Mickey had second degree burns on his legs, stretching up just past his knee on the left. His skin was an angry red and white colour and he could feel the blisters underneath the bandages. He was told not to walk for long periods of time and he hated it because he was confined to a wheelchair. Every time he stood he felt like he was going to throw up from the pain. But he decided that he was definitely better off than Kara.

They'd had to restart her heart by shocking her and even though she only had mild burns on one of her arms that had been hanging off the side of the bed, she'd been put into a medically induced coma. Her lungs were fucked because of the smoke, one of her lungs had collapsed and she was incapable of breathing on her own, hence the tubes down her throat. There were so many tubes and wires attached to her, so many bulky pieces of machinery that Mickey didn't feel like he could fit in the room in his wheelchair. But he made himself fit and he sat by the side of her bed and didn't hold her hand because he didn't do stuff like that, but he thought maybe he wanted to.

They'd induced the coma to give her lungs time to heal so that she could breathe on her own and people kept telling Mickey how brave he was going in there to get her. Stupid, but brave. They said she wouldn't have survived if she'd been in their much longer and Mickey didn't want to listen because who the fuck wanted to hear how close they'd gotten to losing someone. It was just depressing.

He didn't need their praise anyway. He'd done what he'd done and he knew he'd do it again if he had to. But that didn't mean he needed to be reminded of it every day. Like the burns on his legs and the pain resounding through his very bones wasn't enough of a reminder.

Tegan slept in Mickey's room and when he was discharged, they both slept in Kara's, listening to the steady beeping that meant she was still alive and the click of machines that helped her breathe. It was horrible and Mickey hated it. He hated being in there, staring at her and knowing she wasn't going to wake up, but he'd be damned if he was going to force Tegan to leave and he'd rather chop of his own legs than leave her there alone. He'd already fucked up and let Derek get to one of them, he wasn't letting Tegan out of his sight.

He didn't care how unlike himself that made him. He was past caring.

It was only when the bandages came off of Mickey's legs and he was given cream or some shit that was supposed to soothe the burns and reduce the scarring at the same time. He didn't know, he hadn't been listening. That was just what Tegan had told him. It was only when he sat with his feet up on Kara's hospital bed, rubbing cream into one of his legs while Tegan did the other. He hadn't asked her to, she just seemed to know that doing them both at once was better than having to go through the pain twice.

"Can we find a place somewhere or some shit?" she asked, not looking at him, instead focusing intently on rubbing the cream on his shin. The burns were horrible and ugly, but the blisters had gone, leaving the skin just rough and sort of wet looking. Mickey hated looking at his legs, but he couldn't seem to tear his eyes away either.

They both knew that they were staying in Chicago now, because of Kara. They'd given a fake identity to the hospital in case Derek called up to check if she'd been booked in. They'd covered their asses, but it was still risky sticking around. They hadn't gone out of the hospital other than to park the car.

"Sure," he replied simply, not needing to say anything else and being saved from doing so when he winced.

Tegan just nodded.

Two days later Mickey had signed the lease for an apartment not all that far from the house he'd grown up in. He'd gotten it cheaper because the landlord had recognised the name Milkovich. Mickey had forgotten shit like that happened. He still found it amusing though that people recognised him and actually crossed the street to get away from him.

The apartment was two-bedroomed and the colour scheme hurt Mickey's eyes, but the shower was decent and it was fucking cheap. Plus, it wasn't the hospital, that was what counted. The furniture was shitty and old, the springs of the couch almost completely busted, practically poking through the material.

They stayed there for three days without really going anywhere other than the hospital. They stayed until they ran out of food to eat and it was about time to do their usual stupid ritual. He took Tegan out the Walmart not far away and they shoplifted a fuck of magazines whilst paying for the majority of the groceries. And then they sat on the floor in Tegan's room, cutting out pictures from the magazines, sticking them up on the walls to try and make it seem more personal; and this time, also to cover up the horrible paint colour. They screwed up some of the pictures, tore the edges, making them tattered and old looking. It made it feel more like a home for some reason, more like they were destined to stay there for longer than a heartbeat.

Two weeks after they'd moved in, Mickey took Tegan to enrol in his old school. And it wasn't because he gave a shit about her education, but he knew Kara had done and he also had to get a job or some shit and he wanted Kara to be somewhere that he knew well. So that meant the school.

"What do you want?" the principal asked when he saw Mickey, his tone sharp, because of course he was the same twat who had been in charge when Mickey had been in school. Not that he'd actually turned up to many classes admittedly. "Don't tell me you want to take your GED or some shit."

Even Tegan snorted at that one and that seemed to draw the Principals attention to her for the first time. "Fuck off," Mickey said, thumbing the letters on his dirty knuckles, "Tegan's enrolling."

The Principal – Mickey only remembered his face not his fucking name – stared at Tegan for a moment, obviously trying to work out if she had the name Milkovich fucking branded on her forehead or something. Tegan just glared back, unfazed. "And Tegan would be your. . .?"

"None of your fucking business," Mickey snapped, because he didn't even know how to define it, "I'm responsible for her, just fucking leave it at that."

The expression on his face clearly said, 'Poor kid'. But the guy was smart and said nothing, he just nodded. He knew better than to try and argue something with a Milkovich. It was the fastest way to get a broken nose or your tyres slashed; everyone with half a brain around here knew that. He glanced over Mickey's shoulders and sighed, "Gallagher, just go wait outside my office and try not to set anything on fire on your way there."

Mickey tensed at the name and glanced over his shoulder even though he knew there was no way in hell that Firecrotch would still be at school here. Instead he saw he knew was a fucking sociopath, but he couldn't remember his name. His hair was cut short and he had a bruise on his cheek that was obviously several days old, it just looked like a smudge across his pale skin. There was a crazy look in his eyes when he smirked and he unnerved Mickey just as much then as he had all those years ago. The guy was unbalanced.

He figured this Gallagher had to have been held back or something, because he looked a little too old to be in school.

He didn't seem to recognise Mickey at all, but then why would he, but the look he gave Tegan was definitely appreciative. And of course, because she was Tegan, she lapped it all up and smirked back in a way that shouldn't have been flirty, but was.

The next day Tegan went to school in a skirt that was far too short and nervousness in her eyes that she'd never express. Mickey got a job down with a local drug dealer who knew him, breaking knee caps, something he was good at. And he counted himself lucky that he hadn't seen anyone he knew yet, but he wasn't lucky and he knew he had to suck it up and go see Mandy.

He told himself that it wasn't cowardly that he waited until Tegan finished school and she could go with him. He told himself it was just because it was the best time since he didn't know if Mandy had a job or something and he wasn't leaving Tegan anywhere he didn't trust. But nevertheless, Mickey felt like he was about to be sick when he stood on his old porch, in front of the door.

He chewed his bottom lip and Tegan leaned forwards and pounded the door with a fist before Mickey had a chance to back out. She gave him a look that seemed cold, but he knew classed as a smile and he let the corner of his mouth twitch upwards slightly in response.

"Hold the fuck on!"

He almost ran at the sound of Mandy's voice, but Mickey wasn't a coward and he wouldn't run from his own fucking sister, so all he did was jam his hands deep into his pockets and shift uncomfortably to try and stop the material of his slacks from pressing against his burns too much. It still hurt to walk, but he didn't let it show and he'd be damned if he was going to pussy out and use the fucking wheelchair in public.

Besides, the cream he put on twice a day helped.

He could feel Tegan standing just behind him, the heat that radiated off of her body pressing against him in a way that shouldn't have been comforting. He knew that was her way of telling him that there was no way she was letting him fucking leave. But Mickey's legs had never felt weaker, not even when he'd walked through the fire.

When the door was jerked open, it actually took Mandy a minute to process what she was seeing. And even then all she did was mutter a ragged, "Oh shit," before latching onto him, her arms so tight around his neck that he couldn't decide whether or not he was able to breathe. Like all of a sudden that was a decision or something. Her fingers were in the back of his hair, tugging almost to the point of pain, but Mickey had a very different range of pain now. That didn't even register on his scale. He could feel the tears against the side of his neck though, running down to the base of his throat and that hurt in a way he wasn't used to. That hurt him inside and it was so alien, but so familiar, because he knew it was the feeling he'd always used to get when Mandy cried.

It wasn't like when anyone else cried, when he wanted them to stop just because it was fucking annoying and gross. No, it was because Mandy was his little sister and she always would be and for some reason that made it just all so incredibly different.

"Mickey, what the hell are you doing here?" she asked in a choked voice when she pulled again, her hands gripping the sides of his face like she couldn't make up her mind whether or not this was real. Whether or not Mickey was actually there. And he felt sort of guilty for that. It had been five years since he'd seen his sister and he hadn't realised he'd missed her quite that much, that it was possible to miss her that much until he actually saw her with his own eyes.

Her makeup had run, creating black grubby lines down her red cheeks and he resisted the urge to wipe them away because he didn't fucking do that. He had no idea where the fuck that impulse had even come from.

"Heard about Dad," Mickey said, almost gruffly because he's shit at emotion, "Figured I'd come say hi or some shit." He thought that that was about as good as his answer was going to get, because at least it hadn't been a lie. It just hadn't been the whole of the truth either.

But Mandy still grinned like he'd just said everything she'd wanted to hear and fuck, maybe he had done. Mickey didn't know anymore. But then, when had Mickey ever known anything anyway. The answer was never. The only thing Mickey knew how to do was fuck shit up.

"I missed you assface," Mandy said, and looked at him through her bangs like she was nervous or something.

He didn't say it back, just pulled her into another hug because he figured that was just as good as words were. The way Mandy's nails dug into his shoulder made him think that she was trying to hold on.

"I thought you were dead or some shit," she mumbled, so quiet he wasn't completely sure he was meant to hear.

"They fucking tried," he replied and knew she'd assume the 'they' was just the rest of the Milkovich boys, "But I'm just that fucking invincible."

She stared at him, "No you're not."

And yeah, he already fucking knew that. The burns on his legs, the way his skin itched on the inside reminded him of that every fucking minute of the day.

"We gonna fucking stand outside all day?" Tegan asked from behind him, "I think my tits are about to fall off, Jesus." Which was Tegan speak for, 'hurry it the fuck along, I'm bored and this emotional crap is freaking me out.'

Mandy stared over his shoulder at Tegan, who just stared back and Mickey shifted uncomfortably for a reason more than just the feel of his trousers against the burns on his legs. "This is Tegan," he said before Mandy could ask the question, "It's a long story and I can't be fucked tell it, but basically I'm in charge of her for a while."

He hated that his insides said, "Forever," in response to that.

"Whatever," Mandy said, recovering quickly because she was a Milkovich and they were good like that. It was adapt or die, that was what they'd grown up being told. She waved them in and he could feel his sister assessing Tegan, which he thought was fucking hilarious since at her age, Mandy had been almost exactly the same.

Just less scared and with better memories.

"So where've you been hiding?" Mandy asked when they were settled in the kitchen with Mickey leaning against the counter that Tegan was sitting on, a beer clutched in one hand. He tapped the neck of the bottle for a minute and then shrugged.

"Last place was New York," he replied, letting Tegan take his beer and drain half of it because he'd known she would do that as soon as she'd said she didn't want a drink.

Mandy watched them in that weirdly all-seeing way she sometimes had done when they were younger and it unnerved Mickey more than he was willing to let on.

"Where did you pick her up?"

If one thing hadn't changed at all since he'd left, it was that Mandy still knew how to phrase things in the rudest way possible. He automatically gave Tegan a look because he could feel her getting pissed off behind him, but the glare he directed at Mandy. "Don't be a bitch," he told her seriously, "And we met just after I left Chicago, so it's been like five years or something." He wanted to add, not that it was really any of her business, but he supposed since he'd up and left maybe it was.

"Where the fuck's her mother?" Mandy asked, obviously ignoring his request to be polite. But then he'd thought she would.

Tegan jumped down off the counter before Mickey could even think to stop her. "In a coma bitch, so watch your fucking mouth," she snarled and Mickey got that sort of proud feeling again.

Mickey reached out an arm and grabbed a hold of the back of Tegan's shirt, tugging her backwards. He wrapped an arm around her neck, pinning her head down by his hip, forcing her to bend and started rubbing her head with his knuckles. She squealed and pushed at him and he was impressed that he knew how she'd already have stabbed him in the leg if he'd posed any danger to her.

"What shit have you got yourself into now?" Mandy asked when Mickey let Tegan go, smirking at her as she scowled, trying to rearrange her hair in the reflection in the window.

He just shrugged. "Doesn't matter," he replied, "The fuck you been doing anyway?"

Tegan stopped rearranging her hair and jumped up onto the counter again, her fingertips resting against his spine. She did that sometimes, he didn't really care to know why.

"Well I'm still dating Lip," she said, the words sounding like an announcement and he could see that she was proud of that fact.

"Dating or fucking?"

He expected his sister to flip him off or something, but she just smiled, "Dating this time, for real."

And Mickey hated that last bit, because it reminded him of the person she'd used to fake date. He tried to crush those thoughts down, the memory of that person, but it felt like Ian Gallagher's face was burnt into the inside of his eyelids. Mickey just wished that it was a better picture, because he hated remembering the image of Gallagher all wide eyed and sad, pleading Mickey not to kill Frank. Which was just fucking stupid, because Mickey seriously shouldn't give two shits about anyone in Chicago other than his sister.

When he told himself he didn't, he knew it was only because Gallagher wasn't even in Chicago at the moment. Or at least he hoped not.

"It seems like everything's working out this year," Mandy said, turning her back to him to get something out of the fridge. And Mickey had to look away because really he didn't need to see that, not when his sister was wearing a skirt so short, too short. There was a reason he was gay, but even if he wasn't, that was just fucking incesty looking at that. "You're back and Ian's home soon, so it's all going to be great."

And that was the soppiest he'd ever heard his sister sound, but he was a little too busy panicking to think about what that might mean. He knew his face went blank with shock, because he hadn't planned on Gallagher turning up, hadn't planned on him finding out Mickey was back especially – and he fucking knew Mandy would tell him – and he definitely hadn't bargained for not being able to fucking leave.

Shit, he thought to himself and looked away from his sister's back, but he didn't school his expression in time. His eyes met Tegan's and he looked away instantly, but it wasn't quick enough. He knew she'd seen.

"Yeah, whatever," Mickey muttered, forcing himself to sound calm and controlled even though he felt like he was going to be sick. The fingertips against his spine helped, they helped keep him grounded for some fucked up reason he didn't want to think about too much.

They left two beers later, with Mandy threatening him with bodily harm if he skipped town. He didn't tell her that he would have done if Kara hadn't been in the hospital. He didn't think she wanted to know that.

"So what was that look for?" Tegan asked him, just like he'd known she would. It was hours later and he was surprised she'd waited this long. They were on the couch smoking a joint, Tegan's legs curled up under her ass and her knees touching Mickey's thigh because the couch was kind of small. "When your sister was talking, what was the look for?"

And he didn't want to tell her. He'd rather have done anything but tell her. Except that he knew she wouldn't give up and Mickey wasn't smart enough to be able to lie. Not to Tegan anyway, it was like he could taste lies on the back of her tongue.

"She was talking about the guy I used to fuck," he admitted eventually, "She still doesn't know I was fucking him." He left out the part about said guy being his sister's boyfriend – albeit fake, it still was bad because Mandy had blatantly been in love with him.

He didn't know what he was about how he'd said that that made her able to say, "You love him or something?" with complete confidence. Maybe it was just that Mickey never let his guard down enough to show real emotion, but he had done then.

"Fuck off," he muttered, but he supposed that was actually an answer anyway, "He won't even remember be, he went off and joined the army or some shit, he got out." By now Mickey would just be a blip in his memory, a person long forgotten as that guy who he used to fuck who was more than a little bit of a dickhead. It was as simple as that.

And Mickey would never admit that it kind of hurt inside to think of how Gallagher would have almost definitely have forgotten about him.