Warnings: Death, angst overload and FEELINGS bleurgh. Mentions of past child abuse, grieving and whatnot. Just assume all warnings all the time at this point, bah.
Mickey knew what pain was.
He had been introduced to it from an early age, thanks to his old man. By the time he hit second grade he knew how to take a slap, knew how to absorb a punch to the gut and how to hide his bruises. The belt welts had been harder to hide, but he had managed. Job had it bad too, but little Eli got off being the youngest, old man Wilkerson had turned to harder highs than alcohol by then and left the kid mostly alone.
So yeah, Mickey knew pain.
He had made bad decisions his whole life, he knew that. It was easy to, living with the name Wilkerson. Back alley deals, protection rackets, hustling…he had seen every shady thing Turnbull county had to offer. Him and Job, the Wilkerson duo, always on the wrong end of the law. Sheriff gave up bringing them in eventually, wasn't worth the headache. Mickey used to pretend he did it all for Eli, to make sure his little brother was clothed and fed like Mickey himself never was.
But the truth? The truth was it was easy. Easy pickings, easy money. All he had to do was scare the right people, maybe throw a punch or two and he'd have enough money to get him through the month.
Job had a head for it. He thought the plans through, picked the hits, who to target. Set up heists with his connections, and never disappointed when it came to scoring. It was even easier for Mickey then, all he had to do was follow his brother , play his part, and get paid.
It was as close to honest work he'd get, and Mickey had even enjoyed it for a time. Folks respected him, didn't dare look at him the wrong way or bad mouth him. It all boiled down to power, in the end. The biggest baddest bastard had the power, and by God, was it a feeling. Better than any drug induced high, better than any amount of money.
Mickey had had power.
And he gave it up, all of it, for her.
He had seen Maya come out of that forest. Watched as she stumbled towards him, bloody and naked, half-supported by Lily. And whatever little power Mickey had managed to hold onto, every thread of control he had built over the years to hide his emotions…every bit of it turned to ash, lost in the raging inferno of rage that ripped through him.
Because someone had done that to her. Someone had put his filthy hands all over her and made her bleed.
Mickey didn't remember much after that. Didn't remember abandoning his post, dropping his weapons. Didn't remember the juggernaut bellowing its threats.
The only thing he could see, the only thing he could focus on above the roaring in his ears, had been Maya. Her lifeless face, her limp body in his arms. He thought she was dead. He thought she was gone.
Mickey had thought he knew what pain was. But seeing her like that, seeing all the blood, the welts rising on her skin, the same skin he had touched and worshiped only hours before…It felt like someone had cleaved him open, cracked his rib-cage right down the middle and reached inside his chest, snuffing his heart out like a candle.
He'd never gotten the chance to apologize to her, to say sorry for acting like a fucking bear, but he had been scared, afraid she didn't really want him, forcing herself to touch him. 'Cause truth was, Mickey wanted her. Had before Job had fucked everything and captured her group. And to have her so close…he, Mickey Wilkerson, bad ass fuck up extraordinaire, was fucking terrified that he was no better than his old man, no better than Job, taking advantage.
He shoulda just said it, but he'd never been much good at talking. And now…now Maya had gone and died here, cold and alone, and Mickey would never see her smile at him again.
He'd never hear her voice; never feel her fingers on his skin. Never find out the mundane shit like her favorite color, her childhood pet's name. He wanted to know what she sounded like when she laughed, truly laughed, genuine and happy. Stupid shit that had never interested him when he had fucked women before, those that would give him the time of day before the world went to shit.
And God, he wanted that. He had wanted all of it. With her.
Mickey would have done anything in that moment to bring her back. Satan himself could rise from the depths of Hell and demand his soul and he would've given it gladly. He'd damn himself a thousand times over if it meant getting her back. Hell, he'd do any fucked up shit Job ever demanded of him, just…just as long as she lived.
But she didn't. Maya was dead.
She was dead, and it was all his fucking fault.
Mickey handled his grief as he always had, silently. He gathered Maya in his arms, twisting one hand into the matted hair at the back her skull. Dimly he understood that there was fighting nearby, raised voices and gunshots. But he didn't care. Let the rain just drown them all, wash them away.
At the tree line where Maya and Lily had emerged, something moved. Even in his state, Mickey zeroed in on the movement, eyes narrowing. The rain still pelted down, sheets of freezing needles that stung his arms and face, but he hardly felt it.
A body stumbled out of the trees.
"Help! For the love of Jesus, help!"
Jake. The name managed force its way through the static in Mickey's brain. Jake, half-naked and bleeding like a stuck pig. His face was fucked, gore matting where his nose should have been. His torso glistened palely, raised red lines down his forearms and chest. Scratches.
Mickey glanced down at Maya's hands. Her knuckles were red and swollen, and there was blood caked beneath her fingernails.
And Mickey knew. He knew what that rat-bastard must've done.
Jake swayed close, slumping his shoulders as if relieved to see Mickey.
"Wilkerson!" His voice was strained, with pain, an act, Mickey didn't know. Didn't care. "Jesus, I tried to help them but…the zombs came outta no-where."
Mickey said nothing, letting the man draw near.
Jake moaned, touching his ruined face. "I put down one o' the zombs but more are comin'. Tore my shirt clean off, the bitch. Saw the lil' one and that one-"
He nodded towards Maya. "She was tryin' to save the other woman, wrapped her shirt round 'er but it was too late. Fuckin' zombs, man."
It was Job's voice Mickey could hear, roaring out orders behind him. No more gunshots, so the immediate danger must've been dealt with.
Mickey carefully lay Maya down on the sodden grass, arranging her arms across her chest to save her some dignity. He then shrugged his over shirt off, draping it over her as some cover from the rain. She deserved better, but it was all he had, all he could give her. The ground squelched beneath his boots as he got to his feet, straightening to his full height. Jake watched him warily.
"See Job took care o' the fat one," he was gurgling slightly, blood clotting in his throat and making speech difficult. Mickey rolled his shoulders, limbering up his arms.
Too late, Jake picked up on the danger. Too late, he started backpedaling, feet slapping in the mud as he twisted his body, trying to move away.
Mickey struck. The sound that rattled in his throat was more animal than human, rage and grief fueling strength he normally wouldn't have.
It was pathetically easy to tackle Jake to the ground, to twist his fingers in the other man's short greasy hair and slam him face first into the mud. Jake thrashed beneath him, yowling in agony, and Mickey rolled him over, jamming one knee into Jake's groin. Jake's mouth was open in a wordless scream now, and Mickey grabbed his throat, jabbing his thumbs into the vulnerable hollow above his clavicle.
Jake's legs were kicking, hands scrabbling at Mickey's forearms. Snarling, Mickey shifted his weight onto Jake's chest, moving his knees until he was kneeling on him, feeling ribs creak beneath his shins.
Job was shouting, and Mickey heard the wet slaps of boots approach. He squeezed harder, relishing the choked sputtering, the swollen red of Jake's eyes as he stared wildly up at Mickey.
"Mickey! Jesus, Mickey, let go!"
Job was yelling, pulling on Mickey's shoulders. Mickey bore down harder, laughed when he felt one of Jake's ribs give way beneath his weight, cracking against his knee. He squeezed until he couldn't feel his own fingers, until the panicked jack-hammering pulse beneath his knuckles ceased, and Jake's legs stopped kicking.
It was only then that Mickey blinked out of his stupor, coming back to himself.
Jake lay dead beneath him, face contorted into a swollen red mess. It took effort for Mickey to release him, to unlock his fingers from their stiff positions. He was breathing heavily, his face hot even in the cold rain.
For a while, Mickey just sat there in silence, the magnitude of what he had done not truly hitting home.
"Fuck," Job finally said, rubbing his jaw. "Goddammit, Mickey, you killed 'im."
Mickey stared stupidly down at the dead man, curling his fingers as feeling began to flood back into them. His joints creaked from the strain he had put them through, clicking in protest.
"He killed Maya," he said bluntly. The world looked bleak around him, as if all the colors just leeched out at his words.
There was an impatient sigh.
"Dammit, your bitch 'aint dead," Job snapped, running a hand over his thinning hair. "Doc's got 'er in the house now doin' some medic mumbo jumbo."
Mickey's heart skipped a beat.
Job scowled down at him, kicking him in the thigh. "Did you hear me? She 'aint dead."
"Yeah," Mickey managed hoarsely. Jake's blood was red, a rich crimson coating Mickey's hands and wrists, lines of it dribbling into the churned mud.
Job sighed again as if put upon. He crouched down beside his brother, grunting unhappily as he squelched in the mud. He grabbed Mickey's shoulder, pulling him close so Job could growl in his ear.
"We'll say he was bit," Job said. Mickey stared blankly down at the corpse cooling in front of them. "That you put 'im down 'cause he was doomed anyways. If the boys find out you outright murdered 'im then…well. I don't gotta tell you what they'll want me to do t'ya."
Power. It all boiled down to power, and Job had it all.
Mickey tore his gaze away from Jake. It didn't matter. Maya was alive.
Mickey didn't have to think about it. He'd said he'd protect her, and now, he had a second chance.
He could save her. He could. Mickey took a deep breath and accepted the devil's bargain, damning himself happily.
"What do you want me to do?"
Mickey's lips were unresponsive under hers, but his hands dug into her enough to hurt. Maya's pelvis creaked, one thigh banging against his limply at the movement of his hips. He pulled his face away from hers quickly to the jeering of the men, and Maya fought the urge to close her eyes and just be somewhere else. She forced himself to look into his face, to keep herself grounded in the moment.
This was a violation for both of them, and she wouldn't abandon him to the cruel jeers and searching eyes of the crowd. They'd do this together.
He pushed up against her a final time, grunting for show and the men closest whooped. Some had lost interest, wandering off in search for more alcohol or fights.
Maya clung to Mickey's shoulders, trying to concentrate on breathing steadily as he pulled her underwear and jeans up, buttoning them closed for her. Her head was swimming, and she felt sick, her stomach twisting in her belly. They had finished their performance, and it was a convincing one indeed judging from the jeering and hooting from the remaining men.
Mickey pulled his ruined shirt off, wrapping it around Maya's middle and chest to hide her from view. Maya clutched the ripped edges with nerveless fingers, trying to catch his eye, to communicate…something. He was avoiding her, staring at a spot on her jaw, eyes blank of emotion.
"Aw c'mon Mickey, let some of us poor saps see the goods!" Someone shouted.
There was a cackle to her left. "Careful, he'll rip you a new one if he sees you oogling!"
"She's lucky he's possessive. I know what I'd be ripping if I got half a chance-"
"You'd have to wait your turn!"
Maya shrank from their voices, pressing herself tighter against Mickey's front. Whatever small kernels of bravery she had summoned had left her, leaving her empty and drained.
Two of her friends were dead.
She realized she was shaking, coming down from an adrenaline high. A firm hand on the small of her back propelled her away from the shadowy nook, back towards the porch.
It was chaotic. Men milled around, hollering and laughing, the clink of glass loud even over the crackling flames. Job was flushed on the porch, eyes bright as Mickey pushed Maya forward, up the wooden stairs.
She couldn't look over at Marcus and Ed. She could barely look down at herself, at the red flaking patches Mickey had left on her. Sam reached out to her as she passed, a brief brush of fingers against Maya's ankle.
I'm here, the gesture said, and tears pricked Maya's eyes. You're not alone.
Lily was inconsolable in Kelly and Crystal's arms. She looked feral, eyes wild and spitting as she screamed, struggling to pull away from the two women.
"I hate you! I hate you, you killed him you monster! I'll kill you, I'll kill-"
Penny was on her knees in front of Job. Too cowardly to face any of them, Maya kept her eyes trained on her bare, blood-stained feet.
Job was laughing and grunting, one hand on Penny's head. "Didn't know you had it in ya, Mickey. Now do somethin' about the brat, yeah? She's doin' my head in."
Forgive me Lil, Maya pleaded silently. But this is how I'll save us. Please forgive me one day.
It took every scrap of strength Maya had, but she raised her head, looking Crystal and Kelly both in the face.
"Take her up to the room," Maya ordered, voice barely trembling.
Lily seemed to collapse inwards at Maya's voice, all her energy evaporating as quickly as it came.
"M…Maya?" Lily whispered, and Maya had to steel herself not to look at her, not to lose her resolve. She kept her eyes on Crystal and Kelly.
"Now," she added, hoping the women would understand. They had to get Lily out of here before things got out of hand, before Job decided he needed more entertainment.
"No!" Lily yelled as the two women managed to get her to her feet, tugging her towards the door. "No, Maya, I trusted you, he killed Jacob, he…you…no!"
Maya could still hear her yells as she was pushed further into the house and up the stairs. Job was looking at her, she could see him out of the corner of her eye, but without Lily to worry about, Maya felt calmer, more capable of bearing that awful gaze.
"Go on then, brother," Job said, amused. "You might as well go celebrate in private for a bit."
Maya automatically took a step forward, yearning to get away, to slip into the silence of the house and curl up in a corner and cry for the next hundred years.
But Mickey didn't move. Maya swallowed nervously, looking over her shoulder at him. He stood as if in a daze, eyes locked on Maya but not seeing her. Maya had seen that look before, had worn it herself on a multitude of battlefields. Shock, realization that you had personally taken a human life.
Maya reached out, taking a hold of his arm with trembling fingers. She didn't dare look and see what stickiness her skin touched, just pulled him forward, walking him into the shadows of the house.
Mickey followed her, silent. Maya could hear Lily as they mounted the stairs, Maya's hand still on Mickey's arm. The girl was wailing, ear splitting cries as something heavy crashed against a wall upstairs. Kelly and Crystal were waiting outside the door as they approached, and both bowed their heads briefly to Maya before disappearing back downstairs.
Together, Maya and Mickey stared at the bedroom door. Beyond it, Lily raged and grieved, tearing Mickey's room apart piece by piece. Maya relinquished her hold on Mickey, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand and taking a deep breath.
"Ready?" she asked quietly. "I'll try to restrain her if she tries to hurt you."
Mickey straightened, squaring his shoulders. "Just let 'er."
Maya pushed the door open.
Mickey hadn't had many possessions, but Lily had somehow managed to find them all and throw them around the small room. The camp bed was up against the far wall, boxes overturned and contents spilling out.
Lily herself was curled up in the far corner. She didn't look up as they entered.
"I hate you," she said weakly, voice thick with tears. "I hate you all."
Maya stood over her, not knowing what to say. Where could she even begin? Lily's brother had been taken from her in the worst possible way, and Maya had…rewarded his killer.
Mickey went to the corner of the room, grabbing an old shirt. He started rubbing his hands and arms, his chest and belly. His movements steadily became more frantic as the blood refused to budge, staining his skin.
Lily moaned, rolling over to jam her head under a blanket. "Just go away. Leave me alone."
"I can't," Maya said softly. "Lily I…"
"I want my Dad!" Lily wailed, thrashing. Maya didn't go to her, let her fight and rage. "I want Jacob, I want…I want to go home!"
Tugging the blanket from her head, she looked over at Mickey. Her face twisted into something Maya hoped never again to see on her young face.
"He's a murderer," she spat, hatred radiating out of every pore. "And you…you let him touch you."
Maya didn't shy away from her rage. Let her hate, let her feel. Maya couldn't, herself. Couldn't let those emotions threaten their safety. "Lily it's not tha-"
"You're disgusting!" Lily shouted, twisting in the blanket like it could shield her from everyone. "I'd rather die than let him touch me! I hate him! And I hate you."
She tucked herself away from Maya, burying herself in the blanket, sobs shaking her body. Maya backed away, knowing there was nothing she could say or do. Her back hit the opposite wall, and she breathed out shakily, trying to keep it together. Mickey righted the rickety chair, sinking down into it like an old man.
They all sat like that, Lily curled in the corner, Maya against the wall, and Mickey staring into the distance on the chair for what felt like hours.
Eventually Lily's cries became quieter, her breathing more even as she fell into an exhausted grief-fueled sleep. Maya didn't have a single emotion left in her to feel, she felt hollowed out, empty like the sky. She'd rather be up there, something weightless and thoughtless, floating high above the earth without any of these painful earthly worries.
And for a while, that's what she was. Maya slipped somewhere quiet in her mind, somewhere far away from Wilkersons and sobbing girls, far away from pain, from grief.
She was nothing. Blissful, quiet, nothing.
It was Mickey who brought her back to Earth. The chair creaked, drawing her attention, and in the moonlight streaming in through the window, she could make out his slumped form. His head was in his hands, elbows on his thighs, and his shoulders were shaking.
Maya's legs had gone to sleep, and she winced as she struggled to stand, feet buzzing with static. She awkwardly hobbled over, moving to stand in front of him.
"Mickey?" she asked softly. "Are you okay?"
He chuckled bitterly, the sound wet, and she realized he was crying. Not the way Lily cried, or even Maya cried, but a quiet, devastated sort of grieving Maya didn't quite understand.
"You shouldn't be askin' me that," he muttered. "I don't deserve none o' your concern."
Maya blinked down at his bowed shoulders. Her skin was itchy were Jacob's blood had begun to dry. On automatic, she stooped to pick up the shirt Mickey had been using, rubbing at her own arms with a detached sense of disgust.
"Are you okay?" she repeated.
Mickey raised his head to look at her. He looked like he had aged several years. "Are you?"
Maya didn't shy away from his blood splattered face. Mickey wasn't her enemy. He had proven that to her, once and for all. There were no barriers between them now, no point in lying or hiding the truth.
It was…liberating, in a twisted way.
"You just beat one of my friends to death," she said bluntly. "And Marcus had to do that to Maggie. No. I can't say I am okay."
Mickey's eyes were unfocused. "Eli used to talk 'bout 'im, though never in front of Job. I…I didn't understand it but Eli was so goddamn happy, he loved 'im, I…I just oh Jesus, he was just a kid."
Maya let him wrestle with himself. He needed to come to terms with it if he was to accept it. "You volunteered to do it."
Mickey looked down at his hands. "Wasn't like the other was gonna get it done. That boy deserved better, deserved somethin' quick. I…I thought it'd be a mercy but-"
He trailed off. Lily's uneasy breathing was loud in the quiet. Even outside the party had died down, not even the glow of embers visible outside the dark room.
Mickey breathed out shakily. "I…I had to. I had to."
"No," Maya said, voice almost harsh, and he looked at her then, snapped out of it enough to really look at her. "No you didn't have to. You choseto, just like you chose not to fuck me in front of everyone. There's always a choice, you said. Why?"
Mickey was silent. Maya reached out, grabbing his chin and forcing him to look at her. She shook him a little, wanting him to be with her, not letting him slip back into a place of self-pity. She wanted him to feel. "Answer me. Why? Why are you doing all this, Mickey?"
He looked wrecked, but met her gaze, rose to her challenge.
"You," he said quietly. "I'm doin' it for you."
Maya stilled, but she didn't release him, didn't shy away. "You think I'm going to fall madly in love with you for being so selfless? That we'll live happily ever after, is that it?"
"No," he shook his head, and Maya finally released him, dropping her arm awkwardly back to her side. "I expect ya to hate my guts. To spit and curse me 'till I go to a well-deserved death. But that don't matter none. I can do it. I can save all of ya."
He sighed, slumping in the chair. "All those people Job's done in, all the women. The shit I've done 'cause he convinced me it was the only way…I didn't fight as hard as I shoulda. Looked the other way when it suited. I coulda done more, know I coulda done more-"
"So we're your redemption? You think that's what this is?"
Mickey's hands twitched like he wanted to reach out and touch her, but he kept them stubbornly at his side. "I'm past that. I'm as damned as damned can be, and tonight just proved I'm no goddamn better than my brother. But you, you're…she's…"
He glanced helplessly towards the pile of blankets. "You're good people, Maya. I knew that the moment you came for Doc. You don't deserve any o' this. I'll save ya, one way or another. I'll get you out, and that's a goddamn promise."
Just when Maya felt she understood who Mickey Wilkerson was, he did something to turn her on her head. Mickey swallowed.
"And I know you fuckin' hate me. Outside we gotta…we gotta still pretend. But I swear to God, Maya. I won't touch you 'ere."
He bowed his head, braced himself, shoulders tense. "So do it. Fight me, hurt me, do what you gotta and I'll take it. I won't stop ya."
She could, Maya realized. She could tear at him, dig bloody scars into his arms and chest, make him suffer for taking Jacob's life, and he wouldn't stop her. He thought he deserved it, would bear whatever punishment she thought fit.
But how could she ever do that? By his own admission, he had done it for her. To save her, to possess her, the lines blurred in this hell, but the outcome was the same. For selfish, or selfless reasons, Mickey was her jailor and savior rolled into one.
She couldn't hate him. Didn't want to. They had been brought together under terrible circumstances, but they were together. They would weather whatever was to come. Together.
Together. Maybe she was changing too, into something hardened and different, because the thought excited her. Made her feel like she could bear whatever shit Job had in store, as long as Mickey was there with her.
"Mickey, no," Maya sighed , reaching out to him and touching his bowed head tentatively. "I don't hate you. None of us have much choice in any of this. You killed Jacob. It was the lesser of the two evils, and you made that choice. Not many people would have been as brave."
She paused, choosing her words carefully. "You could have been like all the others. But you weren't. You aren't. I don't know how the hell we're going to get out of here, if we even can. But…I'm with you."
Mickey looked up, expression hopeful. "I don't know how, but I'll get ya out. Or die tryin'."
"Please don't," Maya cracked a weak smile. "I've gotten used to you being around. We'll figure something out, together, Mickey."
She took a step towards him, close enough so his forehead bumped against her stomach. Her hand curved down his skull, petting him as her mother had once soothed her through nights of illness and nightmares.
She didn't really know why she did it. Just that it seemed the right thing to do, that she had meant every word, and wanted him to know it, to believe her.
He breathed out shakily, and Maya didn't step away as he wrapped his arms around her waist, burrowing his face into her belly. His hands splayed on her back, and her skin warmed at his touch, pulse fluttering.
"I'm so sorry," he muttered. "So goddamn sorry. I killed that kid and…I can't…"
"I forgive you," Maya said suddenly, the words just tumbling out. And she did, she realized. She didn't blame Mickey for Jacob's death, though he had been the one to deal it. That blame lay squarely at Job's feet, for orchestrating the whole fucked up display of dominance.
Mickey shuddered against her, arms tightening, fingers digging in as if to anchor himself to her. Maya let him grieve against her, silently petting his hair, the gears in her head grinding into action. One thing she knew sure.
Job Wilkerson had to die.