I hate you because I love you

by sherlockmiranda

Summary:

What’s the difference between love and hate?

Hate was everything Miranda was accustomed to. Hate was, ironically, his only happy place. Hate was comfortable. He was born into it, for Christ’s sakes. Love probably paid well, probably gave you something hate could never. But that didn’t matter, because once he was settled? Hate gave him all he (thought he) needed.

When you were with him, all he knew was hate. It was selfish, and unforgiving, but sometimes, that was all you needed to survive. At least, that’s what he thought.

Turns out, he could’ve never been more wrong, and there was nothing more he hated than being wrong

Chapter 1

What’s the difference between love and hate?

Hate was everything Miranda was accustomed to. Hate was, ironically, his only happy place. Hate was comfortable. He was born into it, for Christ’s sakes. Love probably paid well, probably gave you something hate could never. But that didn’t matter, because once he was settled? Hate gave him all he (thought he) needed.

When you were with him, all he knew was hate. It was selfish, and unforgiving, but sometimes, that was all you needed to survive. At least, that’s what he thought.

Turns out, he could’ve never been more wrong, and there was nothing more he hated than being wrong.

 

Lin scowled, itching his forearm. They needed somebody, and it had to be soon. Ramos was ignorant, and Lin wasn't too sure if it was the right decision to keep him around. If need be, he'd have to kill him.

He spun in his chair, eyes glued to the camera. It was so incredibly slow today, Lin even considered walking outside and killing everyone in broad daylight.

He mentally went over the plan again, checking for any flaws (he never made mistakes).

Anthony would be behind the counter, serving drinks. He would wait for the confirmation, then drug the drink.

In continuation, Jackson would come out, and the two men would haul the body downstairs. That's when the fun kicked in.

Sighing, he contemplated if he should call it off. He didn't have the patience for this.

That's when he came in.

Miranda sat up, a new fire in his eyes.

"Finally."

 

The bar was a bit sketchy to say the least. He didn't know why he chose it in the first place. The sign above the door was hanging by a thread, "WREN'S" all in cursive neon letters across it. The "R" was the only letter able to stay lit, as the others blinked periodically, a spark flying every now and then.

The ground around the doorstep was muddy, puddles everywhere.

Whatever. He just needed a drink.

When Jonathan pushed the door open, it made a loud creaking sound, paired with that of a small bell near the hinge.

The bar was dim and empty, aside from one bartender wiping down a counter, humming to himself. A tune Jon couldn't quite catch but wouldn't stop ringing in his ear. Above that, a soft melody played on a jukebox in the corner.

The man looked up at the sound of Jon's shoes squeaking with each step he took on the slick flooring. He smiled warmly, moving behind the counter as Jonathan took a seat at one of the stools.

"What can I get you sir?"

"Any beer on tap will work," he sighed, resting an elbow on the counter.

"Long day?" Actually looking up to get a glimpse of the man, Jon took notice of his countless freckles and shimmering hazel eyes in the low lighting and grinned, exhausted.

"You have no idea," he chuckled dryly, rubbing a hand over his forehead. Squinting his eyes, Ramos noticed something in his far off gaze. Something cold, something broken.

"I'll have that right out for you," turning around, he grabbed the mixers, leaning over the back counter to send a text. A text to a pair of unseen eyes that'd been lurking in the shadows.

Ramos : this one?

He sighed, exasperated watching the text go from delivered to read and staying that way.

For god-sake, the man was making him wait. It was one of his little games he loved to play. And no one messed with that. Everything had to be on his terms and his terms only.

"You good, man?" Jonathan had to ask. He'd been hunched over, twiddling his thumbs.

"What?" he turned around, "Yes, yeah I'm good , just gotta deal with something real quick."

Ramos : damn you Miranda

He knew full well the man was in the back somewhere, laughing his ass off. Why couldn't the little bitch do it himself?

"Because that's how it works around here," he'd told him in a solemnly cold tone, "Now you have two options. Be part of the team, a good sport or," he could hear the menacing smirk in his tone. "Be a victim," he murmured as he cocked the gun. He unloaded it, letting the bullets slide out of his palm, onto the ground. And he walked out of the room, not bothering to shut the door.

Ramos shivered at the memory. Just as he began to recollect, he felt that distinct ding.

Miranda : do it.

He sighed in relief, grabbing and wiping a glass, setting it under the beer tap to fill it up. With his body covering the act, he slipped in a clear powder, watching it dissolve.

"Here you are," he spun around, sliding the drink across the counter into his waiting hand. Jonathan slapped some cash down, bringing the chilled glass to his lips. Ramos watched him take a nice long sip as he stared absentmindedly out the window.

A couple minutes later, still sipping his beer, Jon started to feel woozy.

"Did you put something in that drink?" he mumbled, bracing a hand against the edge of the counter. Things were starting to spin.

"No? Are you okay?" he asked, coming out from behind the counter to check up on him. Jon could feel the liquid burning in his stomach. There was definitely something.

"I....." He stood on unsteady legs, eyelids drooping. The hand braced on the counter lost its grip as he collapsed. Ramos grunted at his weight as he held him up. He tapped his cheek to make sure it'd worked and surely enough, the guy was out like a light.

"Yo Jackson, get in here!" he stage whispered. A taller, broader man came out from the back, through a side door, rushing to help him carry the limp body.

"A pretty one," Jackson murmured, examining him.

"No kidding. I'm sure the boss'll like that."

"Oh, right, Miranda wanted us to grab his phone if he had one."

"Why?" he wondered incredulously. Jackson shrugged.

"Don't know. He was pretty adamant on the need for a little extra money so......"

He nodded quickly, "Yeah. Okay," they worked together to heave the man onto the table, most of the work done by Chris and they didn't bother holding his head up, ignoring the soft thunk against the counter.

Anthony patted him down, finding an old phone with a cracked screen in the front pocket.

"Alright, got it," he pocketed the phone, moving to lift his legs again, Chris holding his upper body.

The two carried him out into the back room, down a set of spiral stairs that led below ground.
Anthony complained and whined on the stairwell as the man was getting heavier with every step.

"Dude shut up, you know he's watching," Jackson hissed. That shut him right up.

They sat him in the metal chair placed in the center of the room, tying him up as they'd done to others several times before.

And with that, their job for the day was done, each man wiping his hands on his pants as they walked back up, into the back room. Their steps echoed against the cold metal of the room, water droplets dripping in the background.

Chapter 2: Who are you?

Summary:

Groff meets Miranda, who has a lot to say

To say he wanted to hurl that damn phone across the room was an understatement. He wanted to break it in half, watch it shatter.

All the messages he'd sent. All of them- and there were dozens. All either on opened or delivered. There had to be a catch to this. Somehow. The man had to have seen this coming, warned people.

You don't just watch a video of your loved one tied to a chair, threatened with their life and move on with your day. You just don't.

Granted, Lin wouldn't know what loved ones did- at least not from personal experience. All he knew was this strategy always. Always worked.

He held the phone in his right hand, fingers tense. He wanted to watch it crumble, crush in his hand.

He jumped at the knock on the door.

"Come in," he didn't care to look up, knowing that feeble step at the drop of a hat. He beckoned him over with a finger, waiting for the pitter patter to come close enough, stopping to stand next to him. "Did you tamper with it," he gritted in a mostly contained tone.

"Wh-What?" Ramos stammered, making eyes at the door.

"Did you delete a contact? Hmm?" he was starting to raise his voice, causing Anthony to cower back. "What did you do to it? Huh?!"

"I didn't d-do anything to it sir," he told him, avoiding eye contact the best he could. Lin had stood up, chair screeching as it slid back. His hands were balled into little fists as he glared.

They were about the same height but Miranda had a stare that could kill and Anthony didn't wanna die today. Lin let out a huff, leaning his elbows on the high desk, head in his hands.

Suddenly Ramos felt bad, sympathetic for the guy. He reached out to console him, retaliated by what reminded him of a small cat.

"Don't fucking touch me," he snapped. "Leave. I don't want you here."
__________

When he awoke, he was sitting up straight. That was the first problem. People don't sleep sitting up straight or- he didn't.

He's neck had a horrible kink in it. It popped as he tilted his head straight. That was the second problem but there were oh so many more that he didn't feel like listing them all.

His hands constrained behind his back, to a desperately uncomfortable metal chair, for starters. Opening his eyes, the dark room was eerie, soft echoes of water droplets and a terrible chill running through the air. His mouth felt weirdly dry.

Upon moving it, he found he couldn't really. Was that a sock in his mouth? God it was. It was placed in a way that he couldn't spit it out, sitting against his jaw and flicking his tongue brought out a painful choking sound.

There was a low chuckling somewhere behind him. Footsteps, sure and determined. They were quickly getting closer, Jon's back instinctively straightened as he moved to stand in front of him, not five feet away.

He unceremoniously pulled the gag out of his mouth and kept walking.

He worked his jaw, listening to the crack, focusing on those same footsteps.

A chair Jon hadn't noticed was pulled out from the dark, a screech against the floor that made him wince. The man turned it backwards, straddling it, crossing his arms to rest at the top. After that, there was nothing.

Silence. Eyes. Deep brown ones jumping all around his figure, curious.

"What?" he finally asked.

"Just trying to figure it out," he mumbled, nails tapping against the chair, little tings echoing off the walls. Jon raised an eyebrow, unnoticed by the man who couldn't be thrown off track.

"Figure what out?" He didn't answer, stood back up, circling him like he was prey. He pulled at the sleeve on his tee shirt. Jonathan gulped audibly as he caught sight of the outline of a pistol sitting in his pant pocket in the corner of his eye. Cargo pants were convenient that way. He only chuckled, loving the effect he had on everyone around him.

He walked back over to his chair, bringing it closer, straddling it once again. He stared into his eyes, as though he was thinking.

"You have really pretty eyes," Jonathan told him. The man blinked, as if a fly flew near his eye, squinting his eyes. He looked a little longer before looking down, a hand in his hair.

"Jesus fuck, I give up, can you give me a hint?" he growled. Jon scrunched his eyebrows together.

"A hint to what?" he shot back.

"Why nobody cares about you!" he threw his hands up in the air.

"Ouch....."

He shoved the phone in his face, showing him exactly what he'd been looking at for the past four hours. Then he showed the picture he'd taken while he was unconscious.

"None of them care! Not one!" He watched Jonathan tense up, shoulder blades drawing back.

God, Jon knew they were mad. Knew they were disappointed. But they really didn't give a damn, did they? Maybe they never did. His jaw clenched as he scowled, bowing his head.

"So are you gonna tell me or am I gonna have to pull it out of your ass?" he asked. Well- demanded, blankly. He always kept this cold persona, closing himself off one way or another.

Jonathan wasn't at all in the mood for this bullshit. He didn't have to answer to him. What, he was gonna kill him anyway, what was the point? What if it was better that way?

He held his head up high, giving him a hard glare.

"Fine," he sat back down. "You're making me guess, I can do that." He rose an eyebrow, scanning his features. Jon took a second to marvel at how precise his few facial expressions were, how pronounced.

"Why do you wanna know? You're just gonna kill me anyways-"

"No I'm not," he interrupted blatantly.

Jon scoffed, cocking his head down, "Right, okay," he rolled his eyes.

"Did you just mock me?" he warned in a low, monotonous pitch, staring up from under his brow.

Jon shrugged, pursing his lips together, "So what if I did?" He smiled wickedly as he watched the man's nostrils flare, eyes drilling holes into his own.

"Well I might change my mind," he continued, looking down at his nails, "but I'm not going to kill you."

".....why not?"

"I kill when I feel like it, fake people out when I need the money," he shrugged, as if it was the most normal thing in the world. "Sometimes they come together, sometimes they don't."

"Right....." he didn't get it but maybe that was a good thing. "So- why do you wanna know?"

"I don't like not knowing things," he answered right away, "Now where were we, let's see." He mumbled to himself a bit under his breath,"You look about early 20s. You came to an old bar in the middle of the night and ordered a beer on tap. It wasn't hard liquor so I doubt you're an alcoholic but you didn't have a reaction at all so you're used to it. That means you're probably around 22 or 23."

Jonathan's eyes widened the slightest bit when he guessed his age.

"You had a lot of friends, and relatives I assume since they shared your last name," he was still mumbling, Jon had to strain to understand him. "They didn't answer though. None of them. Not one...."

"Okay I get it!"

He ignored him, as if he wasn't even there, "And you were shocked, which means this is recent, maybe even in the past week....." he brought a hand up to stroke his chin, a clean, dark goatee shaping it. "That could mean a couple things." He thought long and hard. Then he remembered.

"You have really pretty eyes." That's what he'd said.

He tilted his head. "So you're gay, then." Jon's breath hitched, mouth falling open. "Oh don't act so surprised," Lin scoffed. "And you just came out," he exhaled. "They disowned you....." he chewed on his lip, cracking his shoulder. This was bringing back unnecessary memories.

Jon realized then he'd never fully processed that fact. He ducked his head again if only to blink away a tear or two and looked back up. He took in a shaky breath.

"So what now?" because he had to know. It's not like he knew how these things went.

"Well," he was back to mumbling. "You don't look very strong....." His body was slim, aside from some broad shoulders. 

"Hey!" Ignoring him again.

"You know how to shoot a gun, right?"

"No?"

His head jutted forward in shock, "You don't?!" He mumbled something incomprehensible under his breath and then, "We can fix that." 

"What do you mean?" he wasn't too sure where this was headed and began to wonder just exactly how strong the bonds holding his wrists were.

He tapped his chin, "I could use another person. Yeah. You'll work for me."

"And why would I ever want to do that?" Jonathan scoffed, looking him over.

He shrugged nonchalantly, "Because you don't have an option. I could use the extra help and with they right training," he scanned Jonathan's figure again, "I think you could prove useful." He swung a leg over the chair to stand up, a hand in his pocket and he pulled out that pistol Jon had so dreaded. He was humming happily to himself as he walked over, the rubber soles of his shoes squeaking slightly in his movements. 

He carefully placed the barrel of the gun under his chin, forcing it up to look at him. It wasn't cocked but hell if Jon knew how guns worked. 

"Lin-Manuel Miranda. Don't forget it." 

Jonathan couldn't see behind himself but he could hear those distinct footsteps fade away and- going up? There was a staircase then. 

Chapter 3: What if he’s crazier?

He must've fallen asleep. When he woke up again he felt hands on his own. A release of pressure in his wrists. And then someone was pulling him up forcefully, causing him to grunt.

"Come on," that wasn't Lin. The voice was too deep. He squirmed out of his grip as he pulled him towards the stairs.

"I can walk by myself, thank you. Where do you think I'm gonna go, huh?" The man was significantly taller than him and he wasn't used to others towering over himself. It didn't change his demeanor though. Jackson rose his hands in defense, waving towards the stairs in a mocking sense.

"Oh, please, your majesty, forgive me." The man rolled his eyes. "And don't talk to the boss like that. You won't see the end of it."

"I can look after myself." He trudged up the steps, a hand sliding up the cold, thin railing. 

Jonathan made it a point to stay aware of his surroundings. It wasn’t everyday that you’d get kidnapped, and be taken in.

He wasn’t particularly scared, which wasn’t new. He was a bit curious, but these past few weeks, he felt numb. It was an eye opener, seeing how little his family cared for him. His blood boiled at the thought of them, and all he could do now was scoff.

So. This is where life has led him, in a random bar (New York was a strange place, at least he hasn’t died yet…), following a guy taller than him.

They had followed a set of spiral stairs, and Jonathan immediately recognized the man behind the counter.

Countless freckles, and a strong jawline.

The same man who had drugged him.

Now, Jonathan always had a fire in him, and right now, he really wanted to punch his handsome ass face. At the same time, he understood. He was sure that they weren’t here voluntarily, especially since the fear in his eyes were quite evident.

That didn’t mean it was okay though (Jon thought about the countless of other people tied to the same chair he was in), so he gave him his best death glare.

And his reaction was hilarious, at least to Groff. His eyes widened in fear, and all Jon could do was straighten his back, conveying that he could break him if he wanted (he didn’t know how to, nor did he actually want to).

Chris just sighed, noticing their interaction, “Cut him a little slack. Anthony hates it here, he’s a little….” He trailed off, leaving Jon to make any further assumptions. He just nodded in response, holding his head high.

Jackson opened a door (so many doors…), letting Groff walk in first.

“What am I supposed to do in here-”

“Boss says that you can leave if you want,” He scratched the back of his head, “He wants to see what you’ll do. He also wanted me to tell you that you’re not restricted to this room….”

Groff frowned, “He’s the boss?”

 

“Yeah…”

Jonathan grinned, his eyes brightening, “Why?”

“Because he’s the one in power, what do you-”

“Why do you let him boss you around, is what I mean.”

Jonathan was sitting on the edge of his bed now, his back straight. Chris was in the doorway, still holding the door open. As for Anthony, he was still in the room just outside of Groff’s, and he was more than surprised by Jon's questions.

Ramos was still haunted just by the glare Lin constantly shot in his direction, and the new guy had the audacity to question Miranda’s authority? He was scared for him.

“Because...” Chris paused, “He’s not afraid to kill us. He doesn’t like us, barely talks to us. He’s crazy.”

Jon tilted his head, and in that moment, just for a second, Groff seemed crazier, “Kay.”

And that was it. He sighed, and laid down on the bed, his demeanor relaxed.

Sighing (almost like he was relieved?), Jackson closed the door, leaving it slightly open.

The next day

“Get up,” Lin said forcefully, taking the only thin sheet he had supplied Groff the previous night, “You’re staying here, which means you listen to me.”

Jon groaned, sitting up. He narrowed his eyes, glaring at Lin, “The only reason I’m here is because you fucking kidnapped me.”

Miranda whistled, “You could’ve left any time, Groff. I already said I wouldn’t kill you.”

Jonathan ignored him, and grabbed the sheet again. Chris silently watched from the doorway, worried if he would have to carry out a bloody body.

Lin clenched his jaw, anger evident. He pressed a cold pistol against Jon’s hip, and to his satisfaction, he could feel his whole body tense.

“A gun won’t scare me.” Jon consulted, and just like that, his body relaxed.

Lin froze, not used to this. He remembered how it went with Ramos. He almost cried out of fear. With Jackson, all he had to do was raise his voice, and the man would comply.

And here he was, pointing a gun at Jonathan Groff.

Lin didn’t understand at this point. What was he doing wrong? First, no one had cared for him (“Understandable.” He reasons with himself), and now? Jon didn’t even flinch at a gun.

He growled, and pocketed the pistol. Instead, he flipped him over, rage overcoming him.

“If you’re staying here, dumbass, you’re gonna be working for me. Understand?”

Jonathan sat up, fast this time, and he scowled. He grabbed him by the collar, and whispered, “Stop being so fucking loud.”

Groff let go, making Miranda stumble back. Jon stood up, stretching his arms. He let Lin’s eyes follow his abs, already feeling him examine him. It was unsettling to say the least.

“Fuck you,” Lin breathed out. His eyes were all screwed up, and all he could think about was how annoying this one kid was, “You’re a useless, scrawny motherfucker, and I’m trying to change that. Get your head out of your ass.”

Jonathan just stood there, his head cocked, a grin plastered on his face.

Lin turned on his heel, and glared at Chris.

He took that as his sign, and approached Jon, “What was that!” He whispered aggressively, “I told you not to talk back! He’ll fucking kill you, y’know!”

Jonathan laughed, clutching onto his sides. “Ah, Chris. He’s not gonna kill me, I’ll be fine. Now. What are we doing today?”

Jackson stood there, confused. This guy had balls. He wasn’t afraid, which would be a first. Everyone was afraid of Miranda.

“I’ve gotta show you your workout routine, which you’ll be doing everyday. Lin makes Ramos and I do it, so."

Jon nodded, scratching his head. For some unknown reason, he already looked bored of everything, and Chris didn't know if he was irritated or impressed by him. Probably a bit of both.

"Okay, nothing I can't do…"

Jackson whistled, "Let's see about that."

Chris led him into a seperate room. It kinda confused Jon, with how many rooms there were. When he had first entered the bar (what a mistake that was), it looked small and quaint. He had never been more wrong.

There was plenty of gym equipment, mainly treadmills and bench presses.

Chris drilled on and on about how many reps he would have to do, and how many hours of training he would have to be putting in.

"Am I gonna have to shoot anybody?" It was abrupt, and Jon didn't really think before he spoke.

Chris cleared his throat, meeting his gaze, "Yeah. It'll be a tough process, but unless you find a way to escape all of this,” He waved his hands around, “You’ve gotta be prepared. It's not as tough as it seems, I promise."

Jonathan nodded, dragging a hand over his face, "Alrighty then. I dunno about you, but I like working out without someone staring at me." He did a little motion with his hands, signaling Jackson to leave. He hadn't even been here for more than 24 hours, yet here he was, taking charge and asserting dominance.

Chris scoffed, not sure how to react. He promptly left, and he was met with Lin's burning gaze.

“So?” Lin questioned, “What’s he doing?” He pressed on (thankfully, he seemed a lot more calm than before).

“He’s already started. I’d say he’s got potential.” Chris regretted his words as soon as they came out. Lin scowled, his eyebrows furrowing.

“Please,” He crossed his arms, chuckling, “He’ll be lucky if I don’t kill him. He’s got a mouth, I don’t know if I can work with that.”

Chris nodded, already on thin ice.

Miranda sighed, and turned again. “Watch him. I’ll be out.”