Mickey scowled as someone shook him awake, his body telling him it was early without him having to check a clock. "What the fuck?" he pushed the person away without even opening his eyes, knowing just from the breath hitting his face that it wasn't anybody he gave a shit about hurting.
He heard a body tipping over, hitting the floor, but didn't care.
Pushing his fingers into his eyes to rub them, he blinked through the sleep clouding his vision. And he hadn't expected to see Frank there on the floor in front of him, in his usual stinky, dishevelled state, but this time with blood running down the side of his face and a genuinely panicked look in his eyes.
"I need you to do me a favour," he said, pushing his hand through his hair.
"Whatever trouble you've gotten yourself into Frank, get yourself out of it," Mickey said, shutting his eyes again and lying back down, "I don't owe you shit." Frank was definitely the one Gallagher he had no love for whatsoever. He felt no need to be nice to him, not need to help him and definitely had no desire to give him any money.
"You're living in my house," he pointed out.
Mickey snorted, "Yeah and when you actually start paying anything towards it, you know where I am."
"Yeah and they know where I am," Frank said, grabbing his shoulder again and almost rolling him off the couch onto the floor. Almost, because Mickey hit him in the jaw before that could happen.
He rubbed his eyes again, considering Frank a little more seriously this time. "Okay, who knows where you are?" he asked. And it wasn't that he was concerned for Frank's welfare in any way. He couldn't have cared any less about the guy, but the idea that someone who was after Frank knew this was where he would be, wasn't a good prospect. Not with all the other Gallaghers that lived in this house.
"Martin Louis' gang, you know who they are?"
Mickey stared at him. Was he fucking kidding? You didn't get on the wrong side of Louis and his boys. Everybody knew that. The guy was a psychopath, quite literally. And the problem was that Mickey knew there was no way he was letting Louis get anywhere near this house. He groaned and seriously considered hitting Frank. He really wanted to, especially considering he knew what he was going to have to do.
"Are you fucking stupid or something?" he asked, glaring at him, "Or is this some sort of sick fucking joke where you're telling me Louis wants you dead?" Or even worse, Louis wanted something off of him.
"This isn't exactly good news for me either, you know!"
Mickey scowled at him. "You think I give a shit about what's good for you?" he snarled at him, "Just count yourself fucking lucky Louis knows me."
Unfortunately, Mickey didn't know the ins and outs of Louis' group like he had done with the Costellos. He knew that you didn't fuck with Louis and he also knew where he lived. That was the only thing he could really use.
He stood up, cracking his neck and pulled on the pair of jeans that Fiona had left folded beside his bed. "Stay here," he said, glaring at Frank as he pulled an actually clean tank top over his head, "I don't need you making it worse by showing your fucking face."
Liam was staring at the bottom of the stairs when Mickey turned around and he couldn't help the way the corner of his mouth twitched up into a smile. He picked up the toddler, holding him in a way that had used to be awkward but that had become natural. Knowing that annoyed the shit out of him. "How would you like to come with me to sort out you're douchebag daddy's mess?" he asked, not surprised when Liam latched onto his hair, "I can teach you how to be a real badass."
He took the way Liam clapped to mean a yes.
"When Fiona gets up, don't forget to fucking tell her that I have Liam," he warned, glaring back at Frank over his shoulder."
He only just thought to grab one of Liam's coats off the pile of washing near the stairs as he also picked up the bat.
Liam kept trying to play with the handle of the bat as they walked at the same time as he burrowed into Mickey's jacket against the cold air. Mickey had one arm holding the toddler, the other holding the bat over his shoulder and it reminded him a lot of when he'd helped Jimmy out. Minus the kid, obviously.
Mickey only knew where Louis lived because he was smart. He knew where anybody who sold decent weed and was the sort of person you wanted to keep an eye on was. Mickey thought himself smart like that. He hadn't checked the time, but he knew it was early morning, probably about five-ish and he was hoping the fact he was by now wide awake would work to his advantage.
It was a situation like this that almost made him wish his brothers were there to back him up. . . almost.
Mickey banged on the door with the bat, keeping his distance slightly and wincing as Liam resumed pulling his hair. He let the bat hang down by his side, less noticeable, less likely to make Louis pull a gun out or some shit. It was only when he knocked that he realised bringing Liam might not have been the best of ideas, it was putting him in danger. But then he was probably safer here surrounded by drug dealers than he was having to spend an hour with Frank whilst Mickey sorted this shit out.
It made Mickey think that maybe all of the Gallagher kids had been dicks in previous lives to have deserved getting Frank as a father. Lip often commented that Ian was the lucky one, he didn't have to be Frank's son, he just chose to be. Which for the record, Mickey thought was stupid. Then again, as far as he was concerned, Ian would be alright no matter what, he was strong like that. He had to be.
They all had to be.
It took him banging another two times before anybody opened the door. Someone else would have walked away, thought there was nobody in, but Mickey knew there was. Louis jerked open the door, looking sleepy and pissed off as he glared out at Mickey.
Mickey thought it was probably a sight to see, him standing there with a baseball bat and a kid.
"Milkovich?" he asked, because everyone and anyone who was smart knew Mickey, "What the fuck are you doing here?"
He sounded a little bit less pissed off now that he knew who it was.
"If you want weed, come back at normal fucking hours," Louis said, scowling at him, "I'm fucking sleeping."
"Not anymore," Mickey pointed out, because he was a wiseass.
Louis' scowl became a little more serious, "What the hell do you want, Milkovich?"
Mickey pushed his tongue into the corner of his mouth, trying to ignore how Liam was pulling at his hair. It made his stance a whole lot less threatening. Another reason he shouldn't have brought him along. Although, the fact Louis hadn't come to the door armed was a positive.
"Yeah, I kind of need you to back the fuck off of Frank," Mickey said, tapping the baseball bat against his ankle out of nothing more than habit and the need to fidget.
"Frank who?" Louis was confused now. Mickey didn't know if he preferred the guy frowning or scowling. At least when he was scowling it just looked like his normal face. Mickey had a feeling the guy already knew which Frank he was on about.
But he still clarified, "Gallagher."
"Why the hell you defending that fuckwit?"
Mickey shrugged, he didn't even completely know himself. "I've got my reasons," he replied, "So are we going to have a problem, or are you going to back the fuck off back to the end of the line of people who want to do Frank in?"
He could see Louis trying to work out how threatened he should be about Mickey standing in front of him with a baseball bat. Mickey was glad that this guy knew him, because a stranger wouldn't have taken him seriously standing there like he was. Of course, said stranger would have found himself in a coma for being so fucking stupid, but that wasn't the point. Mickey preferred to cut out the unnecessary hassle.
"And if I don't?"
Mickey felt Liam jump slightly in his arms as he kicked the door open. Louis staggered backwards into his apartment and Mickey thought the guy was only just realising now that he a) should have kept his mouth shut and b) shouldn't have had gun close to hand if he was going to start asking stupid questions.
"If you don't," Mickey said, setting Liam down beside him so that he could free his hands, "I'm going to be teaching Liam here exactly what a piñata is, he can be blindfolded and I'll have me some fun with this bat."
He grinned, because they both knew he would as well.
He really was growing fond of this baseball bat he had to admit.
It was Louis that moved first and Mickey knew it was out of fear more than anything else. Maybe the guy was trying to make it to the door, maybe he just felt like he needed to do something, Mickey didn't know and didn't particularly care.
He ducked the fist that flew at his head and wrapped his arms around Louis' middle as he tackled the guy. Louis was a lot taller than him, but Mickey had ways of working his smaller height to his advantage. The bat was dropped and it rolled away as Mickey landed on top of Louis, punching the older guy in the fact a few times before he was kicked off.
Pain slithered uncomfortably through Mickey's not completely healed ribs, but he was a Milkovich, he was good when it came to pain and he just gritted his teeth and ignored it, instead focussing on inflicting pain to the person he was fighting.
Mickey took a fist to the gut, but he kneed Louis in the face, not breaking his nose unfortunately, but definitely hurting him. The ex-con had to say that he was pretty proud that he had the mind to keep the fight away from Liam, who out of the corner of his eye he saw sitting on the floor, chewing on his own hand again like he so often did.
A table broke as they crashed into it and Mickey could feel wood splinter into the palm of his hand, but he just closed his fist around the pain as he landed on top of Louis and hit the guy in the face a few more times while he had the chance. When they hit the wall, plaster fell around them and there was a bang that had to be loud enough to wake up the neighbours.
Louis got a dislocated shoulder when Mickey twisted his arm behind his back and really after that, the fight deteriorated and the guy gave up pretty quickly. Mickey knew it was sort of sick and probably not the best hobby in the world by any stretch of the imagination, but he enjoyed it. He enjoyed the feel of the adrenaline pulsing through his veins, the throb of wounds on his flesh and the soreness in his knuckles.
He spat blood out onto the floor and pushed his tongue into the corner of his mouth as he stared down at where Louis had dragged himself up against a wall, clutching at his shoulder. "You can tell you're a Milkovich alright," he muttered, glaring up at Mickey, but it was in a sort of defeated way that Mickey decided he liked the sight of.
"Yeah, no shit," Mickey muttered, rubbing his thumb across his bottom lip, "So you gonna leave Frank the fuck alone or do I really have to go find some rope?" He was sort of disappointed that he knew he wouldn't have to. He had a lovely image of Louis dangling by his feet from the beam in the ceiling.
Louis glared at him and Mickey had to say he was somewhat impressed that even though he was giving up, the guy wasn't really backing down. He admired that, because it was exactly how he would have been in this situation. Of course, saying that, Mickey was never on the opposite side of this situation. Mickey didn't lose fights, he just didn't.
"I don't get why the fuck you're defending him," he said, his teeth gritted against the pain, "You two friends or something now?"
Mickey snorted, both at the idea of him being friends with Frank and at the idea that Louis actually knew who the fuck his friends were.
"Don't be stupid, I hate Frank more than most people," Mickey retorted, because it really had been a stupid thing to say.
Mickey hated Frank for a lot of reasons, because he was a shit parent, because he was just generally as annoying as hell and because he knew. Mickey hated the fact that Frank knew. Not that it mattered so much anymore since his Dad already knew and there was no person who could find out that was worse than Mickey's Dad knowing, but he still hated him.
Would probably always hate him.
It had been Frank's fault that he'd fucked things up with Ian. It was Frank's fault that Ian would probably come home and hate his guts. It was Frank's fault that Mickey had gone to Juvie that second time. A lot of things were Frank's fault, anything could be if you just thought about it.
"So why are you helping him?"
Mickey had to admit, it didn't seem logical.
"Why the fuck would I tell you?" he asked, "You gonna stay the hell away from him or what?"
Louis nodded after a minute, "Yeah, he ain't worth the pain."
And that was all Mickey needed to hear. He didn't need to stick around any longer. He nodded to Louis, not at all worried about turning his back on him even though he probably should have been.
"Come on, kid," he said, swinging Liam up and onto his shoulders, toying with the bat in his hands, "I'll teach you about piñatas another day." Because it was always a given when it came to Mickey Milkovich that there was going to be another fight.
It was in his blood he couldn't help it.
