with the Chinese,” he ordered, checking his ammo as he approached the entrance of the slaughterhouse.
————
The last three days had been a vivid blur for Michael— from the very start of this bullshit to now, hanging from a meat hook, battered and bruised. Every bone in his body throbbed and ached, but especially his feet. He heavily assumed that his right ankle was sprained, because even moving it an inch hurt like hell, and the tight pressure around his ankles wasn’t making things any less painful.
He’d spent the first day of his captivity asleep— travelling, possibly. By the time the fuckers circled his dead car, it was too late for him to make an escape so he’d been forced to comply. Exiting the vehicle slowly with his hands raised above his head, surrendering.
Until he met the butt of a gun.
From there, he couldn’t remember much— any time he stirred from his unconscious state, he’d just get knocked out again until on the second day of his captivity, he found himself tied to a steel chair.
The Chinese made it a mission to get him to confess where Trevor was— referring to him as his ‘lover’, much to his horror. Alongside trying to convince them that he didn’t know where the fuck Trevor was hiding, he was also trying to get them to understand that he was in no relationship with Trevor.
But that only earned him a baseball bat to any part of his body, and a repeat of the question but in an angrier tone. The interrogations went on until the third day, until the men realised that Trevor really wasn’t coming to rescue his damsel in distress. Not that Michael was surprised.
After all the bullets and broken bones he’d dealt with, he was destined to die in a slaughterhouse owned by the Chinese crime group. Just a slab of meat.
He couldn’t help but wonder how his family would receive the news— let alone react to it. He loved his family— as fucked up as everyone was, including himself, he really did love them. He’d sacrifice himself for the sake of their comfort and survival.
But he could only imagine them celebrating their new freedom from his problems— rich and problem-free.
Amanda wouldn’t have to hide her affairs, heck— she wouldn’t have to deal with Michael’s antics. Meanwhile Jimmy could game and party all he wants, become a potato on that bed and never get a job. While Tracey could make a fool of herself and star on ‘Fame or Shame’— or hang out with some shady dudes on a rich boat much better than his.
He was yanked from his sentiments when the leader of the mobster approached him: Wei Cheng. A somewhat elderly— white haired, rough faced man with a gruff voice matching his appearance.
He groaned, making a final attempt at trying to convince them that he had zero relations with Trevor Philips. “I told you, he ain’t my ji lao!”
“Don’t try to persuade me you’re not lovers,” Wei rumbled, signalling one of the members to get to position.
“He’s laughing at you! You fucking idiot!” Michael snapped. “You’re making a mistake!” He hunched up in an attempt to reach the hook, only to hiss at the sharp pain shooting from his ankle.
“It cost a lot of money to track you down. I had to call every favor I could in the midwest, and then you killed several good men. Good day, huh?” The leader argued back, already stepping away.
“Good day, good fucking day to you!"
“Kill him. Trevor Philips isn’t coming,” he ordered, the member pressing the button and activating the machine, watching as the hook started moving along.
“Hey, hey— woah!” Only then did it set into Michael that he was really going to be minced. “No— hey, hey! This is a big fuckin’ mistake!” he reached up again, gritting his teeth against the pain.
“God fuckin’ damn it!” He growled, scanning his surroundings to see if he could use anything to help free himself. Of course he couldn’t find anything— and he heavily doubted any of the men standing around would do anything to help, either.
Not a moment later, he heard the sound of gunshots alongside a load of shouting— the voices muffled but enough to distinguish that it was the members.
And that’s when one of the members hurried in to alert the others: “The boyfriend and adopted son is here!”
“Adopted son?" Michael questioned— only to piece together that they were talking about Franklin. He heard even more gunshots, biting his lip with anticipation and glancing at his surroundings again, noticing he was nearing the scary saw machine.
But then the machine suddenly stuttered to a stop with an unhappy growl, and he heard Franklin calling out to him from the room next door. “Shit, I can’t believe it! The machine’s jammed, get here quick, bro!”
“Two seconds!”
He’d never been more relieved to see Franklin appear from behind the wall, only to pause when he heard a scoff from behind him— realising a man was aiming the gun at him.
“You want me to waste—”
A bullet whizzed past and interrupted the man, his lifeless body collapsing backwards into the machine and getting sawed away gruesomely. But the voice that followed shortly after only made his heart drop.
“Mikey~! Guess today’s not the day you’re destined to become a meat patty!” Trevor called out, stepping out from around Franklin and walking on. “Get him down. I’ll take care of the incoming,” he ordered.
“Shit, am I glad to see you,” Michael chuckled shakily as Franklin handed him a pistol.
“Glad to see you alive, man! Thought you were dead,” the youngest of the three admitted, moving to the wall across from Trevor and covering Michael as more men emerged from the other side, firing at them.
Michael aimed the rifle at chains and fired, freeing himself from the hook only to topple down to the hard floor, shouting in pain when his ankle smacked against the concrete. “F-fuck! ”
“What the fuck’s goin’ on?! You get shot?!”
“N-No,” he gasped, pushing himself to a sit and holding onto his leg. “I— fuck, my ankle’s just fucked,” he hissed.
“Are you fuckin’ serious?!"
Trevor growled, annoyed by how slowly things were progressing. “Get the fuck up!” He ordered as he left his spot, entrusting Franklin to take over while he yanked Michael to his feet, earning another pained gasp from the Irishman.
“E-Easy, you asshole!” He snarled.
“This isn’t the fucking hospital, so don’t expect the princess treatment,” the grody man snarled back, slinging Michael’s arm over shoulder to support the Irishman.
“We need to get out of this place now!" He urged them to get moving, having to trust Michael and Franklin to shoot any of the fuckers that got in their way because his hands were a little occupied. It didn’t help that Michael was putting half his body weight against him— keeping the injured leg hovering as they hopped along.
“There’s the way out!” Franklin pointed over the gunfire, the number of men coming their way decreasing a noticeable amount— making their journey just a little easier.
“Come on!” The youngest of the three led the way outside, hurrying towards the car sitting up ahead and breaking the window to unlock it, pulling the back passenger door open for Michael before climbing into the driver's seat.
Michael groaned as he was plopped into the seat, using the remainder of his energy to pull himself back so he was pressing his back against the other passenger door and keeping his sprained ankle resting on the seat. “Fuck,” he sighed.
Trevor shot the last man before climbing into the front passenger seat, watching Franklin hotwire the car before releasing a heavy breath once they finally got moving— driving away from the slaughterhouse.
“Is that it? Are we clear?” Michael asked from the back, glancing outside through the back window.
“Yeah, man, we clear,” Franklin confirmed, noting how Trevor wasn’t showing any sign of engaging in the conversation.
“Fuck me, man! What a scene that was,” he huffed. “We’re going home, right?”
“Ye—”
“No-can-do,” Trevor suddenly piped up. “We’re going to my place.”
“Wait, what?” Michael glanced at Trevor. “Why?”
“We didn’t kill all of the Chinese, you know?” he explained. “If you go back to your house, they’re just gonna show up at your doorstep and fuck you over again, and then it’s going to be a fucking inconvenience for me and Franklin over here because we’re gonna have to save your incompetent ass again.”
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Michael scoffed. “After what happened in NY—”
“Yes! After finding out how much of a lying narcissistic piece of shit you are, we’re going to camp at my place until everything cools down with the Chinese. Then, you can leave and do whatever the fuck you want.”
“Fuck me,” the Irishman groaned in defeat, slumping back against the door, only to wince when the motion jolted his leg.
“Do I gotta stay up there with y’all too?” Franklin finally spoke up.
“Nah. They don’t know you or where you live, so you’re safe, Frankie. In fact, drop yourself off at your house. I’ll drive the rest of the way from there.”
“Aight, man. You sure you guys are gonna be alright? I ain’t gonna walk into a blood bath whenever I come up there?”
Trevor barked a rough chuckle. “No promises there, buddy.”
“You know what, I think I prefer the hook now that I think about it,” Michael admitted, sarcasm threading through his words as he averted his gaze from Trevor.
Thinking about what he could’ve done to deserve such a fate.
Soon enough, Trevor replaced Franklin’s position when the younger man exited the car, assuring Michael that he’ll come visit him in a few days. “Look, man. I’m glad we saved your ass in time. I’ll come and visit y’all in a few days, aight? So try not to kill each other before then,” he requested, chuckling when Trevor gave him the middle finger.
From there, the ex-duo commenced their ‘long’ journey to Sandy Shores, Michael choosing to rest his eyes throughout the whole journey because he was exhausted, hungry and very much in pain— and also because he was sitting in the same car as Trevor Philips after only days of their falling out.