#the DoE handles a shitload of funding bullshit

[cannibalisticskittles]

jesus christ, man

[vagrantblvrd]

When Midnight Comes Around (1/1)

Summary:  There are times Michael deeply regrets ever hearing about the Fake AH Crew.

Notes: For @miss-ingno who asked for "Are you kidding me right now, you asshole? No one's going to buy that!" (Because reasons.)

AO3

“We're going to fucking die,” Michael says, watching two more cop cars squeal to a stop in front of the bank they were doing a sub-par job of robbing. “Right here. Today. We are going to die.”

There's a shriek over the comms, Geoff yelling at someone about something, Michael's not really listening anymore. Not when there are cops swarming outside the bank and the handful of hostages trapped inside with them are starting to get a little bold, peeking out from behind their hands and inching closer to the windows to see what's going on.

The others are spread throughout the city handling their end of things, hitting other banks and points of interest to fund their next heist, and really, they're lucky this is the only snag they've hit.

“Kind of pessimistic of you, don't you think?” Ryan asks, and takes out a harmless potted plant to put a little fear into the hostages. Remind them that Michael and Ryan may have fucked up here, but by God they're not going to take any shit from the ferns littering the place. “I mean, really.”

Michael rolls his eyes, wonders what it is about these assholes that he isn't actually worried about this whole mess. Concerned, yes, because there are a shitload of cops out there with real reasons to hate the Fakes, want every single one of them dead, but -

There are hostages to consider this time around.

Soft squishy civilians with family and loved ones who'd raise a stink, throw a lawsuit or two at the LSPD for getting them killed if they're not careful here. If they just say “fuck it” and go in guns blazing just to get at the Fakes.

And honestly, in Michael's opinion hostages are more trouble than they're worth most of the time because you never know what you're going to get.

Could be some idiot who wants to play hero who fucks things up for everyone. Could be some poor bastard with a health condition who's too scared to tell the asshole with the gun he's going to die if he doesn't get his medication in time, and those are just the extremes.

Thankfully there aren't any heroes in this little group of people who happened to get caught up in this clusterfuck. Unexpected schedule changes and the universe having it out for the Fakes for whatever they did to piss it off.

“Call it a hunch,” Michael says, baring his teeth when someone outside pulls out  megaphone and starts with the standard spiel about letting the hostages go and coming out with their hands up. Because really, no one needs to get hurt here today, do they?

In any other city that might not be a line of bullshit, might be the truth, but this is Los Santos. City where the cops are just as bad as the criminals, and everyone knows it.

A few minutes later, one of the landlines inside the bank starts to ring, and Ryan gets this look to him. Head cocked to the side, something thoughtful to it when he glances back at the hostages.

“Vault?” Michael asks, because that's a neat little solution for the time being.

Gives them some breathing room to figure out what to do without worrying about the hostages deciding they have nothing to lose. Do something desperate that might get them out of this mess. (Or just dead, but fuck it, right?)

Ryan nods and starts herding the hostages down to the vault.

There's a little bit of tearful sniffling from one of them, muttered prayers and the like, but Michael and Ryan aren't monsters. Aren't about to gun down a bunch of unarmed civilians because they're inconvenient.

“Come on, keep it moving,” Michael says,  keeping an eye on the idiots until Ryan's got them locked in nice and cozy, and then it's Michael and Ryan and a million cops outside waiting to riddle them with bullets.

“So,” Michael says, hoping like hell the others are faring better than they have. “What now?”

And Ryan, because he's a dramatic fuck, hands Michael his gun and says, “Hold on to this for a moment,” before fucking off somewhere without another word because why the fuck not, really.

========

Michael gets real friendly with the police negotiator because the fucker will just not stop calling.

He learns the guy's name and how he's doing today. Finds out he just wants to help Michael out, wants to be his friend.

He says he knows Michael got mixed with these hardcore motherfuckers everyone in the city seems to think the Fakes are. That he's just a dumb kid who got caught up in shit he shouldn't have, and just needs a chance and he's trying here, he is. Just give him something to go to his bosses with Michael, help them both out here.

And Jonathan – the guy's name is Jonathan – sounds like a nice guy. Bit smarmy the way he's trying a little too hard to be Michael's friend, but still a nice guy. Earnest and determined to help Michael out of this mess, and Michael -

“I could give you a hostage,” Michael says, because Jonathan's been angling that way for the last ten minutes, trying to develop a rapport with Michael to get there and it's just kind of painful listening to him struggling.

Jonathan doesn't say anything for a moment.

Goes dead quiet like he didn't actually think he'd get to this point with Michael, and after a minute he starts talking. Babbling, really. Tripping over his words trying to convince Michael that that's a good idea. A great idea, that it'll earn Michael points with Jonathan's bosses, will help him in the long run and starts telling Michael the best way to release the hostage to avoid any unnecessary incidents.

“How about this,” Michael says, annoyance getting the better of him because he doesn't like Jonathan, never did, and the way the asshole sounds now? Eager to get Michael in some sniper's crosshairs and acting like he just wants to help? “Why don't you assholes just try not shooting whoever walks out there if you're so damned determined everyone's making it out of here alive, you piece of shit?”

Michael hangs up while Jonathan's still stammering, trying to come up with something to say to that, fucking slams the phone down because people like Jonathan infuriate him.

“I leave you alone for five minutes and you're already making friends.”

Michael looks over to see -

“The fuck happened to you?” And also, “You were gone for longer than that, asshole.”

Ryan.

As in actual Ryan is standing there with a hideous bruise blooming along the side of his face and busted lip he must have gotten when things started to go south on them.

“I have a plan,” Ryan says, in a horrible accent that puts Gavin's to shame as he explains his unbelievably stupid plan to Michael.

Ryan lost his jacket somewhere along the way along with the Vagabond's distinctive mask and ridiculous face paint, and he looks -

Well, he looks like the idiot he is as he reaches up and pulls the hairband out and re-enacts a fucking shampoo commercial as he shakes his hair loose and humming some stupid song because why not?

Michael just stares at Ryan and tries to pinpoint the moment he lost his damn mind as Ryan grins at him. Pulls out a pair of wire-framed glasses to complete the douchebag look he's clearly going for here and does a little spin like he's a model on a catwalk.

“You like?”

It's pretty damn obvious what Ryan's thinking because he's his own brand of crazy. Thinks that since the press and general public have no idea what the Vagabond looks like under the mask he can pull this off. Pretend to be some harmless civilian who had the bad luck to be in the wrong place at the wrong time and ended up as a hostage for this unpleasant young criminal with the anger problem and disturbing fondness for explosives.

“Are you kidding me right now, you asshole? No one's going to buy that!”

Ryan smiles, slow and smug as shit.

“You'd be surprised,” he says, and that's pretty much it, because Michael is fucking done.

========

“Remember when I said we're going to die?” Michael asks, light and airy. “This is it, Ryan. This. Right here. Your stupid plan, that's how we die. Congratulations, you asshole.”

Ryan laughs, like they're not about to get gunned down in broad daylight and winks at Michael.

“Nah.”

Michael's tempted, so fucking tempted to just go ahead and shoot Ryan right then and there. Cut out the middleman and all. Save Jonathan and his buddies some money on a bullet or two, but no.

God knows Geoff will want to know what went wrong, Jack will be all “How the fuck did Ryan shoot himself in the back?” Gavin will just give him sad puppy dog eyes - that for the record  have never worked once, so maybe Gavin should stop trying? - and ask, “Michael, why?”

And Jeremy.

Christ, Jeremy will take one look at Michael and just know.

They've all put him through enough shit before giving him his forever home with the main crew that there's no way Jeremy wasn't seriously tempted to put a bullet in all of them at some point or other, so.

“Just. Fucking shut up, you asshole,” Michael says, and follows Ryan down a hallway that leads to a small alley behind the bank.

Maintenance entrance or something along those lines and according to Ryan their best bet of getting out of the damn place in one piece.

Jonathan and his cop buddies are waiting for them to walk the front door of the bank. Snipers and other trigger-happy assholes eager to put one of the Fakes down. No doubt have all the entrances and exits to the place covered, but -

“The way things are set up out there, any snipers they've got won't have a good angle on us,” Ryan's saying, like he's trying to reassure Michael they probably won't die horribly here.

“So what you're saying,” Michael says, only slightly annoyed. “Is that we're going to have cops up in our faces instead.”

Angry, sweaty bastards who have been in the Los Santos heat for a few hours now, just about ready to do anything to put an end to this miserable shitshow of a day.

Ryan shrugs because he's an asshole, and gestures at his face.

Nothing remarkable about it really, just some guy who's had a rough day and looks like he could use some sleep. Probably wears polo shirts and drinks the stupid expensive coffee at some little hipster coffee place. Reads books with those damn glasses perched at the end of his nose and judges others who don't use the re-usable bags at the store and drives a hybrid car because he cares about the environment.

“You look like a douchebag,” Michael says, because he does.

Ryan shrugs, and tosses Michael one of the burner phones Gavin always sets them up with before a big job or heist, just in case they get separated.

“Call your new friend, make some demands,” Ryan pauses to push his stupid glasses up from where they've slid down his nose. “And remember to make it convincing.”

========

Michael is fucking trying not to lose his shit, but Ryan's making it damn near impossible.

Thick southern accent and a tremor in his voice as Michael jams his gun up against his ribs as they emerge into the alleyway.

There are cops in tactical gear armed to the teeth and Jonathan is standing there in his dumb little police vest with a megaphone hanging off his belt.

He's close but not too close, earnest look on his face as he pleads with Michael to let the hostage go, this doesn't have to end badly Michael.

“Help me!” Ryan's saying, arm twisted behind his back and angled just so that the cops facing them would have to shoot through him to get Michael. “He's crazy!”

Michael sneers, jerking Ryan back against him when one of the cops looks like he wouldn't mind putting a bullet in Ryan too just to shut him up.

“Shut the fuck up,” he snaps, looks over to where Jonathan's standing. “You get the car?”

Jonathan nods, gestures to the mouth of the alley to where a Bravado's waiting.

Not the fastest getaway car, but it'll do until they can ditch the cops and any news helicopters covering this fiasco and trade it out for something better. Less likely to be loaded down with bugs or trackers or whatever the fuck the cops are using these days.

Ryan's doing a great job of being a terrified civilian. Stuttering words and awkward limbs and stumbling steps careful not to knock Michael off-balance as they edge closer to the car.

Jonathan's attention is split between Michael and Ryan. Just as worried for the poor bastard Michael has at gunpoint as he's worried what Michael might do.

And it's valid, really, that worry. Michael's seen it before, some lowlife taking some poor fuck hostage and killing them the moment their usefulness came to an end. Leaving the cops to deal with the fallout as they made their escape, never mind the cost.

“Hey,” Michael says, and gives Ryan a shake as he's babbling about his family. His sweet, sweet family and please don't do this, please. “Didn't I tell you to shut the fuck up?”

Ryan looks at Michael from the corner of his eye, clearly laughing his little black heart out as he wails about his idiot children who in no way resemble Geoff and the others.

“They're so helpless!” Ryan cries, desperately trying to appeal to the shriveled up husk of a heart Michael has. “So dumb, so stupid!”

The cops are...they're starting to wonder what the hell is up with Ryan, if maybe he's got a few screws loose himself, and Michael -

“Tell them to back up or I put a bullet in his head,” Michael says, and after a moment Jonathan complies, lips pressed into a thin line.

Michael waits until the cops back up, and pulls Ryan along with him to the waiting car.

“Tell my family I love them!” Ryan yells, as Michael forces him into the car before slipping in behind him and slamming the door shut.

“Goddamn Ryan,” Michael says, pawing at the keys tucked in the visor with one hand as he holds his gun on Ryan to keep this farce going a little longer. “You're something else.”

Ryan chuckles, hands up by his face like he's worried Michael's about to pistol whip him to hide his amusement from anyone watching.

“Thanks.”

Michael starts the Bravado and looks over at Ryan who is smug as anything, eyes shining with laughter and a smirk pulling at his lips.

“It's not a compliment, you fuck,” Michael says, and throws the car into drive, tires squealing as they speed out of the alley before the cops get their shit together.

There's yelling from somewhere behind them, and Ryan's laughing again even as he goes for one of his guns tucked in the waistband of his pants as someone takes potshots at them.

Michael swears, low and annoyed as he pushes the accelerator as far down as it goes and they barrel through a police blockade. The Bravado's engine growls as it pushes them through, slamming cop cars aside and scattering cops left and right as they roll out of the way.

“That's fair,” Ryan says agreeably enough, and shoots out the Bravado's back window to discourage the cop cars already in pursuit from getting too close. “I think I might have overdone it a bit at the end.”

Michael grits his teeth, absolutely doesn't jerk the wheel to the side just for Ryan to hit his head against the roof of the car, no. That would be juvenile and therefore beneath him as a core member of one of the most powerful crews in all of Los Santos.

“Whoops, sorry,” Michael says. “Didn't want to hit that pothole.”

“That would be a shame,” Ryan agrees, and calmly shoots out the tires of a squad car trying to run them off the road.

Michael lets himself grin, that little knot of worry sitting cold and heavy in his gut from the moment things went to hell for them starting to unwind, because this?

Michael and one of his crew running loose in Los Santos with the cops chasing after them and the entire city before them? It's  familiar and known and nothing, not even the police choppers overhead or the stubborn assholes on their tail is going to stop them now.

Not when they know these streets, know every turn, every fucking pothole. Know the limits of the cars they drive from that goddamn Blista Gavin's so inexplicably fond of to Michael's own Adder. Know exactly where they need to go to shake the cops, who to turn to if the choppers prove to be particularly troublesome because the Fake AH Crew is one of the biggest crews in Los Santos. Have people every-fucking-where these days, and this is easy.

========

“Are you fucking kidding me right now?” Michael demands, glaring at the television and the anchorwoman who's put on a suitably solemn face as she talks about the fate of the unknown hostage at a certain bank robbery earlier that day.

Geoff and Gavin are laughing like hyenas, holding on to each other for balance because this is just so fucking funny they're rolling around all over the place. Jack is trying – and failing – to keep a straight face, little gasps of laughter escaping him. Jeremy's face is shoved into a pillow to muffle his laughter.

“Huh,” Ryan says, so goddamned smug. “Nice to know some people appreciated my performance today.”

Michael looks at him. This douchebag of an average joe sprawled out on the couch with some of the most dangerous people in the city in hysterics around him and sighs, because these fucking idiots.

Goddamn morons, really.

No one's seriously hurt, thank God. Just varying degrees of tired and sore from a long day of being hardcore motherfuckers living the thug life.

“You're all idiots,” Michael says, but there's definitely something fond in his voice no matter how much he tries to hide it.

Geoff's wiping tears from his eyes as he settles back in his seat, dragging Gavin along with him. Knowing little smile playing around his mouth as he looks around him at the morons he recruited to his crew.

Every last one of them certifiably insane, and grins because yeah, they are, and it's worked out for them so far, so why change things now?

The worst part, the absolute worst part, is that Michael actually agrees with him on that, and it's annoying as all hell.

“Michael,” Gavin says, little bit wheezy still as he grins over at Michael. “You're so mean.”

Harsh words, those, and Michael gives the fuck up as the others start laughing again because there's no point to fighting it anymore, not with these assholes.