Grayson (hairtriggermood) wrote in worldsapart_ic, @ 2019-03-15 18:22:00 |
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Entry tags: | billy crowley, grayson wilder |
Who: Grayson Wilder & Billy Crowley
What: The LAPD are asked to move along the homeless and a familiar face pops up
When: 15th March
Where: Los Angeles / Billy's home
Rating: Low
Warnings: n/a
Billy hated these calls, where they were sent to a small part of LA and asked to - politely - move the homeless population along. He didn't see what harm they were doing other than 'making the streets look bad', which was another word for calling attention to a homelessness epidemic that the city still didn't want to admit that it had. When they settled in small communities like that, Billy really didn't see the harm. Safety in numbers meant that some of the most vulnerable residents in LA were less likely to get picked off.
He stepped out of the patrol car and his temporary partner was already there raising her voice, arms lifted as she started trying to get people to move in advance. Billy brought up the rear, apologetic but not saying anything. Not until he caught a familiar scent, which had him walking through the crowd and stopping in front of a young man, stuffing his sleeping bag into its cover roughly.
He felt his heart sink when he realised who it was; the kid from the full moon. Shit, he knew something had been off about the guy, how he had a bag which had been packed full of stuff. He rubbed at his forehead and cleared his throat, though he was sure that Grayson had already clocked him, even though he was upwind of the werewolf.
"Grayson," he started, "hey, kid, you okay?"
Fucking cops. They were same everywhere you went it would seem. Grayson had no respect for them not when most that he’d meant had been complete dicks. Give a tool a badge and suddenly he thinks that gives him a right to treat people like utter shit. He’d made his displeasure at being moved on to the others who were also desperately grabbing what meagre belongings they had clear.
His grumbling was only quietened by the fact his nose picked up on a scent. One that was very familiar. Shit, why did he know that scent? Fuck it, not important. Grayson was mid stuff of sleeping bag into the cover when he froze in a way not too dissimilar to a deer in headlights as there was the vampire from the full moon in a cop’s uniform.
Well, shit.
“Yeah, fine,” He replied defensively. “I mean aside from the fact that this right here is bullshit. Nobody was hurting anybody.”
“I know,” Billy grumbled unhappily, “I know, shifting people from place to place doesn’t stop the systemic issue. We discuss it a lot.”
He didn’t quite know what to do with his hands, so he held them behind his back. “Kid, are you- how long have you been sleeping rough?”
“What does it matter?” Grayson challenged with a clear jut of his jaw as he closed up the sleeping bag and shifted to tie it to his backpack.
“You’re not in trouble, Grayson, I’m just concerned. Do you need a place to crash just until you get on your feet?” Billy frowned a little bit caught himself; of course Grayson would have an issue with the law, and probably Male authority figures. God, people were such arseholes.
Grayson snorted quietly and shook his head. “Not the first time I’ve heard that.” And he wasn’t lying but generally speaking the people who said that shit to him were acting under the guise of kindness but were actually looking for something. It was these experiences that made him super way and mistrustful of anyone with so called good intentions.
He shook his head. “I said I’m fine. Been doing this a long time.”
“Just because you’ve been doing this a long time doesn’t make it okay, Grayson,” Billy reminded him calmly. “Doesn’t mean that it’s not really crappy that you’re out here in the first place.”
“Shit happens,” was the response given by Grayson. “It is what it is so I figure no point crying over it.” He’d long forgotten how to cry or so he thought anyways. Tears were pointless, served absolutely no purpose and emotions could go fuck themselves.
So he was a kid that had had a really rough time of it all and was stuck in a cycle because of his experiences. Billy knew the type, had met a few before and hadn’t been able to help. He hoped he could this time.
“Look, I have a spare room, you can crash there - got its own bathroom - until you find a job and can get a place of your own.”
Grayson shook his head. “I don’t need rescuing, alright? I can take care of myself.” Had been doing it a long time. “Seriously it isn’t a big deal.”
Only it was and probably had been when he was much younger but he was an adult now.
“I’m not trying to rescue you, Grayson,” Billy pointed out. “I’d expect you to get a job, and I could help with that if you wanted. I’d be giving you a roof and somewhere safe. No freebies.” He had a feeling the kids’s pride would be an issue if he wasn’t more careful about how he approached this. “You can stay only until you can get an apartment of your own, if you want, think of it as a halfway house.”
Suspicion was a vital part of Grayson’s survival kit and had kept him alive this long so you could be Mother Theresa and he’d still think you had an ulterior motive. Normally when people offered a helping hand or a kindness they wanted something so he had to wonder what Billy wanted.
“Who do know that’ll be willing to hire a high school dropout?”
“I know a couple of people who would give someone who’s willing to put in the work a go.” Billy told him. “Can you bartend? Clean tables?”
“Yeah,” Grayson said with a lift of his shoulders. He shouldered his backpack and rubbed a hand through his hair that could really do with a wash. “I mean if you can’t clean tables then you should just give up.”
“Exactly, and I can think of half a dozen places that can use someone to help clear tables and wash up that could probably segue into teaching you other skills too.” Billy tipped his head, “No charity here, Grayson, I promise. Just until you get to your feet.”
No charity? Right. Still, what did he want? He must want something. They always did. Billy wasn’t Grayson’s first Good Samaritan.
“Fine,” he bit out. “Just until I get my shit sorted.”
Billy smiled, “Great, and once you get a place of your own you just move right on along. C’mon, get in the passenger seat. Carly’s got a ride from her next shift partner as I’m clocking off.” He started walking towards his car, unlocking it, expecting Grayson to follow.
He hadn’t missed the narrowing of the eyes, the suspicious tilt of the head. The way Grayson was just waiting for the other shoe to drop.
Grayson swallowed hard and wondered if he was making the biggest mistake but he’d definitely survived worst than Billy unless this nice guy act was exactly that: just an act. Still he wouldn’t know unless he tried and wasn’t that what life was all about? Jumping off the ledge and hoping for the best?
He did follow but only after he’d had an inner debate with himself.
Billy waited, driver’s side door open, leaning on the roof of the car before Grayson ambled over. Sliding in and waiting to be joined, Billy started the car and pulled away. He was quiet, just in case Grayson had questions but the werewolf sat in anxious silence for the drive back. Which was fine, Billy knew just how much of a chance Grayson was taking merely by climbing into the car.
God, he hated humanity sometimes.
He pulled into a townhouse after a fifteen minute drive, car parking on the driveway. “Here we go, I should have a spare key in the house, so I won’t need to get you one cut. Wanna bring your stuff?”
Grayson was taking a very big chance. Huge even. And he wasn’t at all clutching his bag to his chest like he wasn’t in fact grown. No. Not at all. Why do you ask? He was in his anxious silence making a mental map of the route that Billy was taking so if he needed to then he could find his way back. Always better to be prepared for the worst.
He regarded the townhouse for a moment before he clambered out of the car, hands slipping the bag back over his shoulder.
“Not a bad place for a cop.”
Even though he had stopped clutching his bag, Grayson looked so young and it made Billy’s chest tighten painfully. He twirled his keys around his index finger and locked the car, heading up the steps. “Thanks? I mean, house prices in the 80s were really low and I had a friend help me out. So I’m one of the lucky ones, I think.”
Inside was relatively simple, coat rack on the wall by the door, shoes in a sort-of-but-not-quite row, lounge and dining area along with a kitchen on the ground floor and stairs near the front door that lead up to the first floor with a curve at the top of them.
“You can come and go as you like,” he said, “food in the kitchen is fair game, but please don’t go into the smaller fridge.”
Grayson hovered at the doorstep like some sort of forgotten child before he eventually summoned up the balls to step inside.
“What’s in the smaller fridge?” He asked, unable to help himself.
Billy chuckled, “My food. Shoulda just told you that.”
He waved a hand towards the stairs. “Three rooms up there, one on the end is mine but you can have either of the others. The one to the right has an en-suite, so you’d be the only one using that bathroom which might help with any sorta territorial stuff.”
Huh, good to know.
Grayson glanced towards the stairs and figured he'd take the one on the right because Billy was right it definitely would help him avoid territorial issues. He was still waiting, for an ask, for a demand, but if it didn't come then he'd have to figure it out on his own.
"Probably take the one on the right then."
"It's yours. I don't think there's a lock on it, and you shouldn't need one- I'm not gonna invade your privacy, but if it'll make you feel better feel free to get one fitted." Billy shrugged out of his jacket and took his gun out of the holster, toeing off his boots and pushing his other hand through his hair before he removed the clip and stuck it in his pocket.
Grayson’s eyes flicked over to Billy when he mentioned the door didn’t have a lock. “Uh, yeah, a lock would be good.” He had never had that option on the streets so he was sure as shit not going to pass it up now.
The sight of a gun made him uncomfortable mostly because the people who he’d known carry them before had been total dicks. So far Billy didn’t seem like a dick but there was no way he was just doing this out of the kindness of his heart. Nobody did that.
“Sure,” Billy moved into the kitchen, raising his voice to be heard, “You want it in the next couple of days or are you good to get it from your first pay check?”
“I’ll get it from my first pay check,” Grayson said hurriedly. He definitely wasn’t going to accept any more charity or what the fuck ever this was. Normally if a guy offered him a refuge or whatever they were expecting something in return and whilst Grayson didn’t have a lot of things to give he did have other talents. Born of necessity and not choice because choice was a luxury those with actual security and money possessed.
“Right,” Billy could be heard in the kitchen putting his gun away in a lock box that he had downstairs. He could survive a gunshot well enough, but he wasn’t about to allow his weapon to be available for just anyone. “Jack’s is always hiring, and so is The Jam Jar, both have pretty good managers who won’t care that you dropped outta high school.”
“I’ll check them out tomorrow.” When he didn’t look like he’d been dragged off the street. “Hey, um, Billy? Can I take a shower?”
“Yeah, Grayson, towels are in the airing cupboard,” Billy re-emerged from the kitchen, top two buttons of his collar undone. “Which is at the very top of the stairs. My laundry’s around somewhere, you can borrow something just while yours get washed.”
He was taller than Grayson, but his stuff should fit the kid. “Washing machine is just through there.” He jerked his thumb over his shoulder, hoping he was being casual enough not to make Grayson uncomfortable. “Any other questions?”
Grayson noticed the loosened collar but said nothing and just shook his head. “Not at the moment.” The wolf headed up the stairs and helped himself to a towel and snagged a pair of jogging pants that he could wear after before disappearing into the bathroom. The whole time he didn’t let go of his stuff.