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Mickey’s not entirely sure how exactly he got past the bartender with his fake ID considering he looks like a fucking thirteen-year-old when he’s actually sixteen, but it might have to do with his overly intimidating cousins flashing their IDs with the clear cut ’Milkovich’ branded on them. It’s one of the many perks of having a terrifying family.
A bunch of his cousins’ buddies are here drinking with them, almost turning this into a little party. Mickey, obviously, is the only one underage and the others make it well known by picking on him, but Mickey doesn’t care. He’s getting too drunk to care.
He wonders how he’s gonna get past his brothers finding out about this.
The deal is that his brothers, unlike their parents, actually give a shit about him. Not to the point of banning him from everything or some lame shit like that. They made him the fake ID and everything - their only rule being he had to drink with them.
Obviously, he’s broken that rule tonight, but come on! He has his cousins with him! Not a big deal.
Though, after a few hours of beer after beer, moving on to harder shots and downing them with his cousins does he start to feel bad. He never drinks this much, so that explains his weak stomach to so much alcohol. He only ever drinks beer at home and his brothers only allow him a couple of shots when they go out, saying he doesn’t need to get hardcore drunk yet. Whatever.
To be fair, they had a point. Mickey feels five seconds away from throwing up.
He feels a hand clap him on the back. “Mick, you alive there?”
He lifts his head slowly to look at Tony, squinting to try and see him clearly. “Feels bad…”
“Someone can’t hold their liquor!” Jamie’s friend laughs, grinning around the rim of his drink.
“Better take the kid home,” Joey chuckles, nudging Sammy. “C’mon, you’re driving.”
Sammy grunts, rubbing his face and getting to his feet. Mickey sits up, holding back the urge to vomit. “Calling a cab?”
“Fuck no, I’m driving,” Sammy grunts out, grabbing Mickey’s arm and tugging him to his feet.
“Are you even sober?” Mickey asks, leaning against him heavily. Fuck, he’s wasted.
“Meh,” Sammy shrugs. Joey laughs and follows after them, Tony not far behind. The four of them stumble their way to Sammy’s car, Joey calling shotgun while Mickey and Tony slide into the back.
Mickey eyes Sammy warily but just grumbles and leans his head against the window. His head hurts too much to think…
Iggy lights a cigarette as he watches the girl who he doesn’t remember the name of get dressed with a cute little sway of her hips. He grins lightly when she throws a flirty smirk over her shoulder, grabbing her shoes and heading out the door. “Call me.”
“Sure,” he hums, having no intention of calling her.
After the front door closes, Colin walks into their bedroom with a roll of his eyes. “You better not have fucked on my bed again.”
“Nah, I paid attention this time,” Iggy chuckles, sliding out of bed to pull on his briefs. “Is Mandy coming home?”
“Think she said she was staying at Danny’s again,” Colin hums, sitting down on his bed and grabbing a half-empty bottle of beer next to his bed, taking a drink from it.
“And Mickey?”
“No clue,” Colin shrugs.
Iggy grabs his phone to call their younger brother - assuming he’s out getting high with his friends again - when he’s stopped by Tony’s caller ID popping up. Raising a brow, Iggy answers the call. “Yo.”
“You need to swear not to get mad,” Tony pants out.
Iggy frowns. “What did you do?”
“Fuck- um… we all went out drinking tonight and brought Mickey with us-”
“You what?” Iggy straightens up, his voice growing icy.
“Right, yeah, Mickey wanted to come with us so we let him,” Tony says quickly. “But he got sick so we decided to go home and Sammy drove.”
“Okay…” Iggy says slowly, narrowing his eyes.
“Drove drunk…”
Iggy’s stomach drops and he curses, grabbing his jeans and shoving his phone between his shoulder and cheek. Colin watches him in confusion as he yanks on his jeans, a dark look covering his face. “How’s Mickey?”
“I don’t know. The doctor hasn’t come back yet.”
“Where are you?” After Tony rattles off the hospital, Iggy hangs up and turns to Colin. “Mickey is in the hospital. Car accident.”
“Shit!” Colin jumps to his feet, grabbing his shoes.
The two make it to the hospital in twenty minutes, breaking many laws along the way. As they storm in, Iggy’s eyes land on his cousins all clustered together in the waiting room. They all look like shit - Sammy with cuts and blood along his face and neck, Joey with an arm in a sling, and Tony clutching at his ribs. Iggy honestly gives no fucks how hurt they are because he wants them to hurt more. He marches right up to them, grabs Sammy by the collar of his shirt, and decks him across the face.
“Iggy!” Tony grabs him quickly, yanking him away from kicking Sammy.
“You drove drunk with my fucking brother?!” Iggy snarls, shoving Tony away from him. Colin grabs him next, yanking him back to keep him from injuring their cousins even more. Iggy relents, grumbling under his breath as he turns and heads up to the front desk. “Mikhailo Milkovich - what room?”
The lady blinks and types at her computer. “Room one-thirty-two, sir. What is your relation-”
“Brother,” he answers, not waiting to storm past her and through the doors with Colin in tow.
They find the room and barge in, frightening a nurse. Colin rattles off a half-apology, explaining they’re his brothers while Iggy moves to where Mickey is lying in bed, his anger faltering as he takes in Mickey’s condition.
His right arm and leg are in casts, his head wrapped up in bandages along with his torso. He’s got a shitton of cuts - most likely from glass - and is starting to sport a nasty bruise around his eyes. He’s got tubes in his arms as well, probably to get him sober and in less pain. All in all, he looks like shit.
His eyes flutter, a soft groan escaping him as he tilts his head up, eyes locking with Iggy’s. They widen and he looks away quickly. “Hey, Ig…”
“You went drinking, huh?” Iggy hisses out, the anger coming back at full blast. “And you let your drunk cousin drive you home?” Mickey doesn’t respond, avoiding Iggy’s gaze. He glances up and looks away again when he finds Colin at his other side, arms crossed and eyes narrowed. Iggy sighs heavily, clenching and unclenching his hands. “We’re confiscating your fake ID for now.”
Mickey nods reluctantly, not bothering to fight back. Colin sighs as well and pulls up a chair, sitting down next to him. “Mick, look at me.” It takes a moment, but Mickey looks up at his older brother. Colin reaches forward, patting his shoulder gently. “We won’t tell ma or dad.”
Mickey visibly relaxes at that. He’d rather never drink again than face the wrath of his mother and double the wrath of his father. His mother would disapprove of him getting drunk so young and then his father would get angry with ending up in the hospital as that could “lead to officers getting involved and then finding his stash.” Iggy got the worst beating of his life after ending up in the hospital, which then resulted in going back. It was not a good month for him.
Colin runs a hand through Mickey’s hair, smiling a bit when Mickey hums in content. Iggy sits down on the edge of his bed, careful of his leg wrapped up and supported in a sling. He shakes his head, running a hand through his hair. “I’m making those fuckers pay for all of the bills. They’re lucky they’re family or I’d either kill them, sue them, or sue them then kill them.”
Colin snorts, shaking his head. Mickey chuckles weakly, eyes sliding shut as his headache is soothed by Colin’s touch. Iggy watches them for a moment before he smiles as well, patting Mickey’s knee. “Glad you’re okay.”
“Same here,” Colin hums.
“Thanks,” Mickey mumbles. The painkillers must be taking an effect on him now, his words slurring together with sleep. Colin and Iggy share an amused glance, sitting in silence as their baby brother dozes off.