Hooligan 3 of 4 (fic)
Title: Hooligan Part 3 of 4
Rating: PG
Warnings: GN-verse. Derogatory language
Summary: What Walter learned at the Home
Beta: radishface
Posted on kinkmeme 3, in response to captcha prompt, 'Hooligan 14-1'. Redrafted, with additional material. Many thanks to radishface for her excellent beta work!
Continued from Part 2.
---
A few months later, breaking into different premises had become a regular thing. Their main targets were business premises. Sam would scrutinize a map, thinking aloud and discussing the difficulties of the different locations, until Walter himself was well-versed in such logistics. By now, a couple of other boys joined them, something Walter was not sure about, but, with each success he could not help sharing the sense of camaraderie with the others.
He had become, informally, the locksmith of the group, which suited him fine, after all, that was why he was taking part, wasn’t it? And, in fact, the rest of the boys were the same. They all had a reason for being there, were of some use to the rest of them. Sam, of course, led them and had the final say over what they were going to do the nights they got together. He had a special talent for recognizing what they were best at, and playing to their strengths. Out of the collection of kids that were connected to Sam in some way, he spent the most time with Mikey, Dave and Walter.
Tall and muscular, Mikey carried the heavy stuff, and if anything needed to be wrenched off, broken, or lifted, it would be Mikey doing it. He was the one who knew Sam longest. Walter observed that, every now and then, Sam would glance at Mikey and a look would pass and, it seemed, between the two, the final decisions would be made. Walter was most comfortable with Mikey, he was the rare type of person that you never felt like you had to make conversation, could spend hours with without having to say anything.
Dave, in contrast, was a nervy skinny boy, slightly taller than Walter. He was in it for the adrenalin rush; whenever anyone needed to scout ahead, crawl through a narrow space, slip past a guard, he was the first in line. Walter gathered that this was how he ended up at the home in the first place.
He also had a knack for needling people in just the wrong places:
“So, Walter, we never hear about your parents.”
“That’s because I never talk about them.”
“Why?”
“Not much to say.”
Walter veered between thinking he was either rather stupid or perhaps actually very smart, just lacking in subtlety. Fortunately, Dave also had a poor attention span and was much too self-involved to really pursue someone else’s issues. Dave’s incessant chatter sometimes annoyed Walter, but Dave also had another talent, and that was model airplanes and cars. Sometimes, Walter would watch Dave at work, only half-listening as an almost-encyclopedic knowledge of the aircraft in question was rattled off at length. Dave used ready-to-assemble balsa kits, but, with his limited funds, even supplemented by their night adventures, he tended to make his own parts. At first, he appeared to be solely interested in World War II aircraft, but then he started studying photographs of more current models and drawing on those instead.
Walter was the youngest, but he didn’t feel he was treated that way. He’d already gained some respect for his quick work on the stairs, but there were incidents, for instance, when he stood up to a bully that was taking the charity Christmas presents of the other children. After this, the mentality of Sam’s group seemed to alter--they seemed less concerned with taking down new or weaker kids, and, in fact, they took pride in helping out the smaller children. Sam himself appeared proud of his standing as their benevolent protector, distributing toys and other little gifts amongst them.
---
It was the first time Walter was involved in breaking into a house--but not for the others. Dave boasted about previous escapades, creeping and crawling about while the members of the household slept. He laughingly described how they’d shift things about the house for fun, leaving the changes to be discovered in the morning. These stories bothered Walter but he couldn’t quite put his finger on the reasons.
Part of Walter was terrified at the risk of being discovered, but there was another that was intoxicated with the sense of danger. There was the challenge of moving through somewhere new without making a sound, like some sort of nocturnal animal, creeping through a forest.
This, this was different, though.
One of the occupants had woken up.
Mikey held the father. He was a tall lad, heavily-built, but, even so, he was having difficulty as the man trashed about violently. Sam’s arms immobilised his wife.
But Walter was transfixed by what Dave was doing. He was holding a young boy, probably not much older than five. Walter looked at Sam, who simply stared back speculatively before saying to the father, “Give us whatever money and jewellery you’ve got or the boy gets it.”
Dave flipped a switchblade and held it to the boy’s throat. The father froze.
There was a barely audible sound of trickling. A dark stain down the pyjamas between the boy’s legs, a puddle forming around his feet. Body shaking, mouth an open maw of terror, no sound coming from his throat.
“Let him go,” Walter snarled, holding back only for Sam’s sake. Dave looked at Sam, who shook his head.
Walter launched himself at Dave.
A moment later, and they were all running out of the house, speed more important than stealth, Dave bleeding from his nose, Sam cursing behind them. No one followed them. The main thing was to get back safely; no doubt the police would be called, they had to clear the district fast. Walter caught a glare from Sam, the message written plain in his face--I will deal with you later.
---
Sam stood with his arms across his chest. No one else was around except for Mikey, who was keeping look-out in the hallway.
“I get it, okay? I didn’t like it either, with that boy. But it wasn’t about you or me, it was about the lot of us getting through it together. When you’re in, you’re in all the way. That’s what it means to be one of us.”
Mouth turned down, Walter shook his head, indicating that he did not buy Sam’s argument. “You can’t let me go unpunished, I know that.” He looked at Sam, eyes narrowed. “But what exactly do you think ‘we’ are ‘in’?”
“What we have been doing all this time, Walter. Don’t pretend you didn’t know.”
“That’s part of what we were doing, terrorizing kids?”
“Sometimes, we have to do things we don’t like.”
Walter made a scoffing sound in his throat at this.
His eyes were almost pleading. “Walter, what else is there for people like us? I’ll make sure you’re looked after, you know. You’re talented and I know you like what we do. We work together well.”
“No, I was wrong. All of it--wrong.” Walter’s hands were grasping and pulling at the blanket on either side of him. He glared at Sam. “Worst of all is that you know it’s wrong. And yet you do it. Why?”
Sam’s patience also seemed to be running out. ”Do you want to be some mug, working a crappy job for shit pay?” It was a cruel but true description of his prospects, there was little chance he’d get to go to college. “The father would have caved. And you’re talking as if that happens every day. It doesn’t." He ended on a note of finality.
Walter’s hold on himself broke and he threw himself on his feet, shouting, “Once was enough!”
Things happened quickly after that. Mikey ran in and Sam feinted with a jab at Walter. Unfooled, Walter blocked the hits that followed and got in a punch before Mikey wrenched his arms behind his back.
Sam slapped Walter in the face. “I almost forgot. I believe there’s something I owe you.” He kicked him hard in the stomach, and Walter doubled over in pain, breath escaping him. Mikey laughed, deep rumbles that Walter felt against his spine.
Sam kneed him under the chin. “Did you think we were friends?” He whispered, “Homo,” slipping each syllable into Walter’s ear.
No, he wasn’t that. He wasn’t the one that- But... but he didn’t stop him, did he?
Sam grabbed his arm with a nod at Mikey, who released it. “I’m a merciful guy, Kovacs, and that’s why this is your right hand I’m holding.” He singled out Walter’s little finger and bent it back, back, back, and-
Snap.
Walter screamed. He barely heard Sam say, “That’s for fucking things up at that house.”
He was holding another finger when Walter threw himself backwards against Mikey, breaking free. He lay into Sam with his fists, all finesse thrown to the winds as he punched repeatedly, blood hot and pumping, he was seeing red, all red. Mikey tried to stop him from behind, but Walter just flipped the bigger boy over his shoulder, hurling him at Sam.
Sam fell backward, Mikey tumbling on top of him. They struggled against each other, Sam pushing Mikey off and raising himself up.
“Think you’re better than us, whoreson? I’ve seen your file, you know.” Sam spat out blood onto the floor.
“Keep out of my way, Gallagher,” Walter said as he left the room.
---
Part 4
Rating: PG
Warnings: GN-verse. Derogatory language
Summary: What Walter learned at the Home
Beta: radishface
Posted on kinkmeme 3, in response to captcha prompt, 'Hooligan 14-1'. Redrafted, with additional material. Many thanks to radishface for her excellent beta work!
Continued from Part 2.
---
A few months later, breaking into different premises had become a regular thing. Their main targets were business premises. Sam would scrutinize a map, thinking aloud and discussing the difficulties of the different locations, until Walter himself was well-versed in such logistics. By now, a couple of other boys joined them, something Walter was not sure about, but, with each success he could not help sharing the sense of camaraderie with the others.
He had become, informally, the locksmith of the group, which suited him fine, after all, that was why he was taking part, wasn’t it? And, in fact, the rest of the boys were the same. They all had a reason for being there, were of some use to the rest of them. Sam, of course, led them and had the final say over what they were going to do the nights they got together. He had a special talent for recognizing what they were best at, and playing to their strengths. Out of the collection of kids that were connected to Sam in some way, he spent the most time with Mikey, Dave and Walter.
Tall and muscular, Mikey carried the heavy stuff, and if anything needed to be wrenched off, broken, or lifted, it would be Mikey doing it. He was the one who knew Sam longest. Walter observed that, every now and then, Sam would glance at Mikey and a look would pass and, it seemed, between the two, the final decisions would be made. Walter was most comfortable with Mikey, he was the rare type of person that you never felt like you had to make conversation, could spend hours with without having to say anything.
Dave, in contrast, was a nervy skinny boy, slightly taller than Walter. He was in it for the adrenalin rush; whenever anyone needed to scout ahead, crawl through a narrow space, slip past a guard, he was the first in line. Walter gathered that this was how he ended up at the home in the first place.
He also had a knack for needling people in just the wrong places:
“So, Walter, we never hear about your parents.”
“That’s because I never talk about them.”
“Why?”
“Not much to say.”
Walter veered between thinking he was either rather stupid or perhaps actually very smart, just lacking in subtlety. Fortunately, Dave also had a poor attention span and was much too self-involved to really pursue someone else’s issues. Dave’s incessant chatter sometimes annoyed Walter, but Dave also had another talent, and that was model airplanes and cars. Sometimes, Walter would watch Dave at work, only half-listening as an almost-encyclopedic knowledge of the aircraft in question was rattled off at length. Dave used ready-to-assemble balsa kits, but, with his limited funds, even supplemented by their night adventures, he tended to make his own parts. At first, he appeared to be solely interested in World War II aircraft, but then he started studying photographs of more current models and drawing on those instead.
Walter was the youngest, but he didn’t feel he was treated that way. He’d already gained some respect for his quick work on the stairs, but there were incidents, for instance, when he stood up to a bully that was taking the charity Christmas presents of the other children. After this, the mentality of Sam’s group seemed to alter--they seemed less concerned with taking down new or weaker kids, and, in fact, they took pride in helping out the smaller children. Sam himself appeared proud of his standing as their benevolent protector, distributing toys and other little gifts amongst them.
---
It was the first time Walter was involved in breaking into a house--but not for the others. Dave boasted about previous escapades, creeping and crawling about while the members of the household slept. He laughingly described how they’d shift things about the house for fun, leaving the changes to be discovered in the morning. These stories bothered Walter but he couldn’t quite put his finger on the reasons.
Part of Walter was terrified at the risk of being discovered, but there was another that was intoxicated with the sense of danger. There was the challenge of moving through somewhere new without making a sound, like some sort of nocturnal animal, creeping through a forest.
This, this was different, though.
One of the occupants had woken up.
Mikey held the father. He was a tall lad, heavily-built, but, even so, he was having difficulty as the man trashed about violently. Sam’s arms immobilised his wife.
But Walter was transfixed by what Dave was doing. He was holding a young boy, probably not much older than five. Walter looked at Sam, who simply stared back speculatively before saying to the father, “Give us whatever money and jewellery you’ve got or the boy gets it.”
Dave flipped a switchblade and held it to the boy’s throat. The father froze.
There was a barely audible sound of trickling. A dark stain down the pyjamas between the boy’s legs, a puddle forming around his feet. Body shaking, mouth an open maw of terror, no sound coming from his throat.
“Let him go,” Walter snarled, holding back only for Sam’s sake. Dave looked at Sam, who shook his head.
Walter launched himself at Dave.
A moment later, and they were all running out of the house, speed more important than stealth, Dave bleeding from his nose, Sam cursing behind them. No one followed them. The main thing was to get back safely; no doubt the police would be called, they had to clear the district fast. Walter caught a glare from Sam, the message written plain in his face--I will deal with you later.
---
Sam stood with his arms across his chest. No one else was around except for Mikey, who was keeping look-out in the hallway.
“I get it, okay? I didn’t like it either, with that boy. But it wasn’t about you or me, it was about the lot of us getting through it together. When you’re in, you’re in all the way. That’s what it means to be one of us.”
Mouth turned down, Walter shook his head, indicating that he did not buy Sam’s argument. “You can’t let me go unpunished, I know that.” He looked at Sam, eyes narrowed. “But what exactly do you think ‘we’ are ‘in’?”
“What we have been doing all this time, Walter. Don’t pretend you didn’t know.”
“That’s part of what we were doing, terrorizing kids?”
“Sometimes, we have to do things we don’t like.”
Walter made a scoffing sound in his throat at this.
His eyes were almost pleading. “Walter, what else is there for people like us? I’ll make sure you’re looked after, you know. You’re talented and I know you like what we do. We work together well.”
“No, I was wrong. All of it--wrong.” Walter’s hands were grasping and pulling at the blanket on either side of him. He glared at Sam. “Worst of all is that you know it’s wrong. And yet you do it. Why?”
Sam’s patience also seemed to be running out. ”Do you want to be some mug, working a crappy job for shit pay?” It was a cruel but true description of his prospects, there was little chance he’d get to go to college. “The father would have caved. And you’re talking as if that happens every day. It doesn’t." He ended on a note of finality.
Walter’s hold on himself broke and he threw himself on his feet, shouting, “Once was enough!”
Things happened quickly after that. Mikey ran in and Sam feinted with a jab at Walter. Unfooled, Walter blocked the hits that followed and got in a punch before Mikey wrenched his arms behind his back.
Sam slapped Walter in the face. “I almost forgot. I believe there’s something I owe you.” He kicked him hard in the stomach, and Walter doubled over in pain, breath escaping him. Mikey laughed, deep rumbles that Walter felt against his spine.
Sam kneed him under the chin. “Did you think we were friends?” He whispered, “Homo,” slipping each syllable into Walter’s ear.
No, he wasn’t that. He wasn’t the one that- But... but he didn’t stop him, did he?
Sam grabbed his arm with a nod at Mikey, who released it. “I’m a merciful guy, Kovacs, and that’s why this is your right hand I’m holding.” He singled out Walter’s little finger and bent it back, back, back, and-
Snap.
Walter screamed. He barely heard Sam say, “That’s for fucking things up at that house.”
He was holding another finger when Walter threw himself backwards against Mikey, breaking free. He lay into Sam with his fists, all finesse thrown to the winds as he punched repeatedly, blood hot and pumping, he was seeing red, all red. Mikey tried to stop him from behind, but Walter just flipped the bigger boy over his shoulder, hurling him at Sam.
Sam fell backward, Mikey tumbling on top of him. They struggled against each other, Sam pushing Mikey off and raising himself up.
“Think you’re better than us, whoreson? I’ve seen your file, you know.” Sam spat out blood onto the floor.
“Keep out of my way, Gallagher,” Walter said as he left the room.
---
Part 4