Work Text:
Fucking Franklin. Fucking Michael. Who the fuck do they think they are, huh? Fucking me over. Telling me I'm a psychopath? I'm a pyschopath? I'm fucking sane compared to Michael fucking Townley. He can shove his opinions up his own ass and shit them out his mouth for all I fucking care. A fucking pyshopath...
Trevor grumbled to himself as he stomped down the streets of Los Santos. He was making his way back from Michael's house after being practically held prisoner after what happened the previous night. It had been wild. He, Franklin and Michael decided to have a boy's night out on the town to celebrate the success they'd had after robbing the Union Depository. The night had been great... to start with. They were boozing it up, having a few laughs while strippers ground their laps, until Trevor decided to 'heat things up'. He claimed, in his drunken state, that 'fear always made the girls soaked' and pulled out a knife to his dancer's neck.
After that, the cops showed up and Franklin and Michael had to basically drag Trevor out the strip club before he was put down by the LSPD. They managed to escape - barely - and laid low for the rest of the night. Michael and Franklin basically had to confine Trevor to the De Santa household in order to keep him away from any more trouble and spent most of the night lecturing him on how he couldn't do that sort of thing now. Especially not after stealing all the money they had from the UD. Begrudgingly, Trevor knew they were right but, of course, he refused to admit that aloud. That wasn't his style.
They let him go in the morning after a final lecture on how he shouldn't act like such a 'psychopath' in the public eye, and now here he was, hands shoved into his pockets as he barged past every pedestrian he passed by. His mood was foul and his fuse was dangerously short. It only took one guy to call him out after Trevor pushed past him to make Trevor snap.
"Why don't you fuck off, huh? Before I fucking make you," he practically screamed in the guy's face, earning a few concerned glances from the people around him, a couple of them flinching at the volume and aggression of his voice. The guy knew not to take his chances with Trevor and ran off, luckily. If Trevor got any more angrier blood was likely to be shed and Michael was likely to knock Trevor out for it.
He tried to calm down. He knew he had to lay low, knew he couldn't have the police on his ass or else it would end badly not only for him but for Michael and Franklin, too, and after all they'd been through together, Trevor didn't want to do that to them. So he took deep breaths, stopping for a second as he closed his eyes and relaxed. Anger was unnecessary right now. He just had to focus on getting home.
But it was in that moment that he heard an odd noise. A squeak was the best way to describe it, although he couldn't quite pinpoint where it was coming from. Looking around, he tried to figure out what was making the noise. He assumed it was an animal - it wasn't a dog, he knew that for sure, because those things usually were growling at him and this thing sounded a lot more gentler than that. He kept looking until finally he spotted it: a ginger puffball, peeking out behind a trashcan in the alleyway Trevor happened to stop beside. Tiny and apparently damp from rain that had only passed an hour ago, it squeaked at him again and started to move out from the trash can.
"The fuck do you want, huh?" Trevor hissed, making the creature recoil in fright. It was fully hidden behind the trashcan now and Trevor only rolled his eyes before he started to walk away. But it was then that he heard the noise again. Squeak. He could tell that the kitten was obviously alone, probably cold and maybe sick, but it wasn't any of his business, or at least that's what he told himself. He had to go home and check on Ron, and do whatever Trevor Philips did best. But there was something about the way the cat called out as if it were crying for help that tugged on Trevor's heart the way no human being had ever been able to before.
With a frustrated growl, Trevor turned and headed towards the alleyway to find the kitten still curled up by the trash can. It looked up at him in fear until it realised that Trevor was there to help. It allowed him to remove his jacket, wrap it around it's tiny body and pick it up to cradle it within his arms. From there, Trevor returned to the main road and hailed a cab with his leg, careful not to drop the cat because he didn't want to have to pay vet bills or some other bullshit just because he'd been careless.
After a twenty minutes of sitting uncomfortably still with a sleeping kitten in his arms, Trevor paid the cab fair and made his way into the animal shelter he'd arrived at. Approaching the reception desk, he awkwardly explained how he'd found the kitten in an alleyway with no collar or shelter and assumed it would be better to get it a home rather than let it 'rot in the gutter'. After that, he was led to a room which he assumed was some sort of vet's office, although he'd never been to the vet in his whole life, and was made to watch as the kitten was looked over. The little shit was fine, apparently, and just needed to be warmed up and fed.
"Great. Can I leave now? Little fucker's given me more hassle than needed," Trevor asked, starting to back up to the door he came in. The kitten, who'd now been removed from Trevor's jacket to a warm blanket, had managed to wriggle from the material and make its way to the side of the table it sat on, as if it were following Trevor. He simply gave it a glare as he waited for the vet's answer.
"I don't think she wants you to go," the vet answered with a playful smirk on her lips. Trevor rolled his eyes.
"Yeah, well life is hard."
He went for the door handle and was about to step out of the room before he heard the familiar squeak which had gotten him into the situation in the first place. He stopped in his place, looked over his shoulder to see the kitten holding its tiny paw out towards him. There was just something about that fucking cat that made Trevor want to stay, and it sickened him knowing that something so useless had such an impact on him.
"You know," the vet started, "she does need a home, and frankly, it's hard for some cats to trust anyone after they've been left on their own for so long. It's rare that they warm to someone as much as she's warmed to you."
The nurse's words rang in Trevor's ears and at that point he just wanted to get out of that room before he made any stupid decisions. But he couldn't bring himself to do it. He couldn't even take one more tiny step out that door before he gave up and retreated with another frustrated growl.
"Alright, alright," Trevor sighed, looking down at the cat who rubbed the side of its head against Trevor's stomach, "I guess this little shit is mine then."