Rest, Weary Traveller | GTA V Fanfic [Trevor x Reader]

Chapter Three

It had been three days since your chance encounter with the Unholy Trinity, as they called themselves, and you'd become fairly acquainted with Michael and Franklin, especially Franklin seeing as you were living in his house for the time being. You'd met up with the person renting out the Sandy Shores trailer and your contract was drawn up. Now to move in. Not that it'll be difficult. I have a whole backpack I have to move, you thought with a chuckle. 

"Alright, move-in day!" Franklin sung. "This is gonna take all day, just look at all this stuff you have to lug around," he said with a hint of sarcasm. You pursed your lips at him and picked up your backpack, the keychains clinking against one another like a wind chime. An expensive wind chime.

"Michael's going up to Sandy Shores to conduct some business deals, so he'll be taking you," Franklin continued. 

"Sounds like a plan," you replied. It was frustrating for you to have to rely on other people to get places; you left Ambarino precisely because you were sick of the very same dependence you were redeveloping. A car horn sounded from the driveway. 

"I'm guessing that's Mike," Franklin said. "Stay safe. I'll see you around."

"Thank you for your hospitality," you said, nodding your head as you exited the door and entered Michael's Tailgater. 

"Hey, [Y/N]," Michael greeted you with a courteous smile. "You excited to have your very own place in San Andreas?"

"I'm renting, not 'having'," you corrected him. "And not especially. It's further from Los Santos than I'd like and closer to Trevor Philips than I'd like. But it's better than, you know, sleeping in a mail truck, I suppose."

Michael let out a laugh. "I understand. Trust me, it's better to have T like you than dislike you. You might end up dead in a ditch or in his oven." His oven? I don't want to know.

"So, Franklin told me a little about the three of y'all, but Trevor seems like he's got a few screws loose," you said, wanting to pry into the psyche of your new neighbor. 

"A few screws is an understatement. When you get deep down into it, though, he's more loyal than a dog and acts like one too in every way, shape, and form. Fuck sakes, I've seen him pull food out of dumpsters. But so long as you don't anger him too bad, I'm sure you'll be fine, especially since you're an asset to us." 

"Yeah, you guys keep mentioning how I'm such a valuable 'asset'. How? I met you three days ago in a delivery truck you stole and shot a gun," you asked the middle-aged man.

"You look innocent. Obviously, that's not true, but you have the ability to be able to coax information that none of us would be able to. You're a young, attractive girl; I don't think anybody else in our little group manages to tick all those boxes," Michael replied earnestly.

"Oh, so you're hitting your diversity quota," you laughed. "It all makes sense now."

"I should probably throw out a disclaimer. We had our tech guy run a background check on you. I'm curious," he said as he merged onto the highway, "What's a [Y/A]-year-old girl from buttfuck Ambarino that's never had a real job doing out here?"

"Okay, first of all, I've never had a job on the books. Get your facts straight." You shook your head, slightly embarrassed about what you were about to say next. "My parents... God. They bought this abandoned mining town called Colter and turned it into a living history resort. I'd been working there ever since I was around six years old. Mostly odd jobs like taking care of the horses and livestock as well as cleaning the resort rooms and teaching people how to live without electricity. Older I got, the more responsibilities I was given. When I was 10, I was given a gun, and at 14, I was allowed to go out by myself and hunt and my parents would have me drive three hours round-trip every week to go to the grocery store and pick up what we couldn't make or find. The kick? I was paid $30 per week," you said sorely, stopping your rant before you began to get angry.