[four] β [video]

[freezerburns]

[Private to Mickey]

[Isaac so did not expect to get a friend as his inmate. This really makes things awkward. He both wants to read Mickey's file and doesn't want to even think about it sitting there on his desk, considering what he does know about the guy's life. He keeps glancing over at it like it's going to flip open on its own or something.]

So. You saw, huh?

Comments

[americasdirtiest]

Oh, yeah. I saw, all right.

[And he's having similar issues, unsurprisingly. Somehow, it really hadn't totally occurred to him that there would be a file. He doesn't even know what they look like -- he never got a permanent inmate of his own. How much is in there? Is it just about killing Dean, or...?

The Admiral being as powerful as he is, he realizes, it's possible that his whole life is in there. There's a small part of him that would actually find that a relief, someone just... knowing, like Dillon had, without his having to say anything. The rest of him, though? Not too happy at the prospect. He glances to the edge of the screen nervously, trying to see if he can see the thing.]

So, uh. What now, Warden?

[freezerburns]

Look, dude, I--

[He stops, because saying I don't know what I'm doing is probably not the best first thing to say to your new inmate. He scratches the back of his head, glancing over at the file again. How would he feel, if someone had a big record of everything that had ever happened to him?]

I didn't read it yet. I mean, maybe I should've but I didn't.

[Kinda more of an unspoken question than an answer, but...]

[americasdirtiest]

...thanks.

[But does that mean Isaac is waiting for his permission? Shit. When he doesn't even know what's in there, how bad it might be...]

's it gonna explode or anything if I take a look?

[freezerburns]

Considering where it came from, I wouldn't count on it not exploding.

[A dumb joke, maybe, but he's trying to act normal. That was pretty much what he was going to suggest anyway.]

You should. You want me to come find you, or--?

[americasdirtiest]

No.

[He says it quickly, but then just as quickly reconsiders.]

Yeah.

[His cabin, Ian's cabin, those are home. Isaac's not a stranger, but his cabin is a strange place. Remembering, suddenly, Mikhail's file -- the one he'd only just started to read before deciding he didn't want to know anymore -- he thinks he'd rather at least be somewhere that's his.]

I'll see you at my place.

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[freezerburns]

Sure. See you there.

[He doesn't waste all that much time after sending the message - though for a couple minutes he debates going and getting some booze to take with him, then dismisses it because the file seems like enough of a peace offering and encouraging alcoholism probably isn't a good idea either - picking up Mickey's file gingerly, feeling sort of stupid about it even as he does. Maybe he should've just read the thing, except it still doesn't seem right in the same way that his sensory advantages hadn't seemed right when he'd talked to Mickey when he was drunk on deck. He doesn't know how or where to draw the line here, except redeeming someone by just being their friend seems like entirely too optimistic a thought for him to believe that's all it'll take.

God, he's not cut out for this.

Nonetheless, it's not long before he's knocking at Mickey's door, wrapped up in a cardigan and scarf, file in hand. He's got his deal to think of and... he might not have any idea how he's supposed to do it, but he wants to help Mickey get out of here too.]

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[americasdirtiest]

[It's weird. It's really, really weird. Mickey had sort of settled into all this, for better or worse. Like, yeah, it sucks being an inmate and losing privileges, it sucked losing friends over it, but with Ian here it actually doesn't really affect him all that much. He can't leave, but he wouldn't without him anyway. He'd pretty much just been ignoring the whole thing.

But now it's all right back in his face, and he doesn't really know what to do about any of it. He paces up and down his living room for a few minutes, then does go ahead and take a shot of whiskey he rifled from Ian's just to calm his nerves. By the time he's starting to settle again, there's the knock at the door. He opens it and steps back to let Isaac in, his eyes immediately going to the folder in his hand.

Mickey Milkovich: This is Your Life. He stares at the thing, grimacing, like it might be a jellyfish or an envelope of anthrax -- something dangerous and slightly disgusting.]

Want anything? [He nods towards the kitchen as he closes the door. He moves to sit at the long, worn-down dining table.]

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[freezerburns]

[Of course, Isaac can smell the whiskey, can smell Mickey's nerves going haywire despite it. He can imagine what this is like for him, even if he doesn't know and he's not surprised at the way he stares at the file, like it might bite him. Maybe it will, in a way.]

I'm good. Thanks.

[He shakes his head and follows Mickey over to the table, setting the file down on it with a grimace of his own before backing off a little, folding his arms.]

You say you don't want me to read it and I won't.

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[americasdirtiest]

[Isaac has never been here, and it may or may not be clear at first why Mickey and Ian had chosen to have Thanksgiving in Ian's cabin: despite Mickey's inmate status, this place looks much bigger. On the other hand, it's also much shabbier, less cared-for, the paint cracked and peeling and the table dull and stained. More importantly, there had been a kind of warmth there that doesn't seem to exist here, ingrained into the very walls. The Gallagher house is a poor but happy one; this place, by comparison, looks like it belongs to...

Well, to someone very much like Mickey Milkovich. And he's not ashamed of this part of who he is -- this is a South Side house, and its his -- but if he weren't so preoccupied with the file, he might be taking notice of Isaac's reactions. After all, he knows without even having to see that no one from Beacon Hills lives like this.

But as immediately telling as the house may be, there's a bomb on the table that's much, much moreso. Mickey sits in front of it, looking a little ill, like he's going to have to choke it down. He glances up at Isaac at the promise, surprised.]

Thanks.

[In the back of his mind, he knows that's a dumbass promise to make. Whatever Isaac's deal is, it's one he obviously needs or he wouldn't be here, and Mickey's already tried wardening without a file. It sucks. Still, he's offering, and Mickey's not about to turn it down. He turns his attention back to the folder, grits his teeth, and opens it.

Within the first few lines he's shifting slightly, propping his head up on his hand to make it harder for Isaac to see his face, although he's forgotten about the damn werewolf senses. The first part is bad, if mostly stuff Isaac already knows about him. Juvie, the closet, his dad. Ian and Kash. But then it gets to the fall just after his eighteenth birthday and suddenly he can't close the thing or push it away fast enough. If he was looking at the thing like it was going to bite him before, he's looking like it did now.]

No. No way.

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[freezerburns]

[Isaac's reaction to Mickey's place, honestly, is a weird, cold kind of familiarity. The shabbiness of the place doesn't bother him - he'd stayed in worse, mostly when he'd been on the run - but the lack of care, the lack of warmth... Maybe he's just attuned to it, having bounced around from place to place since getting the Bite. He feels it and it makes him think of his father, of the basement. Or maybe he's projecting, considering the similarities in where they both came from.

Either way, he stays back, arms still crossed, glancing around the room, taking it in while Mickey reads his file. He doesn't actually watch him read, but most of his attention - and yes, those damn werewolf senses - is focused on the inmate.

He hears the spike in Mickey's heartrate as he shoves the file away like he's got his ear pressed directly to his chest and Isaac's gaze swings sharply back to him. Mickey's distress - his horror? - it's practically palpable, hanging in the room like a miasma, bitter and harsh and impossible to hide. He nods, voice low, trying not to show that he can sense just how bad it is for him.]

Okay. Alright, dude, I won't.

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[americasdirtiest]

[He nods silently. What the fuck had he been thinking, that he might actually want someone to read this? Dillon Cole knows the truth and nothing's come of that one way or the other, so what would it change for Isaac to know? Isaac can't erase his family; he definitely can't take back what his father and Svetlana did to him. At best, it'd be pointless. At worst, it would change things between him and his warden -- his friend -- and he can't deal with that possibility.

He stares at the folder for another long moment, rubbing his hand over his mouth, trying to bring himself down from what feels dangerously like panic. He didn't read much, but he didn't have to. As much as he avoids it normally, the memory couldn't be clearer for him. Him on the couch -- the one right behind him now -- bleeding and half-conscious, the door opening...

He swallows it down as best he can and turns back to Isaac, calm but unsettled, his voice a little hoarse.]

So what are you gonna do?

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[freezerburns]

[As best he can still isn't enough to hide it, although the sharpness of the emotion fades a little before he asks the question.]

I don't know.

[Isaac sighs, a fraction of his own tension draining out of him, and takes the chance to pull out a chair and sit, elbows on the table. He doesn't look at the file - he didn't want to read it anyway and it's almost a relief that he doesn't have to, in some very unwardenly way - just speaks frankly, eyes on Mickey.]

Get your side of the story from you instead of some dumb file, I guess-- figure out why you're here and what to do about it. Have your back if you need it. Help you out. All that warden stuff. You gonna get mad if I ask you questions?

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[americasdirtiest]

Depends on the fuckin' question.

[But because Isaac is his friend, and because Mickey's been on his side of the fence already and knows that this can all be kind of... well, intimidating, he relents a half a second later. He sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose, and asks again in a less combative tone:]

What questions?

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[freezerburns]

[Isaac pauses for a moment, trying to figure that out himself. He didn't come in here with a plan. He's not all that good at plans. There's a lot of questions he needs to ask, probably, but he settles for one that might be a little unexpected, considering it's about very recent history.]

What happened? To get you demoted?

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[americasdirtiest]

[It's less surprising for its newness and more for the fact that Isaac doesn't already know. Stiles had been so angry, Scott so wary with him that he'd assumed all of the Beacon Hills crowd did. Sure, it had been confusing in Amsterdam, but he'd ultimately just figured that Isaac was willing to keep hanging out with him anyway for whatever reason.

Now, he blinks, startled, and then just looks at him for a second. We can do this the easy way or the hard way, he remembers telling Ben, and he realizes it's true here, too. He doesn't really want to be talking about this, but if he doesn't just say it, Isaac's going to keep asking -- draw it out of him one question at a time -- until he's either got the whole story or Mickey decides to fight and clam up. He bites his thumbnail and looks down, voice a little wooden when he answers.]

Ian's sick. I wanted to-- that was my deal, getting him better again. Then I got stuck over in that fucking place and it didn't seem like anyone was really coming for us, so.

[He knits his hands loosely together, raises his brows slightly.]

I killed somebody. Dean Winchester. So I could graduate, get a new deal, and get the fuck out of there.

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[freezerburns]

[The thing was there'd been a lot of stuff going on, enough that he hadn't gotten around to asking and it's not like the Beacon Hills crew didn't have a more pressing issue with sharper teeth to cope with than Mickey Milkovich. Plus, the things that happened on the other Barge... he knows his counterpart tormented Allison, killed Scott. He didn't want to know anything else.

So he hadn't known - although he might have been able to take a guess at the general shape of it - and he nods, keeping quiet, letting him answer. He'd kind of wanted to see how Mickey took the question. How he answered. Isaac's a little bit surprised that there's not more resistance, that he just... tells him.

Ian's sick. That strikes a chord. He wonders if he'd do the same thing, if it came down to it, for Allison.]

Kinda backfired. [Understatement, but it's not all that shocked or judgemental.] Have you ever killed anyone before?

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[americasdirtiest]

[It's a concession, of sorts: Isaac's not reading the file, Isaac doesn't get to know about Svetlana or Yevgeny, but this is something easier to make himself acknowledge. Not easy, but easier. He did something shitty, and he knows exactly what and why, and it's a lot likelier that Isaac will find out the truth about this than the other stuff sooner or later.

Besides, it might become relevant if Dean changes his mind about getting revenge.

He snorts at the joke, grimly amused, but shakes his head.]

No. I didn't--

[He didn't even mean to kill Dean, really. Betray, yes. Hurt, yes. The killing... he'd lost control, he really had. Thinking of Ian back home, thinking of being trapped with people like Jerry and the other Andrew, thinking of everything he couldn't do, it had been all too easy to forget how strong Jerry's curse had made him and do something much more final.

Isaac doesn't need to know that part.]

No.

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[freezerburns]

[Isaac can't read Mickey's mind or anything, and there's too much context he's missing, but he can tell there's more there. He doesn't push for it. (Partly he just doesn't know how or what he's supposed to do about it yet, and he needs time to think.) He can tell Mickey didn't do it because he liked it or anything, he's not going to go out looking for people to murder or whatever. That's good enough for him, for now.]

Okay.

[There's a pause and he considers what to ask next - there's going to be more questions for a long time without reading the file - but instead of a question, he finds himself admitting something, some common ground.]

Allison's dead. Back home, I mean. She died and that's why I'm here. Why most of us are. If I was over there, same as you were-- [He shrugs, loosely. It could've gone the same way for him.]

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[americasdirtiest]

[Tell that to Stilinski, he almost but doesn't say. Stiles, who'd acted like he'd be so much better in the same situation, like he'd come up with some amazing magic plan where no one had to get hurt. Or Stephen, who'd acted like he should have known to just wait longer. But fuck them both: whatever friendship he and Stiles were starting to have is clearly over, and Stephen is... Stephen, for better or worse, like a fucking barnacle in his life.]

Yeah.

[Mickey knows the truth: Ian would have done it for him, Stephen would have done it for Cutter, Isaac probably would have done it for Allison. Just about anyone would, if it was someone they loved enough. He scowls, suddenly frustrated.]

It would've worked. I mean, it was working before my ass got sucked back here. People keep acting like it was fucking doomed, but it wasn't. I just-- got fucking unlucky.

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[freezerburns]

Yeah. You did. I mean, maybe I'm not supposed to say that but...

[Another shrug. He's not saying it was a good thing or the right thing, either, that much is clear in his voice and his expression. But it would probably have worked. Mickey's deal was more important than good or right. He took a chance when he was desperate and trapped and - unluckily - it didn't work out. Isaac gets that, for sure. It's not as simple as just right and wrong.]

Did you plan it?

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[americasdirtiest]

[Okay, now he's really surprised. Gratified, but surprised.]

Dude -- you definitely do not act like you're from Beacon fucking Hills.

[But coming from him, that's obviously and definitely a compliment. He's warmed a little to certain particular members of the pack, but he still judges the group as a whole a bit, and this is honestly partly why. It's not just the money. Being all noble and giving and shit? Caring about right and wrong? The way he sees it, that's a privilege, too.

Mickey knows what he did was wrong. As much as Stiles wants to believe he wants to justify it, he never has. He just doesn't care if it was wrong. He doesn't have the luxury of caring. Survival is more important, for him and Ian both.]

Yeah, I planned it out. I mean, I had to, right? It had to be deliberate, or Christ knows if the asshole running that place would have paid any attention.

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[freezerburns]

[Isaac smiles at that first comment, sort of lopsided, because he knows Mickey isn't exactly the biggest fan of the Beacon Hills gang as a whole - or at least sees them as naive at best or goddamn idiots at worst - and he recognises the compliment. Except it sends a guilty kind of twinge through him as well, because he wants to be better, more like the rest of the pack. More like Scott. He tries to be. He has to be, probably, if he's going to do his job here as a warden. He's second-guessing himself again with that throwaway line. He nods and considers as Mickey continues.]

You didn't enjoy it, right? I get why you did it. I just-- You know. Doing it because you wanted to or doing it because you had to, it makes a difference.

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[americasdirtiest]

[He's been going along with this up till now, tense but complacent, because he knows this is an issue Isaac may find himself in the middle of, because he wouldn't want to be blindsided by it if their positions were reversed. More than that, because he trusts Isaac more than he does most people, and the way Isaac's been responding to him -- like he might even understand -- has made it easier to pull the words out.

Now, though, the record scratches. Mickey sits back, brows raising high.]

What the fuck kind of question is that?

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[freezerburns]

[Honestly, the reaction reassures him more than anything. It's a relief and that's clear in the way he leans back, hands coming up a little in a 'easy, dude' gesture.]

Just asking. I've got to ask, man.

[It's not like there aren't inmates who get off on killing or violence or whatever. He thinks about reminding Mickey that without the file, he could be some raging psychopath and Isaac would have no idea and opts to do it without getting too specific.]

I'm kind of flying blind here. Sorry.

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[americasdirtiest]

[What really surprises him is that it actually kind of hurts. It's not as bad as when Stephen walked out on him, the hot-and-cold pain that had driven him to get plastered up on the deck, but it's an echo of the same: that someone he's invited into his little circle, someone whose opinion he's actually decided to care about, is turning on him. Judging him. Maybe finding him wanting.

He doesn't know any way to be hurt except to be angry, of course, just like he doesn't know how to get by without violence, just like he didn't know how to make it through the Mirror Barge without killing. His voice rises sharply.]

Flying blind, my ass. Fuck you, then. What the fuck do you think the answer is?

[He gets up and storms over to the refrigerator, less because he actually wants anything than because he wants to be on his feet, wants to be moving.]

Maybe I fucking loved it. What are you gonna do, trade in? [He grabs a beer and slams the door shut again.]

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[freezerburns]

[Isaac watches him, biting at the inside of his cheek. He's awesome at this, obviously. He's a great warden. No one else can match how easily he can fit his whole damn foot in his mouth.

He can smell the hurt under Mickey's anger, mingling with it. It wasn't even a judgement thing, it was just something he had to reassure himself about. Wardening someone who liked killing would be harder, worse. When he speaks, his voice is mild and honest.]

What, you think something like that'd scare me off?

[I'm not going anywhere is what he doesn't say, even if it's what he means. (And suddenly he realises consciously he does really want to do this for Mickey as well as just for his deal.) It's not something he believed about Scott the first time - hell, or the second or the third - he'd shown he actually cared about Isaac. Trusting people isn't easy.]

Dude, I'm trying to figure out why you're there on the 'needs redemption' side now and I'm not. There's other wardens who've killed people and they didn't get demoted. I'm sorry.

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[americasdirtiest]

I told you why. I planned it. I conned Winchester, I led him down where no one would hear us, and then I bashed in his fucking skull with a pipe.

[And maybe what upsets him is that he can't promise he didn't enjoy it. Not in the way Isaac means, not like he'd go looking to do it again on purpose, but God... he can't deny that there's something viscerally satisfying in lashing out and making contact, in dropping someone to the ground. In going from trapped animal to apex predator.

Killing Dean had been a mistake, a loss of control -- the last thing he really remembers about it is feeling Dean cut him and thinking that at least now he had an excuse to hit him harder -- but he can't really say he hadn't just loved kicking the shit out of Detmer and Jerry.

And really, fuck Beacon Hills. Is that so wrong? Fuck Isaac, too, if he's judging him on that. He snorts and pops the top off his bottle using the corner of the counter, then takes a long swig.]

Murder in cold fucking blood? Straight to the top of the naughty list. Life in prison here, a job offer there.

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[freezerburns]

[Isaac shakes his head. He's not judging, honest. Really, he's thinking that it seems more like cannibalism - not like Hannibal style but like those guys who get so hungry and desperate after a plane crash they eat other guys to stay alive - it's fucked up but it's not as simple as just pointing a finger and calling it wrong. Is there such thing as murder in cold blood with good reason or extenuating circumstances? And would that be enough on its own to get you stuck on the Barge as an inmate?

He thinks not - hopes not, at least the part of him that still badly wants to kill Jerry does at least - but without Mickey's file all he's got to go on is what Mickey says. So he's here because he killed Dean. That's what they're starting with. Anything else will have to come later.

Something about how Mickey phrased that last thing catches in his mind and sticks there.]

It's not a life sentence, you know. You're not gonna be stuck here forever.

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[americasdirtiest]

Come on. Like I give a fuck about that.

[It's flippant, but he's actually kind of serious. Yeah, he's trapped here, and he's trapped with people like Jerry, but he's also trapped with Ian. With Iris and Chris and everyone that came to dinner. And without the best parts of his family, but also without the worst. Honestly, between here and home, at the very worst it's like six of one and half a dozen of the other. And hey, at least here, he doesn't have to worry about money.

Which... actually sort of puts them in a weird position, now that he comes to think of it, because that means that Isaac is relying more on him to graduate than vice-versa. He glances at him out of the corner of his eye as he takes another drink, brow furrowing. He's not sure what to make of that, nor how to feel about it.]

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[freezerburns]

[Mickey might catch a flicker of a grimace at the flippancy, because yeah, he wants to help Mickey get out of here but he's still got Allison and his deal to worry about. Time spent with her on the ship has weirdly both dulled the ache of her death and sharpened his resolve to not stop until he saves her. Before, he had a goal but no real way of making it happen. Before, he didn't have an inmate. Now he does and yes: he is relying on Mickey in a way that hits him at much the same time as it does the inmate. If Mickey doesn't play along, doesn't try, then he's stuck.]

I didn't mean leaving or going home or whatever. I meant... Ian, I guess. Your deal. You can still get that.

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[americasdirtiest]

Yeah. Maybe.

[And now he actually feels just a little bit guilty for taking Iris's help, even though no power in the universe would have him ask her to take it back. It's truly bizarre to think he has something over his own warden, someone he doesn't even want to have anything over, but he kind of does. He clears his throat, scratching at his jaw.]

Iris, uh, gave me hers, too. Like for when what's-her-face graduates.

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[freezerburns]

[He glances up with a frown. His own desperate determination to get his deal wars with what he knows about Iris: that she's kind and weird and loving. He could see it, from her. He's still surprised, though. Doesn't everyone need something?]

What-- really? She doesn't... want something herself?

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[americasdirtiest]

I guess not. She's a lifer, right? She's already graduated half a prison-full just by herself, is what I heard.

[Which means that, yeah, Mickey's incentive is pretty low right now. He shifts uncomfortably, biting his lip. Can he get motivated for someone he barely knows? Iris is, but he's not even going to pretend like she's not a thousand times better than he is. For Mickey... it definitely doesn't feel easy, but he tries to throw Isaac a bone.]

So what now, Attica?

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[freezerburns]

[Man, he wishes he had a good answer to that. He really does. Instead, he had no idea where he's supposed to go next. He's just a teenager, just a kid and he feels pretty massively out of his depth with this whole wardening thing. He totally needs to talk this out with Scott, maybe with Allison. Or just take some time and think about what he knows about Mickey and what he's supposed to be helping him with.

For now, he just sits back a little in his chair with a sigh.]

Good question, dude. You need anything?

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[americasdirtiest]

Not really.

[He is, after all, ghetto-married to dating a warden; his booze and cigarette needs are covered.]

Not unless you can get me my guns back.

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[freezerburns]

Who're you planning on shooting?

[Partly a joke, except there's obviously people Mickey's got problems with. Not that Jerry doesn't deserve a half dozenn bullets to the face, but. That's probably not something a warden should encourage.]

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[americasdirtiest]

No one yet.

[Because let's be real, he's not taking the option off the table.]

I like guns. Stress release or whatever. Plus, you really think it's cool the Admiral says I can't defend what's mine in this fucking place?