Work Text:
It was another wet day in Donlon, the rain hammered down on the roof of the bus shelter, creating a sound almost akin to gunshots alongside another, quieter, constant drip from where the shelter's roof had caved in. No bus was coming, it was rare to see any sort of public transport anymore in Donlon, the cabs were the main method of getting around and the hefty pizzo they paid made them favoured by the mobs. Even if defunct, the shelter was, mostly, dry and had a seat for Cheeky, Pete and John to rest on while they waited for their target.
The job was vague, as most jobs the Mobgoblins gave the trio were, neither humanoid particularly trusted by the Krags, but the work was simple, and easy. A stakeout was familiar, a quick hit even more so and Cheeky had already dragged his dustbin from his apartment so the whole thing could be wrapped up immediately. The only roadblock was the waiting…
The target was meant to have left the club by sunset and it was now firmly nighttime, the music was still blasting from inside, grainy and indistinct where the trio sat, and vague cheers and shouts could be heard intermittently so Cheeky put it down to wrong information and settled in to wait.
He’d picked up a newspaper from the bus shelter, dated months back from whenever it was last stocked, but even old news gave Cheeky something to do. He’d read every article, pointed some out to Pete to mixed responses and tried to mentally complete the crossword before giving up and handing it over to Pete, who quickly announced he’d finished and threw the newspaper into the rain, where it had quickly dissipated in a manner not totally natural.
John had settled down in Pete’s lap eventually, the hint of warmth the automaton gave off preferable to Cheeky’s cold bones and Cheeky had spent the last few minutes leant over Pete to stroke John, the cat bumping up into his hand. Pete, tilting his head, moved his hand up above Cheeky, who kept a vague eye on the movement, before copying Cheeky’s ministrations, hat scrunching under his heavy fingers. Cheeky paused for a second before chuckling, taking his hat off, placing it on Pete’s head for safekeeping and letting Pete continue to try his petting.
Soon Cheeky found himself leaning more heavily against Pete’s shoulder, body slackened with the rare warm contact and John’s hiss made him realise he’d stopped moving his hand. He rested his head lightly on Pete, the porcelain shoulder joint warmer than his more armoured body, and titled his head down to see John. He was curled up, shivering slightly but that was far from abnormal for him, all three eyes closed and his tongues languidly preening his fur. He stretched, knocking Cheeky’s uncoordinated hand off his head before settling down more securely and biting near Cheeky’s fingers to get him to continue.
Pete’s hand continued running through Cheeky’s hair, blunt fingertips scratching down his scalp in the exact manner John likes, and his thinning hair was tucked behind his ear, fingers scratching in sync with Cheeky petting Jon there.
John gave one loud yawn before his breathing evened out and the rattling in his lungs subsided slightly in a way Cheeky knew meant his cat was fast asleep. Slowly, he stopped moving his hand, letting it rest limp tangled in Jon’s matted fur and was distantly pleased when Pete continued his even strokes, the pressure of his hand just enough to put Cheeky’s mind at ease.
The club faded out of view, then the puddles of the road, the cracked pavement, the sight of his cat curled up all faded with it until Cheeky wasn't entirely sure if his eyes were open or not. The constant drizzle of rain and the faint hiss of steam he could only hear when he was right next to Pete wormed their way into his ears, settling into a soothing rhythm in his brain. Pete’s hand stroked down again, catching at the short hairs at the base of Cheeky’s neck before moving back to the crown of his head to repeat the action.
Cheeky’s brain felt sluggish, his limbs felt distant and his heart felt warm, if he were more aware Cheeky might have worried that something was wrong but as it was all Cheeky’s mind registered was that he was safe . Even after so many years looking out for himself he found it easy to relax, the motion of being one of a pair familiar after so many years spent as Albert’s right hand. Under Pete’s steady hand and sturdy shoulder, Cheeky’s consciousness slipped, any thoughts aside from comfort and relaxation were lost under Pete’s ministrations.
Under the bus shelter, hidden away from the pouring rain, Pete sat still, careful not to disturb his two sleeping friends as he kept a careful watch over the street ahead.