Work Text:
“Mama…mama…” Trevor cried as he lifted the meth pipe to his mouth and inhaled, willing with all he had for the toxic fumes to dull the ache in his chest.
God, why did he even give a shit? It was like this every other time before. In between men and money, his mother would somehow find him. She’d show up, throw around the most hateful words that would always go straight to his heart, and guilt him into continuing the vicious cycle of trying to make her proud, only for her to leave without a single word or thought about him.
His breath caught in his throat, and he let out a wet cough as his hazy mind went back to previous visits, and childhood memories better left repressed. He thought of all of the missing birthdays, the neglected school events, and the lack of the very parental contact he beat the shit out of other kids for because deep down he wanted it so bad.
And then there was his father, but no amount of meth could make him dredge up those memories. That special brand of torture was something that even he didn’t think he deserved to think about, even as bad as he felt.
He sobbed again, and brought the pipe back up to his lips shakily before losing his grip. He swore as he watched the glass drop to the floor, his only source of comfort falling away.
“Ma…” He sniffed and rubbed his eyes. He leaned his head back against the couch and pulled his phone out of his pocket. The names on his contacts list were blurry as he rifled through them, but somehow this didn’t seem to bother him at all. The number he was searching for he’d be able to dial blindfolded. No matter how many years of fucked up resentment he felt, Trevor would always turn to the person he needed and trusted most.
The phone only had to ring once before Trevor heard the content voice on the other line.
“Hey T. What’s up?” Michael answered, and Trevor had to hold his breath to keep from sobbing into the phone.
A few seconds passed in silence before Michael called out to him again, his tone a cross between concern and annoyance.
“Uh, hey Mikey!” Trevor greeted in the most cheerful tone he could manage. As much as he wanted to spill his guts, to cry and scream at the man on the other end- because he’d had ten years to dwell on an even deeper abandonment- he wasn’t going to do it over the phone. No, he needed Michael in Sandy Shores.
“T, what’s wrong? Are you in trouble?” Michael asked immediately, his voice coming out low and rough. Trevor heard footsteps and what sounded like the rustling of keys before the sound of a door slamming sounded through the phone.
Though Trevor didn’t want to expose his weakness, he didn’t have it in him to stop Michael from doing whatever it was he was planning.
“No.” He said with a shake of his head, the movement making him feel dizzy. “No, I’m not okay, M.” The meth was already taking its toll, and all Trevor could do was stare at the ceiling and concentrate on the sound of a car starting on the other end of the line.
“What’s wrong? Where are you? Are you at the Vanilla Unicorn?” The engine accelerating was loud in Trevor’s ears, and for a few seconds, he was lost in it.
“Trevor! Talk to me! Where are you?” Michael yelled, snapping Trevor out of it long enough for him to answer.
“Trailer…” He replied, and just that one word triggered the reason why he called in the first place. “…left me. Everyone leaves me.”
There was a pause on the other end before the line went dead, and Trevor let the phone slide out of his hand onto the cushion next to him. He blinked up at the ceiling as the drugs took complete control, the cracked metal swirling in his vision. Now was around the time that the bad feelings started to fade, and a smile graced his lips as the metal ceiling distorted, transforming him to another place. This place, with its high ceiling and expensive furniture, was one that filled him with a sense of home. The top of the white couch was fluffy under his neck, and he rubbed his cheek against it as he let out a breath. He closed his eyes, taking in the smell of wooden floors and too expensive whiskey. If he lifted his head, he’d probably see a bottle of it on the coffee table. Or maybe a glass of it, ice clanking together in the amber liquid, waiting to be devoured by the only occupant in the house who was partial to it. And then Michael would come in, and pick up said glass and take a long sip before sitting next to him.
And Trevor could see it now. The smile that Michael would give him.; a mixture of exasperation and adoration. The look that was always reserved for Trevor. And Trevor would open his eyes and turn his head to face him, and try his best to ignore the faces of Tracey and Jimmy looking back at him from the far wall.
Maybe they were still gone, and Michael was still alone. Or maybe they came back, but even that didn’t matter because Michael was looking at him like he was the only person in the world- the only one who mattered- and that look was what made getting up in the morning worth looking forward to.
“You know I’m sorry for everything, right T?” Michael asked, taking another sip of whiskey and offering the glass to him.
He took it lazily and lifted it to his lips, feeling the smoothness of it against his tongue and down the back of his throat as he swallowed.
Michael took the glass back and sat it down on the table again before turning more toward Trevor.
“I mean it. If I could do it over, I’d take you with me. Yeah, Amanda and the kids would be there, too, but it would be different. We would do jobs together, and I’d make sure they were financially okay. Then it would be you and me.”
“That’s all I wanted.” Trevor murmured, chest feeling light as he listened to the words he’d wanted to hear since he’d walked into this very house all those weeks ago and saw his long-lost…
Friend? No, more than that. Much more, yet not nearly enough.
“And it’s what you deserve. I’m sorry for ever leaving you alone. Never again.”
Trevor nodded and turned his gaze back toward the ceiling, the sincerity in Michael’s words making him emotional. So much had been said and done between them, and they were finally at a place of peace and happiness. There was no need to ever be upset again.
“Are you okay, T?”
“Never better, sugar tits.” He replied, glancing over at the shorter man once again. There was something off in Michael’s voice. He got a jittery feeling from it.
“Fuck, Trevor! Wake up! Snap out of it!” He heard Michael yell, and he felt the meth-induced fantasy slip away.
Trevor closed his eyes with a sigh. When he opened them again, his gaze focused on metal paneling, and he couldn’t help the sob that escaped him.
“Trevor!” Michael yelled again, slapping Trevor across the cheek.
Trevor’s eyes widened and he pushed Michael back forcefully as he stood up, swaying with the action. He looked around wildly, quickly taking in his surroundings. The sun was a mere memory now, the moonlight and the ever present stars of country living illuminating the street, adding a soft glow to the dark night. If Trevor had to take a guess, he’d probably been out of it for a couple of hours now.
Michael looked at Trevor cautiously, keeping his distance as Trevor calmed down. Once it looked like Trevor was more in control of himself, he took a step closer. When Trevor didn’t do anything but stare at him, he took a few more steps until he was right in front of him.
Trevor’s pupils were dilated to hell, and his hands were shaking as he stood. Michael stepped closer, invading Trevor’s personal space, forcing him back until his knees made contact with the couch and he was sitting on it again.
That seemed to really wake Trevor up, and as if someone had flicked on a light switch, Trevor was Trevor again.
“What’s going on, Mikey?” He asked, enthusiastically. “Hey, you want a beer?” Before Michael could answer, Trevor was already up again and walking the small distance to the fridge. He opened it and pulled out two beers before precariously tossing one over to Michael.
“You know, if you wanted to hear my voice, all you had to do was call.” He gestured toward his phone on the couch. “You didn’t have to come all the way out to Sandy Shores, but since you did, I guess I’ll let you stay and earn your keep.” He laughed and took a swig of beer.
Michael looked down at the beer in his hand before fixing Trevor with a concerned look.
“I did hear your voice, Trevor. It’s why I’m here. What’s going on?” He asked the question slowly, making sure his tone held no hint of accusation or annoyance.
Something was clearly going through his friend’s head right now, and though he knew the drugs dulled it, Trevor pretending that he didn’t remember making that call to him was just a show, and Michael saw right through it.
“Let’s not talk about shit like that right now.” Trevor replied nonchalantly, shaking his head and going toward the small window above the sink, raising the beer bottle to his lips and taking a long pull. “What we should be talking about is what the hell we’re going to do with ourselves now that we’ve got enough gold to make the entire planet bow down to us!”
Michael rolled his eyes at the exaggerated statement before setting his unopened beer on the kitchen table and coming up to stand behind Trevor.
“Trevor.” Michael said firmly, and Trevor’s shoulders tensed before he heaved a heavy sigh and turned around. He dropped his beer bottle heavily in the sink, the noise of glass hitting metal amplified by the dishes already occupying the space. Neither man spared a glance at the sound, instead focusing their attention on one another.
“What happened, T?”
Trevor shrugged and leaned back against the sink comfortably, the dishes cushioning his weight as he eyed Michael with practiced confusion. “Haven’t the faintest clue what you’re talking about.”
“Don’t play dumb, Trevor.” Michael leaned closer, placing both hands on either side of Trevor against the counter. “Check your phone if you don’t believe me, but I have a feeling you know exactly what the hell I’m talking about.”
Trevor lost the smirk and clenched his fists. He closed his eyes and took a breath, pulling his control back together. Michael always seemed to do this to him- push him into a corner and put his hands up as if he had nothing to do with the impending fallout afterward. It was one of their constant battles, and it was one that he knew he was being baited into.
Unclenching his fists, Trevor stood up straight and looked Michael in the eye. “It was a moment of weakness. It was almost like butt-dialing, but, you know, with drugs. What is it the kids are calling it these days? Oh yeah, drunk texting or some shit. Didn’t mean anything.”
“Why are you trying to lie to me?”
“Ohhh, if this isn’t the pot calling the kettle black?” Trevor raised his hands in exasperation. “One lie compared to the hundreds you’ve told, and I’m the one being called out? Like I said before, you are fucking incredible!”
“How many times are we gonna have this fucking conversation before you get over it, Trevor?!”
“Until you look me in the face and apologize the way you know you need to!” Trevor screamed back, breathing heavily as he steadied himself against the sink.
Michael just stared at him, and for the first time since they’d known each other, Trevor didn’t recognize what emotion was on the other man’s face.
“Forget it.” He said with a dismissive wave of his hand. “I already forgave you. We destroyed each other’s enemies and got rid of that piece of shit Devin Weston- which, I’m sure all of Los Santos is still thanking us for.”
“No,” Michael replied slowly, shaking his head and locking eyes with Trevor. “No, you meant what you said. Yeah, you forgave me, as a friend- as a business partner- but not as what we are. You still haven’t forgiven me. And I…” Michael paused. His hand twitched closer to Trevor’s on the counter, but didn’t make contact.
“I deserve not to be forgiven yet.” He told him quietly, lowering his head. He couldn’t bring himself to look Trevor in the face anymore, too ashamed of past and present actions only he would be selfish enough to commit.
Oh, how right he was when he said he still hated himself.
Here he was, standing in the middle of a trailer in Sandy Shores, with his…his Trevor mere inches away from him, hurt and lonely, and he somehow still managed to make the conversation about himself. Just like he always did. And he knew what would happen next. He could see it in his mind’s eye just as clearly as if he were watching a movie. He could see the pained expression on Trevor’s face, and just as quickly as it came, it would be covered up. And then Trevor would either comfort or argue him into submission, into somehow making him feel better about the shitty person he was.
He wasn’t going to let that happen this time. The only thing he could concentrate on was the hurt he heard in Trevor’s tone when he called, and the thickness in his voice that was only caused by excessive intake of some inebriating substance. And the last words he said- the ones that cut through Michael like a knife-about everyone leaving him…
He needed to know what happened.
Keeping his hands firmly on the counter, he cleared the last few inches between them and pressed his chest firmly against Trevor’s. He felt him stiffen at the contact, his body thrumming with anxiety. He wasn’t quite shaking, but Michael knew Trevor’s body well enough to know how he reacted when he was cornered.
Michael moved both hands from the counter and laid them on top of Trevor’s, using his thumbs to rub circles against the bruised and rough skin on the back of his hands.
“Nice try, trying to divert my attention, T.” Michael told him, a smirk playing on his own lips. “I’m as stubborn as you are, and I haven’t forgotten the reason I’m here.”
Trevor shifted his stance and looked down, and both of them knew that they were done playing games.
“Come on, T.” Michael whispered softly, bringing one hand up to cup the taller man’s cheek, coaxing his head up. “Come on.”
“I don’t want to, M. I just…I can’t. Damn it! I just fucking can’t. I don’t even…was she even here at all?” Trevor brought his hands up to cradle his head, slipping his eyes shut and replaying that afternoon again in his mind.
“Was who here? Hey,” Michael leaned in closer, and Trevor dropped his hands as he felt their foreheads touch. “Who is ‘she’?”
“My…my mom. Ma was…she was here. And she…”
Trevor was shaking now, and the hand Michael rested on his cheek moved down to join the other in wrapping around his waist. Trevor made no move to reciprocate the embrace, let alone acknowledge it. He was in his head now, too deep in his own mind to allow himself to feel any comfort from the gesture.
Michael watched the swirl of emotions on Trevor’s face, and every shaky breath and downturn of his mouth stabbed at Michael’s heart.
Was this what Trevor looked like after he’d faked his death? Or when he visited his grave? Michael tightened his grip around Trevor’s waist as he willed those images away.
He couldn’t think about Trevor mourning him. Those were thoughts that kept him up night after night for the better part of ten years. If he let himself go back to that place, he was liable to bury himself in a bottle for the rest of the night.
“What did she do, T? Where did she go?”
“I don’t…I don’t fucking know!” Voice cracking, he slammed his fists on the counter, surprising Michael into loosening his grip. “She was in jail. I…I haven’t seen her in years. She said she was in pain. She thought I was gay!”
He raised his voice at that, because out of everything his mother could have possibly asked him-How’s life? How’s your health? How are you?- his sexuality was what she jumped to. Not even because she cared whether he was in a relationship, or happy. No, her asking was just another way to let him know just how much she wished he was different. Lovable.
He loved his mother more than he wanted to, and would do anything she needed. His relationship with Michael, though…he couldn’t give her the satisfaction of exploiting that. Not after everything they had overcome.
His and Michael’s foreheads were still connected, and Trevor found comfort in the proximity. There was something about the intimacy, the shared breaths that brought a sense of peace to him.
Michael felt Trevor calm down and lifted his head to look at him.
“She said she was in pain?” Michael repeated before asking, “Is that why there’s a Deludamol truck outside?”
He nodded, sniffing as he said, “I went to get it for her. She asked for it. I would have…I would have done anything she asked, Michael.” The solemn and defeated tone was one Michael had never heard before, and the bubbling of anger at Mrs. Philips was a welcome feeling in the midst of his own guilty conscience.
Whether she had been there, or was just a hallucination, the woman had a power over Trevor that the man would never escape. Michael was also aware that he also had power over Trevor, and had abused it to such a point that he didn’t ever think the absolute trust they had in one another would ever be restored.
But, this was a start. For the first time in a long time, Michael was putting Trevor first. Rushing over from Los Santos with nothing but the sadness in Trevor’s voice fueling his actions was something that never would have happened in Ludendorf, or even after seeing Trevor again that fateful day in his kitchen all those weeks ago. He had a lot of growing up to do; they both did. Seeing the outcome made him realize how far they’d come, and he was sure Trevor saw it, too.
“I know you’d do anything for her, T. You love her.”
“It doesn’t even matter now.” He shook his head, waving a hand in dismissal and trying to disengage himself from Michael’s hold.
“Yeah it does.” Michael held fast, not wanting to release him.
“Yeah well, guess that means I’d do anything for you, too.” He said, his voice low and almost inaudible, but Michael heard it all the same, and he felt a weightlessness that he hadn’t felt since the day he left Trevor’s side ten years before.
Trevor glanced up, almost shyly, gauging Michael’s reaction. The smile on Michael’s face made Trevor’s heart leap in his chest. He didn’t have to say anything else; Michael knew what he meant.
“I don’t deserve it, but I’m trying to earn it.” Michael leaned forward until their lips brushed together in the faintest of kisses before pulling away. Trevor’s eyes closed and the sound he made was a mixture of a moan and a sigh.
“I won’t let you down again, Trevor.” And he meant it. He meant it more than words could say.
“Ah, somehow I actually believe that, Michael.” Trevor smiled at him, the sadness all but gone from his face. “Now, enough with this mushy bullshit. Ron might see and get jealous.”
He put a hand to Michael’s chest and pushed him back, putting some distance between them.
“Yeah, well he’s gonna have to deal with it. I’m staying here tonight.” Michael told him with conviction, letting him know with emotion alone that he wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.
“And where do you think you’re sleeping, huh?” Trevor inquired, cocking his head to the side in amused curiosity. Michael smacked him on the arm and rolled his eyes before turning toward Trevor’s bedroom, removing his brown leather jacket as he made his way towards the bed.
Trevor let out a low laugh and followed him, turning off the light as he went. Whatever happened next-whether his mother came back or not-he’d deal with it tomorrow.
*END*