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The next thing Grace knew, she was being jarred out of sleep by the sound of screaming. She jolted upright, her entire body aching. She sighed, taking note of the thick sheen of sweat that was plastering itself to her skin.
A second later, a light flipped on and Mick walked into the room sleepily, raking a hand through his dark hair. Grace hadn't recognized her surroundings before, but seeing Mick made the room come into focus as his bedroom. She was confused; she had no idea why she was in his bed or why he looked so relieved as his eyes fixed on her.
"Who was screaming?" she asked him as he sat on the edge of the bed.
"You. Nightmare, I'd guess," he answered simply, making her even more confused.
"What?" she asked him, and he sighed and motioned for her to move over. She did and he flopped backwards onto the pillows.
"You OD'd last night," he told her matter-of-factly, and she was immediately shaking her head. The motion of it made her ridiculously dizzy and she stopped at once. "Yeah, you did. I made you puke and you'll be fine, but it did happen," he explained, and she closed her eyes tightly, thinking hard.
Oh, shit. She remembered getting a handful of pills from a stranger at a party. She didn't particularly remember taking them, but wasn't surprised that she had.
"Why didn't you take me to the hospital?" she asked him, curious. He shrugged.
"I didn't want you to get charged with anything and I knew you'd be fine as soon as you slept it off. I flushed it, but there were a lot of fucking drugs in your stomach, Grace. Like, long-term jail time amounts of drugs," he told her, and she nodded once, flashes of memories making their way back to her.
"Is the Peach okay?" she asked, using a nickname that everyone used for Jim. Mick raised an eyebrow.
"Why wouldn't he be? He's not the one that could've fucking died last night," he said, confused.
"He was scared," she whispered, the fear in Jim's voice as he'd held her clear in her head like he was there right now. Mick nodded.
"He's fine. I was scared too, you fucking idiot," he told her, and she reached for his hand, interlacing their fingers as tears rose to her eyes. "I thought you were done with that shit?" he asked her a second later, and she shrugged.
"I thought I was too, but I... I don't know. I've just been feeling so fucking shitty lately."
Grace and Mick had known each other most of their lives. Their moms had been friends long before either of them were even born, and when they were both little kids Grace's family had moved back to her mom's hometown of Des Moines, Iowa. She and Mick had met shortly after, and had basically grown up as siblings.
Mick had gone on to do real things, playing with Slipknot and touring the world, and Grace had gone on to... well, she hadn't done much really. She worked at a music store in Des Moines and had on-and-off struggled with a drug problem for almost ten years.
The only thing she really had going for her was that she'd gotten close with all the other guys in Slipknot, too. She'd grown up an only child and now felt like she had a bunch of the most protective and caring brothers she could've ever asked for. She'd even toured with the band more than once over the years, helping out wherever needed and just spending time with them and watching the shows.
"Shit, did I fuck up the show?" she asked suddenly, the thought coming back to her that Slipknot had had a Des Moines show the night before. They'd been at the venue when Mick had found her. He shook his head.
"No, you waited to be a fuck until after the show. You don't remember it? You were on the side of the stage the whole time," he informed her, and she shook her head.
"I think I took the pills right before it started."
"You need to get that shit figured out, Grace. You're not fuckin' goin' anywhere," he said, and she nodded, knowing that his rough words were the best he could do to show his affection for her.
"I know, Micky. I'm sorry. Thank you for looking out for me," she told him, and he nodded shortly.
"Don't fuckin' call me that. I'm not some goddamn cartoon character," he responded, making her smile.
"I know, Micky. I know."
She arranged herself up against him and he wrapped his arm around her, holding her close. She had no idea what she was going to do when the morning came, how she was going to deal with her shit, but in that moment all she wanted in the whole world was to go back to sleep curled up against his broad chest, the smell of the hilariously floral shampoo he used -and she loved to make fun of even though secretly it was one of the most comforting scents in the world to her because it just smelled so much like him- wrapping itself around her with his embrace like a safety blanket.
•••••
"You're coming on tour with us. Period."
Assorted agreements flooded through the lounge area of Slipknot's tour bus the next day, and Grace immediately started shaking her head. Mick had dragged her onto the bus to have an apparently pre-planned conversation about her riding out the rest of the tour with them so that they could keep an eye on her. Most of the members sat in front of her, every one of them in support of the idea.
"No, I... You guys don't have to babysit me. I'll be fine," Grace defended weakly, and most of the members of the band started protesting at once.
"You're coming," Sid Wilson piped up.
"We like babysitting you. It spices things up," Paul Gray joked, reached across to squeeze her knee.
"We want you safe, and if you don't want to go to rehab, we'll be your rehab," Jim chimed in, resulting in nods from around the circle.
"You've been out with us before anyway, what makes this time different?" Mick asked her, and she shrugged.
"I don't want to be a pain in the ass," she responded timidly and completely unsurprisingly, Mick laughed heartily.
"You're always a pain in the ass, Grace," he told her, and she rolled her eyes.
"Are you sure?" she asked, and all of them nodded again.
"We wouldn't be saying it if we weren't sure. It's fine," Shawn reassured her, nodding firmly. She sighed, shrugging.
