"Yo Joey!" He shouted. Waving a frantic hand in the air as he rapidly approached the older boy.

"What?" The other boy shouted back, turning on his heel to look round at who was shouting him.

"Fucking... Hold up will ya?" The younger boy spat, spluttering for breath as Joey's footsteps had yet to falter.

"Fuck do you want?" The quickly angering Milkovich yelled back, finally coming to a stop.

"Jesus man, what's the fucking rush? What, you think if you don't get there in time you're whore girlfriends gonna find someone else to fuck?"

"Fuck you!" He retorted with an over-dramatic eye roll. "Bitch is probably already doin that, I ditched her ass yesterday."

The other boy snorted out a laughed and raised his eyebrows.

"Fuck you want Ig?" The older boy asked warily?

"What makes you think I want summit? Maybe I'm just bored... Can't I just wanna hang with my big brother?" Iggy smiled innocently at his impatient looking sibling and shrugged his shoulders.

"No," Joey responded immediately, but his features relaxed and Iggy took that as an invitation to follow when the older boy started to walk again.

"So where we going?"

"None of your fucking business," he responded, even though it didn't make sense. 'Shit', he thought to himself, he didn't plan on having his brother accompanying him today, and he desperately tried to think about how exactly he was gonna do what it was he was planning to do now.

Iggy just scoffed and continued to follow blindly.

"So why d'you ditch the bitch?" The younger boy asked cheerily after a few moments of silence.

"Was getting too clingy, wanted me to meet her fucking family or some shit... Her aunts getting married, her sister's knocked up and its giving her weird fucking ideas..." Joey snorted at the memory of the last conversation he'd had with the girl, "She'd fucking planned out the next sixty years of our lives for fucks sake!"

Say no more, Iggy thought with head nod, say no more.

After a while of seemingly aimless wandering, Joey crossed the road over to an abandoned building. Iggy hadn't noticed where they were heading until the rusting remains of the metal railings and the dank smell of the rotting buildings all came into focus through the cloudy thoughts that had been taking up all of his concentration.

"Fuck we doin' here?" He spat aggressively.

"You didn't have to fucking come?" Joey retorted defensively, carrying on walking even as his brother stopped to look around the familiar spot he hadn't been to in years. "No one fucking asked you to tag along!"

Iggy had a million responses on the tip of his tongue. Various insults and witticisms all just begging to be released. But he couldn't say a word. He was stuck, lost in a trance of memories that the familiar ruins invoked. All the thoughts that had been clogging up his mind for the last couple of weeks flooded back to him as he eyes searched the broken down walls for some sort of comfort, some sort of answer as to what the fuck he was even still doing there. Then he heard the sound of a bottle smashing and a harsh scream of "Fuck!" and before he could even process the movement, his legs were taking him in the direction of his brother.

"What we doin here Joe?" He asked solemnly, leaning against the doorway of the room he knew so well. The room in which he brother was slouched against a pillar, looking at the floor with his head in his hands.

"This is all so FUCKED!" The older boy yelled, hurling himself back up and thrashing another stone at the empty bottles that lined the wall opposite them.

Iggy couldn't say anything to that, he knew everything was fucked and he had no idea how to make it better. He'd been consumed by it for weeks and it was driving him mad. He'd been trying to keep as busy as possible all day and every day, distract himself from his mind and not let himself be left with his own thoughts for a single second in case they started to develope and grow and consume him like they had already been doing so damn fervently. That's why he'd chased down Joey today, he needed something to do, somewhere to go, someone to go with, anything to keep him occupied. He'd usually chill out with Jamie or Tony but they were both starting to piss him off, content as they were to just sit in silence and get high or drunk and sleep their lives away. Joey left the house, the Milkovich house they'd all moved back into after Terry showed no signs of coming back, every day and Iggy wondered what it was he was doing with himself, how it was he was staying so focused and calm. How he was so together when Iggy couldn't scratch the itch that was constantly clawing away underneath his skin.

Now here they were, standing in a spot Iggy hadn't been back to in years. A spot he'd once loved because it was the one place on this Earth that was separate from everything else. All the fucked up shit in this neighbourhood was forgotten in this spot. Terry never came here, the gangs they fought with never bothered with this place. This is the place they went to get high, laugh, shoot, fight for fun instead for war. This was the place the brothers Milkovich bloomed and thrived. This was Mickey's place.

When they were much younger, Mickey must have only been about 12, he'd just had a beat down from Terry for some reason or another and he'd pegged it out of the house as soon as their father had passed out. Iggy remembers being scared that he'd finally snapped and been pushed too far, he was so worried that Mickey wouldn't be coming back again, he'd darted and left was gone forever. But he did come back. He came back with a big dumb grin on his face and bolt cutters in his hands. He'd told the Milkovich brothers that he'd built something and they were to follow him. None of them questioned it, they just got up and trailed after Mickey. they followed him through the streets of the South Side without a question or doubt and then they'd stopped in front of this old building that was still fenced off at the time. No one bothered with it because the fences were high and the building wasnt interesting enough to break into. It had been stripped clean so there was nothing to steal, and this was the South side of Chicago so there were plenty of other, better, places to get high or fucked up or whatever it was you were into.

The fence already had a hole cut into it which Mickey wordlessly led them through, they followed him through the labyrinth of old crumbling walls and doors, through the maze of wrecked corridors and unsafe archways, until they finally reached this room. This one huge, pillared room, that almost a decade later they now stood in. Mickey had adorned the walls with various targets. He'd filled the empty window frames with bottles and old dolls. He'd built make shift weapon racks and stacked piles of gun magazines and rifle kits along the side of the room. He'd hung punching bags from the decaying rafters and layed fight mats on the floor. He'd stolen a boombox for the corner of the room and filled a cool box with beer in the middle. The place, he would proudly admit then and now, was like fucking heaven for a bunch of incredibly troubled youths who had nothing better to do. They spent hours upon hours here, after school, before runs. Long hot summers sweltering in the heat as they worked out and learned to fight. Blistering winters in which they taught themselves to shoot and survive. This place was their safe haven. This place was Mickey's.

And now, all these years later, here they were. Joey and Iggy, stood in silence. All of the weapons and bags etc had been removed over the years. The fences had come down after the council gave up on the idea of ever spending enough money to do the place up. With the fences going down, people started to come in. So the Milkovich boys had removed everything that outwardly made this place theirs. All that remained were the bottles they kept stacked across the sills and all over the floor. The innocent targets they kept littered around the place for those times they need an escape, a place to vent.

Broken glass had taken the place of the intact bottles now, but there were still enough left hole for this place to work its magic again. Wordlessly Iggy bent down and picked up a stone. He studied the projectile in his hands as Joey leant down and retrieved his own small missile, the two looked at each other sharply before both hurled their respective weapons at two of the large targets across the expanse of the room. Both missed, both boys smiled, both bent down and started the process anew.

They were content to spend the rest the day in their old hangout. In the old abandoned building that had been their hideout from the world. Missing targets and laughing, hitting targets and cheering. They forgot everything and just relaxed into the familiar activity, both trying their hardest to forget that one of the most important elements of the whole tradition was missing. Family, brothers, Mickey.

"Where are they Mands?"

Ian had barged into the Milkovich house, determined to get through to Joey, or to at least find out where he stood. He'd walked into an empty house, well empty of the Milkovich brothers at least. Mandy was there, she was cooking over the stove when Ian had stormed in. She'd turned to him and smiled a surprised smile and asked if he wanted something to eat. He'd politely declined and he'd told her why he was here.

For her part, Mandy had been quiet and listened to him explain. He'd told her everything, he'd told her about Joey and what he'd said, he'd told her what he was scared of, why he couldn't tell Mickey and, finally, he'd told her what he wanted to do.

And now he was asking her the question he was pretty sure she wouldn't tell him the answer too even if she knew it.

"It wont work Ian," she replied solemnly. "They're Milkovich's, they're never gonna accept him being gay, they're never gonna not hate him for it."

"You're a Milkovich!" He countered firmly.

"I'm a girl!"

"Mickey's a Milkovich," he yelled back resolutely.

"He's fucking different!" Mandy shouted now too. Both quickly getting angry at the other's unwillingness to conceded on a point they obviously felt differently about.

"He didn't use to be," the determined red-head argued back.

"It's not gonna work!" Mandy threw herself up from where she had been sat at the kitchen table opposite from her best friend. She spun back to the stove to pick up the, now empty pan, and shove it in the sink a little more forcefully than necessary. "They are not gonna change Ian, I thought they could..." Mandy's breath hitched as tears stung her eyes, the subject was a painful reminded of her lost family. "I really fucking thought they would, OK, but the wont! What you're doing," she said gesturing between Ian and the Milkovich house surrounding him, "Is just gonna get you hurt, or one of them hurt, and it's Mickey whose gonna lose out again so just fucking let it go!" Ian wasn't stupid enough to not recognise the tone in Mandy's voice, that was an order not a request, and with it she turned on her heel and stormed into her bedroom, slamming the door behind and making it clear Ian was not welcome to follow.

Ian sighed and ran his hands down his face. He contemplated just sitting there in that house, at that table, and just waiting. Waiting until one or all of the brothers came back and he could just everything that was on his mind. But it was Joey he needed to speak to first and he couldn't guarantee who'd walk through that door, plus he honestly thought that Mandy might shoot re-emerge from her room with a loaded gun, just to stop him going through with his plan. With one last look to his best friends closed door, Ian rose from his seat and made his way outside, undeterred and already plotting a plan B. He marched off in the direction of the nearest bar.

They hadn't shown their faces in The Alibi since Mandy's pseudo birthday. They had been to the Irish bar a few blocks down several times, but were not there now, and the Bistro on the other side of town had kicked them out and barred them for life. They hadn't showed up at The Scout for a couple of days now and Kroll's was closed for refurbishment. Ian had a list as long as his arm of other places to check but he had to admit to himself that he still had no clue what to do if he even did find them.

He decided he need inspiration, he needed to remember why he was doing this so he could get his emotions back to how they'd been the night before, when he was so full of strength and determination that there was no room left for doubt or questions of how. Mickey was at the garage because Matty had called in an emergence client that Mickey could handle with his eyes closed, but Matty didn't trust any of the other mechanics to deal with. After promising the ex-con double his wages for the next two weeks Mickey had gone to work determined to finish as quickly as possible, so Ian didn't want to disturb him. He could go back to the house and see all of the things that are his and his lovers together, all the things that made Mickey who he was, but Debbie and Carl were their painting and Ian didn't want to deal with that mess. Besides, he already knew what he was fighting for, he already knew who Mickey was and why this was so important. No, what he needed was just a quick reminder of the strength Mickey gave him, he just need the smallest essence of the other man. The smallest essence, which sometimes can mean the most, the memories that defined them for so long, the one place that had always been theirs, their fall back, their haven. Ian knew exactly where to go, he was going to the old abandoned building that Mickey had let them share.

Mickey finished the car within two hours, it was a simple job but the client was rich so Matty wanted to make an impression, he also wanted to hammer up the details and charge through the roof. Telling the clients that he had to call in his best mechanic meant he could convincingly charge whatever the hell he wanted. Plus Mickey was the one he trusted to be able to convincingly lie about all the work that had had to be done.

So after finishing up the car and agreeing to come in the next day to hand over the keys and go through the details with the owners, Mickey left the garage with only one place in mind.

He stood outside the diner for a few minutes, just smoking and looking at the door, willing himself to just go in. He puffed out his last toke on the cigarette, stomped it under his boot, then made his way across the street and into the small establishment.

Tam's eyes immediately locked with his and she looked somewhat scared as she ducked out the back to the kitchens. Fiona wasn't working, he knew this, he made sure of it.

Knowing what the waitress had gone to do, who she'd gone to get, Mickey just sat down at a booth and didn't bother to order anything. He only had to wait a couple of moments before Charlie hurled himself out of the kitchens and looked around the small cafe. His eyes landed on where Mickey was sat staring out of the window and he made his way over to the younger man, drying his hands as he went in an attempt to distract himself from the nerves bubbling up in his stomach.

"Mickey," he said quietly, testing the water as he slid onto the bench opposite Mickey.

"Sayin' that a lot lately," was the Milkovich's sarcastic response.

"Mick-"

"Alright, fucking enough!" Mickey yelled, "I get it, you remember my god damn name!"

There was a few moments silence while Mickey composed himself.

"What can I do?" Charlie asked cautiously, softly, already preparing himself for whatever reaction Mickey might have.

"Go fuck yourself!" Was the younger mans instant response, but he didn't get up and leave, he didn't move a muscle.

"Im so sorry Mickey," the older man breathed out, honestly.

Mickey just scoffed and finally looked up and into the eyes of the man in front of him. "Oh yeah?" He snarked back. "So you tell me... What can you do?"

The two men stared into each others eyes, Charlies were alight with sadness and regret, desperation almost. Whilst Mickey's bright blue orbs shone with anger and frustration, a conflict to both hold a grudge and let one go.

"I have your tools," the reformed man blurted out, before hurrying to explain before Mickey could react. "His tools, Danny's tools... Dad... Dad's tools," he said with a deep sigh. "I don't have the right to call him that I know," he looked to Mickey as if looking for confirmation but the younger man just continued to glare at him, unflinching and and completely walled off.

"I, umm, I pawned them," he continued after it became clear that Mickey had nothing to add. "I was a dead beat, a fucking punk, I know what I was, but I couldn't see it at the time. It was always someone else fault ya know... And then Dad..." Charlie looked down at the table as he voice lessened to a whisper, he fought back the tears of regret and continued his explanation before Mickey could run away. "It just got worse after he died... I didn't realise he was all I had left until he was gone." The older man scoffed at his own stupidity and ignorance. He looked back up at Mickey, who was still glaring at him with all outward expression withdrawn completely from his face.

"I pawned his tools for drug money, got fucked up and tried to off myself!" He quit the bullshit and went straight to the point, knowing Mickey wasn't interested in his pitiful tales of woe. Mickey didn't flinch, he didn't so much as blink. "When I came too in the hospital I was a fucking mess man, I cried for days, they had to sedate me in the end..." Mickey inhaled at that, obviously having no sympathy, just wondering why he should care. "Anyway," Charlie quickly recovered himself and continued to the point, "I got the help I needed after that, I sold all my shit to buy back those tools, they were all he had left in the world before he died. I got 'em at the house, I was gonna give 'em to Fi to pass on to you but I also kinda wanted to give them to you myself so I just kept putting off bringing them in. Woulda brought them in today if ?I knew you'd be stopping by," he said with a forced laugh designed to break the tension.

Mickey still said nothing, just looked into the eyes of the man he'd spent so long hating, hating more than anyone, hating more even than Terry. He did not want to forgive, he did not want to forget, he did not want to understand. And yet he still sat there, unable to leave.

"Mickey, I fucked up everything, I know that, I take full responsibility. But I did fucking love him, I didn't want to at the time, but not a day goes by that I don't think about him... That I don't fucking miss him. I know none of this matters to you, I know you lost him because of me and you have every fucking right to hate me, but I just need you to know that he was a great man, I get that now... He was the best fucking man I've ever known and I love him, and I miss him, and that everything he did for me will never be forgotten or repayed, but I will do my best to make sure none of it was in vain. I'm gonna do every thing I gotta do to make him proud, to try and be half the man he hoped I'd be, an essence of the man he was... And I never know how I'm gonna do that, that get lost all the fucking time trying to live up to that but I won't stop, OK, I just take each day and each decision as it comes and I'll do whatever it takes." Charlies eyes were watering as Mickey's continued to glare, unfaltering for even a second.

"The only thing I've wanted to do since getting my shit together was sort this out with you Mickey. But you are the biggest fucking hurdle and I'll be honest, you scare the shit out of me man. But being a coward isn't gonna be living up to my promise so here I am man, throwing myself at your mercy, not asking for forgiveness or anything... Just saying, whatever I have to do, I will do it. Starting with the tools, like I said they were the only things he had in the world and I want 'em," he proclaimed honestly. "It's selfish and unfair and all the things I'm trying not to be but I fucking want them man, because they were his and he loved them and I want something of his that he loved that I didn't fucking ruin. But he wanted you to have 'em, so they are yours and I will go home and get 'em for you right now if you ask me to..."

Charlie moved as if to stand when Mickey finally moved. He snorted and rolled his eyes, looking to the table quickly before glancing back up to lock eyes with Charlie.

"Man, you're good," he mocked, "Gonna do a dance next too?"

Charlie just perched his lips and nodded, eyes darting around the room and tears strained to leak from his eyes. "You don't have to believe me," he all but whispered, "God knows I haven't earned your trust-"

"People always fucking do that!" Mickey interrupted loudly, thrusting his arms in the air at the shocked man in front of him. "What, just cause you now know how fucked up you were, suddenly you're the good guy? Suddenly its O-fucking-K?"

"No, Mickey, I'm not... I don't..." Charlie inhaled deeply to compose himself before looking back to the ex-con that was glaring back in full force again. "This isn't even about me anymore, you don't have to forgive me, don't have to say another god damn word to me as long as I live, but you deserve to hear that Danny meant something, and you deserve those tools and everything else he wanted you to have. And I will work everyday for the rest of my life to pay you back the money he left you..." The older man pleaded desperately, hands in the air and eyes blown wide.

"I don't want your fucking money, didn't want his..." The Milkovich boy yelled. "Didn't want his money, his tools OR his fucking help... I didn't want anything from the guy." Mickey was struggling to contain his anger, his sadness, his guilt. A wave of grief washed over him at the old wound of loss reopened, but he needed to say his peace because he never got a chance tp before and he needs Charlie to hear him, to know the whole truth. "But he gave it all because that's who he was... And he was fucking everything I had! Sure I had my brothers, I had Mandy and the rest of my fucked up family but he was the one who really fucking knew me and he still stuck around. The way I saw it, my family found one thing out about me they didn't like and I was as good as dead to 'em but Danny? He knew it, he knew what I was and he didn't give a shit, he was more family to me than my fucked up father and all my deadbeat uncles put together... I fucked needed him!" Mickey yelled whole-heartedly. "I fucking needed him and you ripped him away because why...? Because you weren't getting enough attention...? And now what...? You've realised you were an asshole so all is OK now? Fuck you!" Mickey was shouting loud enough for everyone to hear but he didn't care, he was being honest and it felt good.

"You think I'm gonna help you out? Help you be the man Danny wanted you to be? Why, to honour his fucking memory? He shouldn't be just a fucking memory! That's on you! You think he had high hopes for you? Think he wasn't proud already? He didn't want you to be anything than the scum bag you already were, only thing he wanted different was for you to own it. For once in your fucking miserable life he just wanted you to own yourself and you still can't fucking do it can you. Nothings enough, you can't just be reformed... You gotta be better, on some mission from a fucking ghost to better yourself? Well fuck you for thinking your dad would want anything from you. He didn't want anyone to be better because he saw the best in everyone any-fucking-way. You didn't know shit about him then and you know fucking less about him now. I aint gonna help you on your little adventure of self discovery, I could give a fuck about you god damn redeeming yourself. You can do whatever the fuck you want with the tools, they aint whats important, never were!"

With that Mickey shot up from his seat and stormed out of the diner, ignoring all of the faces staring at him. Only later would he curse the thought of Fiona having to deal with the gossip of todays showdown when she went back to work. Only later would he go back over all of the things he forgot to say and kick himself for it. Until then he was full of adrenaline and anxiety and he needed a drink and a smoke and Ian.

Ian, was undoubtedly avoiding their house through fear of coming between Carl and Debbie's arguments. The red-head who didn't go to the bar during the day cause he knew he'd be roped in to help and he had enough to do what with rebuilding his god damn house thank you very much. Still, Ian could be one of a million places but he knew where he was gonna look first, he knew where he wanted him to be, where he wanted to go himself to unwind. Mickey was heading for the old abandoned building that he'd probably spent far too long associating with fucking safety.