[We have our friends. We'll be alright]

"Man, you are so wasted right now." Mike said laughingly, catching Johnny's arm as they stumbled out of the bar's door.

They were the last ones out and by the way they were both weaving down the road, Johnny wasn't the only one who was tipsy.

"Why did we think it was a good idea to do all those shots again?" Mike asked, trying his best not to slur his sentence.

"It was a matter of honor, Mikey." Johnny responded, his arm draped over Mike's shoulder. "Those dudes back at the bar bet we couldn't out-drink them…but we showed them, eh?" Johnny gave Mike a lopsided grin.

Mike rolled his eyes and shook his head. He continued to pull Johnny down the empty road, trying to keep his feet straight; it wouldn't be a good time if he tripped.

The streetlights cast a dim glow on the road, though it wasn't bright enough to shine on the alleys that were lined along the road.

"Hey, Mike." Johnny suddenly said after a few moments of silence.

"Huh?"

"How come you never talk about your family? Like ever?"

Mike slowed his steps, glancing over at his drunken roommate. "Why do you wanna know?"

Johnny shrugged and looked back at Mike through half-lidded eyes. "I'm an FBI agent. It's my job to ask."

"Well…" Mike said slowly. "There's nothing to really talk about. I'm here with you guys. This is my life now."

Johnny frowned and opened his mouth to say something else, but before he could Mike suddenly froze, jerking them both to a stop in the middle of the street.

"What?" Johnny asked, loudly.

"Shh." Mike hissed. "I thought I saw something ahead."

Johnny pulled his arm away from Mike and squinted down the road. "I don't see anything."

"That's because you're drunk." Mike said, keeping his eyes staring straight ahead.

"So are you." Johnny protested.

"Clearly I can hold my liquor better than you." Mike responded.

Johnny observed the other agent and had to concede that Mike was standing a lot steadier on his own.

Mike took a few steps forward and called out, "Anyone there?"

Johnny laughed. "If someone's there they aren't gonna answer you, dummy."

"Shut up."

"Dude, let's just go home. There's nothing there."

Mike turned toward Johnny, giving him a glare when a noise sounded behind them causing Mike to whirl back around.

Three large men stood ahead of them, just outside of the light. They leered at the two agents. The smallest one took a step forward, curling his finger at Mike. "Wallets, phones. Now."

"Excuse me?" Johnny asked with a laugh. "You want what now?"

The man who had spoken frowned. "You heard me. Wallets, phones."

"Yeah." One of the others spoke up, sneering. "Hurry up."

Mike exchanged a quizzical look with Johnny. "John, I think these guys are trying to mug us."

Johnny narrowed his eyes, looking back at the thugs. "I think you're right."

The thug's leader shifted uncertainly; this is not how most muggings went. He would demand the money or whatever and the victims would hand it over. Simple. Easy. Efficient.

The victims were not supposed to be chatting to each other in such a calm manner.

"Hey, pissheads." The thug called, "Give me your shit. Now!" He dug his hand into his pocket, pulling out his folding knife. He whipped it out and held out in front of him in a menacing manner.

"Whoa." Johnny said, holding his hands up. "He's got a knife, Mikey. A knife!"

"Yeah, I do got a knife." The man said, feeling his confidence begin to rise again.

Mike winced. "You do have a knife." He corrected.

"Eh?" The man asked, confused.

"Speak correctly or don't speak at all." Johnny supplied helpfully.

Mike laughed, giving a nod as he pointed at his friend.

The thug glared at the two drunks, and gave a yell. He ran toward them, his knife waving. His comrades followed closely on his heels.

Mike tensed, but didn't move from where he was standing. He saw Johnny do the same from the corner of his eye.

The man with the knife decided to go for Mike, who apparently looked less threatening of the two.

He jabbed at Mike's stomach with the knife, but Mike spun to the side grabbing a hold of the man's arm. He twisted it brutally. The man yowled, letting go of his weapon. It hit the ground with a clatter.

Mike hadn't let go of the man's arm. He jerked the arm around, curling it behind the man's back.

"Move and I break your arm." Mike said, leaning down.

The man stilled, his back arched to ease some of the tension. "Son of a bitch! Let go!"

"Johnny? How're you doing?" Mike looked up, catching sight of his somewhat more sober friend.

"Good." Johnny said, giving Mike a wave. The remaining two thugs were lying in crumbled heaps at his feet. "These morons don't know a thing about hand-to-hand combat."

Mike laughed as he shoved the remaining man forward toward Johnny. "Do me a solid, Johnny, and knock this guy out for me."

The man jerked in Mike's grip, protesting.

Johnny ignored him and popped him in the face with his fist. The man went limp in Mike's grip, and Mike let the thug fall next to his buddies.

Johnny and Mike stared down at the men for a second. "What should we do with them?" Johnny finally asked.

"Call the cops?" Mike said, arching an eyebrow at his friend.

They stared at each other for a moment, before they both snorted and turned away from the mess they left.

Johnny draped his arm on Mike's shoulders, his feet stumbling on the loose gravel.

"You know," Johnny started thoughtfully.

Mike lolled his head to the side, so he could see Johnny's face.

"I figure as long as we have our friends, we'll be alright."

"Wow." Mike said, grinning. "I never took you for the emotional type, Johnny."

Johnny shoved at Mike with his shoulder, causing them to veer to the side of abandoned road.

"Well, I can't really take credit for that. I heard it in some song and thought it sounded good."


A/N: So, it's been a little while since I last updated this story. Sorry about that. I've been busy with family stuff (because I'm on break) and I've had a bit of a writer's block.
I know that Mike and Johnny are really out of character here (probably because I haven't written this in a while), but I figure we can pretend that they're that way because they're drunk.
On a side note, the title for this came from a song I was listening to called, "We'll be Alright" by Travie McCoy.
Lastly, for my guest reviewer who wanted a Briggs and Charlie romantic one-shot...I tried. I really tried. It just wasn't working out. I'm sorry!