They'd stopped at a motel just on the outskirts of Chicago because it was too late to bother his sister. That and Mickey sort of wanted whatever advantage daylight could give them when they turned up. Even his brothers wouldn't be stupid enough to shoot him in full view of everyone. He hoped. That was if they were even there.
They only booked the one room because they weren't planning on staying for more than a few hours. They left all the stuff in the car since Mickey had slept the last leg of the journey and he offered to go out and score some more cash while the girls slept.
None of them had even thought twice about it, but Mickey wished so much that he had done. And Mickey wasn't really one for wishing, which he thought said something about the situation.
He could smell the smoke before he even got out the car and he sort of knew then. Just knew what had happened. And Mickey had never felt fear like that, the sort that could strangle a person, force the air out of their lungs even when they breathed in. Mickey had only felt that sort of fear once, when he'd told his Dad he was gay. But then he'd also had several lines worth of coke and adrenaline pumping through his system, so it had been different.
As soon as he got out of the car someone latched onto him and he jumped violently before he realised it was Tegan. Losing himself for a minute, he held her face in between slightly shaking hands and looked at her, trying to assess the damage. But the blood streaked across her cheekbone and on her hands didn't look to be hers.
"I went to the bathroom," she said, her words stuttered and broken, her eyes wide. She looked like she was about to cry and this time he wouldn't have blamed her. "Someone jumped me from behind but I stabbed them in the neck." She looked up at the building and the smoke. "Mum's still in there."
Mickey could safely say he had never been more glad for them choosing a shitty motel that had a shared bathroom in another building. He nodded, almost gravely and took his hands away from her face, opening up the car door again. "Get it," he said, his voice leaving no room for argument, "Lock the doors and fucking stay there."
The order to dial 911 didn't need to be said.
Tegan squeezed his hand for a second and then climbed into the car. Mickey slammed the door and took off running. And he'd never run like that before. He felt like he was flying across the ground. It was the adrenaline. It was easy to tell which room was theirs even if he had forgotten, not only because it was the only one without people emerging out of it, but it was also the only one with smoke coming out from under the door.
There was only one room, so he knew he wouldn't have to search, but getting into said room was the difficult part. He kicked in the door, the wood already weak from the flames and he had to press his face into his arm, coughing with the smoke that rushed out to greet him. Through narrowed eyes he could see the orange fire in the room. The shitty furniture seemed to have gone up quickly and their room was the one on the end, so it was obvious that the fire had been started through something being thrown in through the window on one wall.
Mickey could tell all of that in the handful of seconds when he stopped in the doorway. Mickey wasn't really one to be a hero, but even more than that he wasn't one to hesitate. He never had before, not with anything. When he had his mind made up, he just got on with it, so he didn't see why he should change his ways then.
He'd never admit that he wasn't really all that fond of fire, but nevertheless he ran into the room with his eyes narrowed and his arm over his face to try and help his breathing. The choking feeling was real now, because of the smoke. He could taste it on his tongue, could feel it clogging up his lungs.
The cheap carpet was made of something obviously highly flammable and it was spreading fast, which was why he sprinted over to the bed without wasting any more time. Kara was curled up on her side, unconscious and he wondered if she had ever even woken up. He didn't think so. He'd heard about people dying in their sleep when their houses caught fire. That was probably one of the many stupid, pointless things that Gallagher had told him.
Mickey threw back the covers, tossing them onto a patch of nearby flames to try and maybe stop them a little. He didn't look to see if it had helped. He slid an arm under Kara's knees and another under his back, lifting her up easily. Kara had never been heavy and Mickey had never been more glad for that fact.
The only problem was that now he didn't have anything to press his face into and he was forced to breathe in the thick smoke. He could feel it burning his lungs and he'd never felt anything quite like that. Mickey could handle getting punched in the face, but he hated this.
There was only one way in and out of the motel room. Through the door. And Mickey cursed the shitty flammable carpet again when he realised that the path from the bed to the door was pretty much blocked. But he didn't really have any plan to be burnt alive standing in the same spot. He figured he probably had another minute or so before where he was standing caught alight too, because he could see the flames creeping closer.
He was grateful for how small the room was that was all he could really say.
"You owe me for this bitch," he muttered, pressing his face into Kara's neck for some relief and then realising he was just as worse off as him and nudged her hair over to cover her face. He figured that was better than nothing.
Gritting his teeth, Mickey dug his fingers into Kara's skin probably hard enough to leave bruises, but it wasn't like she was conscious, so she didn't notice. The flames were only up to about knee height, jumping and dancing around constantly in a way that made Mickey want to puke. Or maybe that was the smell and the smoke he was breathing in.
"Fuck," he swore under his breath and then just ran for it.
Mickey didn't know how to describe it. He didn't know there was even pain like that. It felt like the skin on his legs was bubbling and boiling on his bones. He could actually feel his jeans catching light at the bottom, burning away in random places. His lungs felt like they were burning also with every single necessary breath, but because Mickey was fucking stupid, the only thing he really worried about at the time was whether Kara was coming out of this okay. He tried to lift her as high as he possibly could, to keep her above the fire, but he didn't know if it worked.
People actually applauded him as he burst out of the motel room, like he gave a shit about their thoughts. The ambulance and a fire engine were just pulling in as well and Mickey thought it was fucking stupid how glad that made him. He didn't know how the fuck he stayed standing, because his legs felt numb and burning all at the same time, which made no sense but was somehow happening. He stumbled forwards and some random guy helped him lower Kara to the floor just as a paramedic rushed up.
He was only vaguely aware of what happened afterwards, as the adrenaline faded out of his veins. A mask was pressed against his face and someone touched his legs, assessing damage. He was aware of Tegan pressing herself against his side, her fingernails digging into his flesh so hard he knew she was drawing blood, but he didn't even feel it. They both watched the paramedics work on Kara, checking her breathing and her heart.
And then the paddles were brought out and the man called, "Clear!" and all Mickey could think was, no, we're not clear. None of this is clear. We are never going to be in the clear. And knowing that fucking sucked.