Work Text:
Iggy sets a joint between his lips as he riffles through the hallway closet, humming softly as the buzz from the weed curls through his system. It’s close to midnight and he’s waiting for Colin and Terry to make it back home, knowing Terry will want Iggy to count through their stash since he doesn’t trust Colin with that shit anymore. Colin isn’t the brightest when it comes to math, apparently.
Mandy is staying over at her boy Danny’s place again - Iggy wonders when that shit is gonna go downhill. Danny isn’t exactly a nice guy and Iggy is waiting for Mandy to give the okay for him to beat the scrawny kid’s ass. He and Colin have been itching to do so since they met the fucker two months ago.
He carries an old-ass blanket over to the sofa where Mickey had fallen asleep, humming to himself as he drapes the blanket over his brother. He switches off the show Mickey was watching, staring down at him for a moment. Mickey is turning sixteen soon, which means Terry might finally start forcing him on runs. Iggy has been doing his absolute hardest to convince Terry to keep Mickey out of all the bullshit they do over the past few years, using one excuse after another. Colin started doing runs when he was sixteen, Iggy when he was fourteen. He sighs, tugging the edge of the blanket over his shoulder gently. Fuck Terry, man…
Leaving him be, he heads into the kitchen to grab a beer, wanting his buzz to continue on until he has to deal with the bullshit Terry and Colin will be bringing back in an hour or so.
When he finishes his joint, he hears the front door open and close… quietly. Iggy arches a brow, tilting his head back to look over his shoulder into the living room. It’s still dead quiet in the house, which means no one in his family walked through that door.
Frowning, he gets to his feet and sets his beer aside. Before he can make it past the edge of the kitchen, a figure steps out and points a gun at him. “Don’t move.”
Iggy pauses, scoffing in surprise. “Ay, what’s up with the gun, man?” The man before him looks to be in his early forties, balding on the top of his head and definitely seeing better days. Iggy’s lips twitch in amusement at the sight.
“Stay where you are,” the guy hisses, looking around wildly. “Where’s Terry?”
Iggy shrugs. “Outta town.”
“I want the cash,” he demands, jerking his gun a little. “He owns me ten grand.”
Iggy raises a brow. “For…?”
“None of your fucking business,” he sneers. “Show me where his money is, or… or I’ll shoot the kid,” he threatens, suddenly pointing his gun towards the couch.
Iggy hardly reacts, shrugging and beckoning him to follow as he moves for the hallway. “Okay, cool. I think he hides all that shit in his room.”
“Good,” the man growls, following him closely with the gun pointed at Iggy’s back. Iggy leads the way to Terry and Laura’s bedroom, looking around for a moment before he hums and points towards a chest. “Should be in there.”
The man narrows his eyes, jerking his gun. “Get it.”
Iggy shrugs again and moves towards it. The man takes a step closer as well, but before he can react, Iggy is turning and snatching his wrist, twisting it enough to make him drop the gun. His cry of pain is cut off by Iggy’s fist, falling back against his parents’ bed. Iggy is on top of him in a flash, expression cold as he forces the man’s hands under his knees, his own hands reaching up and wrapping around his throat, thumbs digging into his windpipe.
The room is quiet aside from the choked gasps and shuffling coming from his struggling, Iggy’s grip becomes tighter and tighter around his neck. He watches with sick satisfaction as the man’s face turns blue and his eyes roll back, mouth hanging open in a silent cry.
Iggy doesn’t let go for many minutes, staring at the still man below him with a sneer. His struggles have stopped long ago, but Iggy is waiting for the heartbeat to disappear completely. He can still feel it very faintly, which only urges him to tighten his grip.
Finally, he releases the man’s neck. He tilts his head back and sighs up at the ceiling, his cold expression slipping back to one of calmness. He slides off the man and cracks his knuckles, leaving the body behind to go check on Mickey.
His brother is still asleep, thankfully. He almost smiles.
Checking to make sure the front door is closed, Iggy grumbles to himself as he goes to the back door and opens it, trailing back to the bedroom to grab the dead man’s legs and drag him off the bed. He grimaces at the thud and waits a moment to see if it woke Mickey before he continues to drag the body out through the house, grunting in effort as he drags him through the back door and out of the house.
He comes back inside many minutes later, having hidden the body in the shed for now. He’ll call Joey and Lou in the morning to come and help get rid of the body.
He sits down on the edge of the couch in front of Mickey, looking down at him with a slight smile. Mickey hasn’t moved since he left him to go smoke, definitely in a deep sleep. It’s a good thing as he hasn’t been sleeping well since Terry got drunk earlier this week and beat the living hell out of Mickey and Colin. When Iggy came home to find them both sporting bruises and cuts, it took everything in him not to beat Terry with their bat while he slept.
He sets his hand against the side of Mickey’s head gently, running his thumb over the edge of his cheekbone where the bruise around his eye ends. Mickey shifts a bit but he just nuzzles deeper against his bicep, still out cold. It makes Iggy chuckle a bit, knowing Mickey has begun to pick up a habit of jerking awake right into fight mode. Just like he and Colin.
God, he hates this household.
While he hated it deeply, and he knows the others did as well, he wishes they were back in the fucking foster system. The Northside house they stayed in for a couple of months will always be way better than this shithole, no matter how strict that piece of shit couple was.
Iggy sighs and runs his fingers through Mickey’s hair, tapping his foot anxiously. He needs to get them all out, but how? Milkoviches are all over the Southside, and he can’t support all three of his siblings with his record and keep them safe from their shitty, racist, homophobic, and sexist family members.
Fuck this life. Iggy wants a goddamn refund.