The last thing Mickey was doing was listening to whatever bullshit was coming out of Maria's mouth as she made shitty breakfast.
Mickey stared at the wall, the sounds of shouts and Terry's voice from the night before in his ears. All Mickey could do right now was hope that Terry hadn't gotten away from the cops, hoping that a witness at the bar said something about Terry hitting Ian first. Mickey's leg shook nervously. Worst case scenario is Terry's looking for Mickey, having escaped the cops, with a fucking rifle in his hands. Mickey let out a shaky breath. Right now, he has nobody. Colin was a drunk mess last night, which scared the fuck out of Mickey because he's never seen his brother like that before, then Mickey's bitchy attitude told Ian off and obviously the red head hates him now, Iggy- Jesus, is he even alive?
A plate was dropped down in front of Mickey who jumped at the sound of glass hitting the tabletop. Mickey glanced down at the half burnt eggs and whatever the fuck that brown shit beside it was and felt vomit rise in his stomach. Maria used to be a fantastic cooker, she made the best tacos and Mexican shit like that Mickey had ever tasted and of course she lost that talent. Mickey's eyes followed Maria's arms which were covered in needle marks and a tight feeling grasped his chest. He shook his head, mumbling about how he wasn't hungry and bolted out the door, grabbing his jacket with him.
"Mikael!" He heard Maria call but he didn't listen, just ran and ran and ran until he was fucking far away from her. He stopped by a tree and leant against it, breathing harshly through this nose, struggling to catch his breath. Mickey looked around as he gasped, chest tightening. He had nowhere to go. He's officially alone. There's no fucking where for Mickey to stay which means he's now outside and alone open to Terry to beat the fuck out of him. He weirdly almost hoped Terry appeared out of nowhere, and put him out of his misery.
He's more afraid of not being with Ian than he is of Terry.
Mickey shook his head, running a tight hand through his hair as his chest burned in the thought that just flashed through his mind. No, fucking no. His whole life isn't going to get fucked up over whatever the fuck he felt for Ian. Mickey unabashedly threw a kick at the tree he leant on. Now what, he asked himself, now what?
"Mickey fucking Milkovich."
Mickey looked up at the unrecognized voice and squinted in the sunlight as a cop approached him with a toothy grin. The cop had a buzz-cut head and a stubble, with green eyes and clearly was one of those rare lightskins. Mickey stood up straight, ignoring every inch of pain all over his fucking body- physically and mentally- and tilted his chin up in a pathetic attempt to look fierce. The cop didn't fall for it; clearly catching bluff on Mickey's expression.
"You look like you're shitting yourself," the cop laughed, one hand fixing his hat while the other rested on his gun. "Wipe that fucking look off your face before I make you, Milkovich."
Mickey's face dropped, not sure of the expression he was making but he attempted to change it quickly. The cop seemed satisfied as he chewed on his gum with a smirk and nodded curtly. "That's more like it. You're loosing your rep around here, aren't ya?"
Mickey didn't have time for this shit. He rolled his eyes, suddenly wondering why the fuck he was even listening to this random cop. "What the fuck do you want, man?"
"Follow me, Mickey," the cop smirked. "Before things get worse."
Mickey's first reaction was to bolt, since nothing good ever comes out of a dirty cop, which is what this cop obviously was. But the cop, Officer Larkin, had his gun almost pulled out of the waist trap before Mickey could even move. Larkin spat his gum out of his mouth and raised his eyebrows daringly. Mickey slumped his shoulders, walking towards where Larkin guided him to. They ended up walking to the exact same alley Mickey was stabbed in, making Mickey's shoulders tense as he puffed his chest out, absentmindedly covering his abdomen when he noticed the stain of his blood on the floor.
"Why the fuck did you bring me here?" Mickey asked roughly, starting to feel sick. Larkin snorted amusedly.
"You didn't report anything, didn't even make it a case," Larkin said, which caused Mickey to shut his eyes and groan while he spoke. "Was it a gang hit, Milkovich?"
"Fuck the fuck off," Mickey spat, turning to face Larkin. "I'm leaving. Fucking waste of my time."
"Like you've got anywhere to go," Larkin laughed yet again. Mickey raised his eyebrows. How the fuck did he know that? "What? You think we didn't hear about the boy's town fight?"
Mickey's mouth dried up. "You-"
"It doesn't take a genius to know you can't go home, since you know, Terry got away without charges," Larkin informed. Mickey's heart sank. Of course. "So, where're you staying now?"
"You know it was me, you know it was Terry, why the fuck am I not in prison?"
"Nobody pressed charges, just a small bar fight," Larkin rolled his eyes. "Shit, even the fucking owners of the club were scared so shitless of you Milkovich's they didn't want to press charges."
Mickey's never before wished that somebody would press charges against him, but right now it was a hopeless wish. He looked down at the ground then traveled his eyes up Larkin's uniformed body. "So, what do you want from me? A fucking confession?"
Larkin took a deep breath and adjusted his hat on his head again, which Mickey took as a sign of nervousness. "Do you want to find the man who stabbed you?"
Mickey's eyes widened a little before he shook his head, beginning to walk away again back into the sunlight. "Not in my best interest right now."
Larkin stood amazed as Mickey began to walk away. "Wait! Not in your best interest? The guy who almost killed you, you don't want to find him?"
"I got a lot more problems to solve instead of some fucking wise ass who decided to clear the world from it's sins by stabbing me in the goddamn stomach, alright?"
"A lot more problems?" Larkin laughed sarcastically. "A lot more problems aside from the man who tried to fucking kill you?"
"You'd be surprised how many people want me dead right now."
"Listen-"
"You know where he is?" Mickey's voice boomed in the dark, empty alley aside from the two men standing at a distance. "You got full 100% proof that he's the fuck who tried to kill me?"
"He was seen on cameras fleeing the scene while shoving gloves into his pockets, and witnesses that were around when the accident happened saw him leave the alleyway in a hurry," Larkin replied with a satisfied smile. "We were told to put the case to sleep since when the victims, like yourself, don't file a report or take it to court after two days of unsuccessful search."
"So, you didn't find him?" Mickey asked, clearing the air. "You have no idea where he is?"
"You can come take a look, see if you recognize him," Larkin said. "We need you to come see."
"Let me just fuckin' think about it, alright?" Mickey proposed, just wanting Larkin to fuck off. "I'll let you know."
"Good," Larkin smiled and handed Mickey a card. "Just, uh- give a call soon, okay?"
Mickey shoved the card in his pocket carelessly as Larkin turned to walk away. He stood in the alley for a while longer, analyzing the stain of blood. He noticed something strange though, the way there will splatters of blood dripping past in a certain direction. "The fuck?" Mickey mumbled as he followed it, the drops becoming smaller and fainter. He was let to two large garbage dumps by each other at the end of the alley behind a small shawarma place and plugged his nose. They were both bolted shut, obviously meaning they had been used a while ago and the garbage was left inside. Mickey stared at them before shaking his head. What the fuck was he, a detective?
His feet led him to Kash 'n Grab, not really knowing where else to go. Mickey was extremely hesitant, his eyes flickering back and forth as he walked head down through the streets. Every time he thought of how Terry wasn't in prison and instead out for Mickey's blood he ran cold and shivered a little. He hated the effect that piece of shit had on him. He hated that he gave Terry the satisfaction of causing him to physically think terrifying ways of murder which honestly probably made Mickey a little fucking psychotic. He hated the fact that Terry made him hate.
Mickey stood outside of the grocery shop. It was open, but nobody was inside. The counter was empty. His shift had started about half an hour ago, and usually Mickey would probably end up not showing up and trying to persuade Ian to just call in sick or something, but right now he had nowhere else to fucking go. So he opened the door, listening to it jingle before listening to it shut behind him. The low Arabian music filled his ears as he waited for someone to come out, say something. Maybe even for Linda to come shout at him for being late.
Nobody came. It was weird. Mickey stalked slowly to the back, an uneasy feeling filling up his stomach. Had Terry followed Ian? Was he here right now? Mickey's feet told him to just fucking run for it, but his heart sped at the thought of Ian being in trouble, or worse- dead. He heard a humming, and the sound of something loud dropping repeatedly. His breath sped up, heart thimping, mind dizzy as he pulled back the drape and-
Ian had headphones in, and was stacking boxes of fruit one on top of the other, making the thumping sound. He hummed and bobbed his head, and Mickey was a little fucking pissed about how Ian could be all happy and fine the next day while Mickey felt, looked, and probably smelt like shit since he was too fucking stressed and worried to even take a shower.
Ian noticed Mickey finally and pulled his headphones out, wide eyes trailing over Mickey's three day old outfit of a dirty black tank top, a sweater and fucked up jeans. The two boys stared at each other, not knowing what to say, though there was so much going on in their heads.
"Hey," Ian said finally with a small, soothing smile. Mickey's breathing slowly went back to normal.
"Hey," Mickey replied in the same tone, but without a smile. Ian put his music away and tugged Mickey's security vest off the beat up coat rack and threw it at Mickey who caught it midair. Honestly, under normal Mickey circumstances and the situations he was in right bow, Mickey should have dipped, ran far away while he still could, but Ian's grin and enthusiasm made him stay. As much as he wanted to, Mickey felt like he couldn't ignore him. he can't push him away.
There's no doubt that Terry was looking for them right now. And that he'd come to Kash 'n Grab since he'd somehow find out that Mickey and Ian worked there. Still, Mickey couldn't find the willpower to leave. He told Ian about the cop, Larkin, but only about the Terry details and left out the stabbing shit. Ian told him that Linda was with her kids for the day and Kash just wasn't around. They didn't speak about last night, despite having to. They should, honestly. But Mickey didn't want to ruin their quiet atmosphere right now- no doubt it would start up a fight if Mickey brought it up.
"Colin left in the morning, so," Ian had informed Mickey while they stood at the counter. Mickey didn't look up from his magazine. "You know... We never did find Jamie."
Mickey looked up, blinking. Jamie. Fucking Jamie! He had completely forgotten about the sole purpose of the fight with Terry. "Oh, fuck," Mickey blurted, chest tightening. "Fuck."
"Are you okay?" Ian got up quickly and dashed to Mickey's side, catching him before he fell. "It's okay, Mick. Deep breaths. Deep breaths, just calm down. It's all going to be okay."
After about ten minutes (Ian was counting in his ear to calm him, which surprisingly worked) Mickey felt relaxed at last and could breathe normally. He felt his neck and face heat up at the way Ian had him in a side hug, his face pressed into Ian's red shirt. There were tear stains on the shirt that Mickey didn't bother hiding. "The fuck was that?"
"I think you had a panic attack, Mickey, they're very common," Ian replied with a grin, moving away. He didn't acknowledge the tears stains on his shirt- which honestly Mickey could kiss him for. Mickey shook his head and put the magazine back on the rack with shaky hands.
"We gotta find Colin," Mickey said after a while of silence. "You know where Iggy is?"
"Didn't see him but he'll probably be at the house later," Ian replied. "He told me last night that Terry had only seen me, you and Colin. Lip and the others had covered their faces and stayed away from Terry."
"We need a plan," Mickey decided, rapping his finger against the counter. "Text your brother, say meet up at yours when our shift finishes. We'll go find Iggy and Colin, but we gotta keep our heads down."
"Why hasn't Terry come after us?"
Mickey stared at Ian. "I don't know. What I do know is there's no way he isn't at least planning some shit right now. He is not going to let this slide. Fuck no, that's not even an option. We gotta keep safe."
Ian nodded. They went back to their usual quietness. "Did you-" Ian stopped, hesitating, before sighing and deciding to just get over it. "Did you mean what you said last night?"
Mickey itched for a cigarette as he struggled for an answer. But before he could reply, the sound of shattering glass cut his breath when he saw Ian's eyes bulge out of his head and blood hit the counter. Mickey leaned over the counter and felt his eyes full with tears of fright. They got him. They got Ian. Ian. Ian. Wake up. Talk to me, Ian.
More fires shot.