Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Blood spattered the sidewalk. Red and thick, it pooled around the man’s head. He was loved, probably a father, definitely a son. His coworkers are gonna look at his desk now and maybe feel a bit of sadness, there’ll be another guy with brunet hair just like his tomorrow walking the sidewalk with a similar gait and he won’t give a shit about the man who was killed here the night before. Yeah, he has the same hair but they didn’t know each other, so who gives a shit, right?

One day it’ll be my blood and brain matter on the ground. I’m not disillusioned to that. I’m not special, I’m just some asshole with a gun who’s two thousand American dollars richer than he was before he pulled the trigger on this poor shmuck. Speaking of which-

“The job’s done,” I speak the moment I hear the ringing of the call stop.

“Good, I’ll wire you the money in the morning,” The man yawns, I don’t fucking trust it.

“Do it now,” I’m direct nowadays, I don’t care much for joking around the bush or whatever the fucking saying is.

“Fine, fine, fuck okay,” He starts up but I hang up the phone, can’t ever be too careful, phonecalls should always stay under three minutes.

I pack up my rifle and make my way to the only place that I could possibly think of calling home, even though I know the second I have to I’ll ditch this shitty apartment without even blinking. What a home it is. I’m not disillusioned to that either, but I’ll call this place what I want. It’s mine for now anyway. My home isn’t all too far away which should probably concern me, but most of the criminals in this city work their business in this area, any sort of allusion to safety that existed wouldn’t survive even if I had a normal day job.

I walk into my shitty tiny abode and dumb my bag onto the kitchenette that divides the sorry excuse for a kitchen with the sorry excuse for a living room. The only true rooms in this apartment would be the bedroom and bath. I don’t care, not really, I’ve always lived in a too-small apartment, makes it easier to pack up and leave when the time comes.

Course the bedroom isn’t really used, I don’t sleep often enough, I fill my time with videogames and meaningless achievements. My Xbox is the closest thing to a sentimental possession that I have, other than my rifle of course. I ironically fill the night with the sound of onscreen gunshots and screams. I’m good at videogames, I’m good at killing be it virtual or physical. 

Eventually, I pass out. Exhaustion sneaking up on me like a hunter to prey. I don’t even remember closing my eyes, one second I was kicking ass at a round of COD and the next my phone was vibrating and the sunlight from my curtains blinding me. My neck feels a bit off, It’s what I get for sleeping sitting upright on a couch I guess.

“Brownman,” I say succinctly into the burner, just another thing I’m willing to give up in an instant.

“Fucking finally, y’ know I’ve been calling you all fucking morning,” I don’t recognize the voice, I’m instantly alert and weary, It’s not often I get direct calls, typically it’s a text message or an email, fuck once I got a letter left on top of a roof I used to meet employers at.

“Who is this?” I ask putting some false confusion into my typically monotone voice.

“My name’s not important what is important is the job I’ve got lined up for you,” Cocky and surefire, this tool’s never hired a sniper in his entire life, ugh a virgin. I don’t feel like being his first. He’s either less likely to screw me over or more and right now, I don’t care for dice rolls of fate.

“I’m listening,” I keep up that lull of emotion, it’ll make him less inclined to be a dick and fuck me over if he thinks I’m human. I am, but not everybody thinks so after they find out I couldn’t care less about anything. I’ve been called a monster a few times in my life, those people don’t have their tongues anymore.

“I’ll send you the finer details later, but I need a guy dead.” Yeah, this guy was definitely an amateur.

“No shit,” I made sure to drag the vowels in think.

“Right,” The man cleared his throat. He goes by the name Vagabond, I’ll pay you two thousand.”

A beat. A long pause, we’re getting close to my time limit.

“No,” I say clearly.

“Wh- What? No? Just no?” Wow, he actually sounds surprised.

“No,” I drop all emotion from my voice and speak freely, “ I only kill nobodies for two grand. The Vagabond is not a nobody, I’m not touching that mess of skull masks and leather for two million. Me and The Vagabond have an understanding, I don’t fuck with him, and he doesn’t fuck with me. So no,” I say and hang up the call, time to get a new burner.

I grab my usual purple hoodie and make my way out of the apartment. Okay maybe I lied to the guy on the phone, if he offered my two million I’d have grabbed my rifle and gone after Vagabond with only a second thought, but most definitely not for only a couple thousand. If that man had offered me this job a year ago I’d have jumped at the chance, two grand? I’d have done it for a penny and a paperclip. Take out the infamous Vagabond would have put me on the map like an idiot. 

I carefully rip out the SIM card from my phone and toss them both into the trash as I move through an alley and make my way to the dollar store two blocks over. Time for a new phone. I pull my hood up and walk with a brisk pace. My paranoia is fully warranted as one of Los Santos’ finest. 

That thought is confirmed when I hear steps behind me when I ‘m coming out of the store, a new phone tucked into my pocket. I duck into an alleyway wanting this encounter to be done and over with, I have a gun, but they don’t know that. I whirl around and pull it out flipping off the safety. I tilt my head at the smile that my actions grant me.

“Man, you are one hard guy to find, you know that?” He has an accent, British.

I take the moment to survey him, gain any information that might help me in my defense should he attack. The man who followed me wore gold sunglasses and designer clothes. Gold sunglasses. Shit.

“And why exactly is Ramsey tracking me?” I ask almost smirking at the falter in the brits step.

“So, you know who I am then?” His voice turns serious.

“Ramsey’s golden boy,” I say without emotion. I really don’t like to ask things twice, “Why is Ramsey sending one of his men to follow me.”

“He’s not, I found you on my own accord. G- Ramsey doesn’t- he’s got a target on his back and I need your help erasing it,” The golden boy finishes. He’s twitchy which is concerning, I should probably just shoot him and get on with my life but something about the way his voice shook.

“What type of target?” I ask and point my gun towards the ground, I don’t put the safety back on and I certainly don’t holster the gun, but I point it away from the guy.

“I had Mogar call you earlier about it, but he said you refused.”

“The Vagabond wants to kill Ramsey?”

“Not particularly, but we think he’s been hired to kill Ramsey. His old partner from back in the day came back out of nowhere and has been screwing with our operation for a few weeks now.”

“And you think he’s finally decided to get rid of Ramsey once and for all by paying the best assassin in the city who everyone knows will get the job done,” I finish his thought and he nods.

“How much pull does this old partner have with Vagabond?”

“I uh I don’t know, but you said to Mogar that you and the Vagabond have an understanding, maybe- maybe you can just talk to him! Convince him not to accept the job, please, we can pay you both,” the golden boy says.

“Few grand and you’ll owe me a favor,” I conclude.

“Fine, deal,” The golden boy throws up his hands and nods his head.

“What’s your phone number, I’ll text you when I’m done,” I say pulling out the new device.

“We have your number just use the number Mogar called you with.”

“I don’t have that number anymore, a random stranger called me asking me to kill the most notorious gun for hire in the country.”

“Right, that was probably smart.”

“Number,” I demand, I’m tired of this game.

After getting the golden boy’s number and saving it to my new phone I leave. 

Time to say hello to the epic embodiment of gunpowder, skull masks, and leather.

Chapter Text

I found him. The Vagabond. We’ve never actually spoken but we’ve both made it a point to stay out of the others way. I’m actually a little nervous. He could just decide I’m not worth the effort and kill me, or it’ll turn out he has no idea who I am and I’ve just made up our little understanding in my head like a deluded fangirl. Fuck. My heart’s beating just as rapidly as he’s shooting.

He was hired as a mercenary for a mini gang war, honestly, his skill goes far above petty block fights. He should be killing world leaders as a part of some shadow group. There’s so much blood he’s practically bathing in it.

I’m up in the rafters of the warehouse where the petty gang fight is taking place. I don’t know anything about the two gangs, just that they were here under the guise of peace talks, but someone got greedy. Someone always does. I watch as he empties the clip of his gun. He throws it down and pulls out a knife. He plunges the knife into the ganger’s throat. Nice. Another ganger points his gun at Vagabond. He throws his knife.

Least to say the mini-war ends quickly, Vagabond not making a sound as he eviscerated the men he was paid to. I should leave, wait for him in the alley but I can’t bring myself to move. My bones feel like lead. The gangers from the winning side, Vagabonds side, slowly vacate the building. The Vagabond stayed. Why?

“I know you’re there. Come out Brownman,” His voice is thick like honey, the slightest drawl barely audible playing with his commanding tone. I climb down from the rafters and make my way towards him, how he knew I was there I’d really like to know.

“How’d you know I was here?” I ask playing with false emotion in my voice, an ebb of cockiness that everyone expects.

“I saw you sneak in, your hoodie is a bit distinctive by now,” He supplies, his voice is nothing like I thought it would be. I thought he wouldn’t really talk at all, or his voice would be gravelly like he smokes 12 packs a day.

“Oh,” Really, I can’t think of anything else to say, the sound of my own heartbeat making me want to rip it out.

“What do you want?” Right, there’s a reason I’m here.

“Were you hired to kill Ramsey?” I ask without any tact.

“Ramsey send you?” He rips his knife out of a gangers throat, blood pouring out of the wound. 

Oh fuck.

“No, the golden boy asked me to kill you,” I admit.

“Hm. Are you going to?”

“Probably not,” I supply.

“Probably not? That doesn’t sound all too reassuring, I think I’d prefer a definite no seeing as how you’re the only one here with a loaded gun,” He says to me.

“You could throw that knife at me and impale my throat,” I say simply.

“I’ve heard you’re a quick draw,” He says calmly.

“I am,” I shrug.

“You can tell Gavin that I didn’t accept the job, tell Ramsey he owes me one,” He supplies.

“I’ll tell them I convinced you not to take the job on the consequence that Ramsey owes you one,” I say, the false emotion having fallen from my voice a while ago, whoops.

“Good enough,” He sighs.

I nod to him and quickly turn to make my way out of the warehouse, my hands won’t stop trembling, I can’t figure out why I’m not scared. It doesn't make sense.

“Oh and Brownman,” I hear him call me.

“Yeah?” I ask, looking over my shoulder at him.

“If you're that interested in watching me work, call me next time,” He says with an audible smirk. Which is weird. Very weird. I don't know how to respond, which isn't very common for me, I’m typically quick on the tongue with snarky replies, but im trying not to question how he makes me shiver.

I make my way out and back to the city just in time to call the golden boy while it’s still day out.

“Ello?” His british voice answers.

“I just got back from meeting with Vagabond,” I tell him, putting in a break of silence for suspense.

“And? Any good news?” He sounds hopeful.

“Great news, he says he won’t take the job, but Geoff’ll owe him a favor or whatever,” I say like I couldn't care less.

“Perfect! Great, thank you Brownman, really, I’ll uh wire you your money now,” he says.

I hang up, no need to linger in a call. I feel my eyes drooped closed for a millisecond and that is very weird. Once back at home, I make my way to my bed, the adrenaline of the day catching up to me faster than normal.

My phone is buzzing. I open my eyes slamming my hand on my bed, where is it? Under my pillow, I swipe my hand across my sheets until I feel the cool metal of my phone.

“Who is this,” I answer the call blindly.

“What a warm answer, nicer than dicks dude. I’m Geoff Ramsey, it was brought to my attention that you helped get the Vagabond off of my back,” the new voice clarified.

“Yes, I did,” I say, this is starting to get old.

“Yeah well, It was also brought to my attention that even if the Vagabond won't take the job, that doesn't mean someone else will be so gracious. I need people to help me kill the guy trying to kill me,” he’s not the most polite employer but I think I like that.

“Okay,” I say slowly.

“I need you to get in contact with the Vagabond, I want both of you on my team for this. We can discuss payment when you get Vagabitch on board,” he says. 

Okay, I can do that. The Vagabond seemed well enough inclined to not kill me so talking to him shouldn’t be too difficult. My face feels strange and I can feel my stomach twist in knots. Maybe I should've just killed him. It seems he has some sort of hold over me. No, that’s impossible, witchcraft doesn’t exist so why do I feel like this? I’m not sure I want to know.

I hang up the call and do some research. I go onto one of the dark web chat rooms that I get job postings from. Someone has to know Vagabond's phone number. I make a post about him asking around, I don’t get a whole lot of responses at first. At some point I'm lost in the throes of the deep web, asking around was boring so now I'm playing a game waiting for a ping! 

I hear it. That telltale sound of a notification from one of the chat rooms. BMvagabond has sent you a request to chat! It’s him. I immediately accept without even thinking. 

BMvagabond: Heard you’ve been asking about me.

Brownman: Nah.

BMvagabond: Ouch. Come on, aren't we friends here?

Brownman: Are we?

BMvagabond: Sure, I kill people, you kill people. We’re basically coworkers.

Brownman: Gross

BMvagabond: What did you need?

Brownman: Ramsey wants our help taking out his threat

BMvagabond: Ah.

Brownman: They seem confident that I can convince you to take the job of Geoff Ramsey's protector

BMvagabond: You doing it?

Brownman: Money’s money and Ramsey’s interesting

BMvagabond: Tell them I’ll do it.

Brownman: Now we’re coworkers

BMvagabond: Gross.

My face hurts. 

The next day I’m sitting on the edge of the roof where we’re all supposed to meet. My legs dangle over the edge and I breathe in the smog-filled air, the city always looks so peaceful from up here. I love it. This is my home, where I feel normal, up on top of a skyscraper in a dense city filled with crime, my pink sniper a crutch to lean on.

“Hey.” It’s him, Vagabond. He sits down next to me on the edge of the roof, our thighs pressed together and shoulders bumping. I’ve never been one for physical touch but fuck this is good. I look over at him, I’m so close I can see the color of his eyes; cold blue but somehow filled with warmth. I’ve never had a favorite color before but I’ve suddenly felt the urge to repaint my bedroom walls.

“Hey,” I say almost breathlessly.

“I see why you like it up here, it’s chaotic in a strange peaceful way,” he says, “a bit of an oxymoron, I know but it sounds right.” His eyes close and he tilts his head up.

“You’re a bit of an oxymoron.” A beat of silence and I’m thinking I’m an idiot. 

He starts laughing, it’s a full hearty sound and beautiful. My ears are ringing from it, my heart racing faster than a fall from this height could make it. Fuck.