Chapter Text
Looking back at his decision to leave, Ian could admit he hadn’t taken the time to consider the consequences. He’d known a guy who knew a guy who made fake ID’s, and with 50 bucks and quick handjob thrown in he’d obtained it quickly. He knew all of Lip’s information, so even if he wasn’t particularly good at lying (though he was starting to believe the opposite, for all the times he’d come home bruised, crying and beaten with no one seeming to ask him for an explanation other than a quick “ROTC”) he knew he’d be able to fake his way in. He hadn’t wondered what would happen if he got caught, he hadn’t wonder what Fiona’s reaction would be once she found out, he certainly hadn’t consider anything other than the bright burning need to leave Southside.
For the most part it hadn’t been a hard decision. Ian was good at rationalizing things, and he’d figured one less mouth to feed could only help Fiona. Once he started getting paid he could even send some money back to help her. It only seemed a plus that he’d leave the one place that started to become his own hell. Southside had started closing in on him, and he’d just left.
He didn’t want to linger on how maybe he got more than just looks from Monica.
A month and a handful of days into being called Gallagher without flinching, even though the use of his last name only reminded him of who he’d left behind, and he was taken from daily training by the Corporal who runs his division.
Ian tried to keep his face neutral, but the sweat dripping down his forehead wasn’t just from the workout he’d been pulled from. He thought of a lot of things in the short walk to the outer buildings that held the major offices. He thought of being pulled out and what that meant, he thought of being berated in front of his whole platoon, he thought of home, of Debbie, Carl and Liam, hoping no one was hurt, and finally he thought of Mickey. Although that last one was irrelevant. There was no way Mickey would know where he was, no way he’d even call up for a chit chat- to what? Ask Ian to come back?
“You have a phone call,” he said curtly, “take as long as you need, the woman on the phone sounded…distressed to say the least.” Ian winced. So much for thinking maybe he’d been brought over for praise, or a promotion.
Ian was directed into a small side office, with a small desk and an overgrown fern plant. The Corporal closed the door and made a point of standing outside in front of the office window. The blinds gave the illusion of privacy. Ian knew otherwise.
Ian took a deep breath before picking up the phone lying next to the receiver.
“Uh- Hello?” There could be something said for the anticipation of hearing who’s on the other side of a phone when you have no idea who it was. Even if Ian had a firm suspicion of just who could be calling.
“Ian Clayton Gallagher.”
The noise Ian made was so close to being a whimper, he hoped the Corporal outside hadn’t heard him.
“I swear to God, Ian, to God, are you trying to kill me young?” Fiona’s voice was nothing he’d ever heard before. Exasperation, and fury, all clipped and sharp he was afraid it would cut him over the phone. He hadn’t even heard her talk to Frank this way.
“I-“
“What in the world made you think enlisting would solve any of your fucking problems?! You are so much smarter than this, you were in ROTC, you were studying with Lip, you worked-“ Ian heard a murmur in the background, a voice that could only be Lip. Ian closed his eyes. Lip. He hoped he wasn’t too pissed he stole his identity.
“Yeah. Yeah, your right, Lip,” he heard her sigh, a sigh so ragged and broken the guilt stabbed straight through him. He prided himself on being the one out of all of them that bothered her the least. He loved Fiona, and he knew he could come to her for anything, but he also knew she had so much other shit to deal with, and being the reliable one to her was much more satisfying than having her as a confidant.
“You’re still underage Ian, and that means I take care of you. I’ve always been supportive of your dreams of West Point, of the Army, but I can’t support this. I can’t have you out there, under another goddamn name, training to get yourself killed when you haven’t even finished school. I may have tons of jobs, Ian, but I only have one that’s fucking important. And it’s getting you through school, safe and sound,” Ian swallowed his protest, letting her end her rant without any interruptions. She deserved this.
“Fiona,” he said uncertainly, afraid she’d start ranting again, “I’m sorry. I should have let you know, but then that would have been for nothing ‘cause we both know you wouldn’t have let me walk out the door.”
“Damn right I wouldn’t have!” Her voice pierced his ear but he only pressed the phone closer.
“I can’t leave, Fi. You think once they find out I,” he lowered his voice and threw a look over his shoulder towards the window, “faked my identification to get into the army that they’ll ever let me back in?”
“Ian, I can’t have you using Lip’s ID to stay. I can’t let you stay in the army, period! For fucks sake, you aren’t even legal yet!” She sounded shrill, as if her arms were waving and her eyes were ablaze with fury. Ian could just imagine her, cellphone in hand, pacing around the kitchen giving Lip “is he fucking serious!?” looks. An ache close to homesickness formed in his heart.
“I don’t want to come back to Southside,” his voice was firm, because if she was going to bring him back fuck if he wasn’t going to make it with all the fight he had.
She sighed again. Less exasperated, more resigned, yet not any less pissed.
Silence stretched for a couple seconds before, “Ian. Look. I know some shit has happened that I haven’t been paying attention to. I understand it probably hurts to come back, but I’m not leaving you in the fucking army. I love you and I’m doing this for you.”
His hand slid down the phone, the office was cooled by AC but he couldn’t stop sweating. The thought of returning to Southside made his heart rate pick up. There was nothing worse than defeat, but feeling it with every step he took? Was he ever going to catch a fucking break?
“Do what you have to do, Fiona. There’s really nothing I can say, since I know you and I know this probably means my time here is done,” his time in the army ever was done. He really fucked things up with this one.
“Ian. I’ll talk to them, okay? We’ll figure this out, but together this time, yeah?” She sounded sad now, and that hurt worse than her anger.
His eyes started stinging, but he wasn’t sure if it was from the tears or the sweat dripping into his eyes.
“Y-yeah, okay,” he choked out, and set the phone on the desk lightly. He let himself have a second to compose himself before he opened the door, making his way outside. He stopped beside the Corporal, standing at ease.
His gaze flitted over Ian, making him itch, “The lady on the phone, she wants to talk to you, sir.”
The corporal nodded, confusion making its way into his eyes but not on his face.
He heard the door close with a soft snick, and while he couldn’t hear words, he could hear the faint murmuring of the Corporal responding back.
Ian’s gaze dropped to the gray carpeting, he realized that now he really had no other back up plans. He had no other dreams, or goals. The army had always been his way out, his ticket to freedom, something he’d hoped he could excel in.
Without that, Ian really didn’t know where he belonged anymore.
+++
Hopping off the same grey bus back in Southside felt like the worst kind of full circle. There wasn’t a group of Gallagher’s waiting for him with signs or smiles, there was just Fiona. He wanted to be grateful she was here to see him back, but he would rather have done the walk of shame by himself.
The first thing she did was smack him in the arm. It stung, but probably not as worse as how she felt when she thought he was missing.
The second thing she did was pull him close and hug him. He melted into it, missing his sister, his family, the contact. He could probably count the times Frank and Monica had hugged him on one hand, but something Fiona had always been was receptive. She knew when to wipe a tear; she knew when to give a hug. If he had to be honest, the reason she probably hadn’t figured out he needed any of that himself was because he’d been so secretive when he started all that shit with Mickey. Fiona use to always be the first one to know something was up, and if it wasn’t her, it sure as hell was Lip.
“Don’t you ever fucking do that to me again,” she whispered fiercely.
Ian squeezed her back, “I won’t. I promise.” He thinks he might be able to keep it this time around.
She released him and swiped quickly at her face, Gallagher’s didn’t tend to make their feelings public, and standing on the curb, bus already pulled away, was pretty damn public.
“Uh, Lip had somewhere to go this morning, Carl is out with a friend, and Debs wasn’t feeling well, she’s at home with Liam.” Her voice sounded apologetic, like maybe only her showing up wasn’t enough.
“That’s fine, I could have walked home myself,” and he could have, probably would have preferred that, but it meant a lot to him that Fiona pushed everything she could have been doing this morning aside to stand waiting for some runaway at a bus stop corner.
They started the walk back, Fiona never letting her gaze slip off him for long. He nudged his duffle higher up on his shoulder, feeling the weight of her stare.
She shrugged a shoulder, leaning into his side, “To be honest? I didn’t exactly put it past you to run again.”
He chuckled, and knocked back with his shoulder. It felt nice, just him and Fiona, but the feeling of dread felt like sunken lead in his stomach. He still had to face so many more people.
He purposefully left Mickey’s name fall out of his thoughts. Hopefully he wouldn’t have to face him, wouldn’t have to see him with his new wife, his new life. Ian wondered if Svetlana was showing-
He shook his head, no, let’s not think about that.
He fucking hated Southside.
+++
It wasn’t hard resuming life in the Gallagher house. Debbie hugged him tight around the middle, sniffling about him leaving them behind. Carl hugged him briefly, too, but followed it up by asking if he saw anyone get blown up.
“No, but they did demonstrate how to detonate grenades.” He could still remember the feeling of his hands shaking as he slipped the pin out and threw as far as his arm had ever allowed before.
“Awesome,” he replied, impressed, before slipping off to play with a blowtorch, or whatever Carl did when no one was looking.
Liam laughed and made the noise he associated with his name, before promptly needing a diaper change.
Lip was the hardest. Not only was Ian not emotionally prepared to face him, he was pretty sure it might involve fists. Fiona hadn’t given him the whole lowdown, but apparently stealing Lip’s identity caused problems with MIT. Go figure.
Fiona was folding laundry in the kitchen, Ian sitting on the couch watching a movie with Debbie, when Lip slipped in the kitchen door and headed up the steps.
Ian turned his head at the sound of the steps creaking, seeing the back of Lip disappear upstairs. Fiona gave Ian a pointed look, and with a sigh he lifted himself off the couch and made his way up the living room staircase. He stopped to lean against the doorway as he watched Lip change his clothes, slipping into something comfier, and less sweat stained.
“Look, Lip, I’m sorry for what I did,” like a bandaid, just get it over with, he thought. Start with the apology, and then see where it leads.
Lip whipped around, “you know, I can say I understand except I really fucking don’t.” He didn’t sound angry like Fiona had on the phone, but all these years being Lip’s best friend honed his Lip-reading skills to top notch.
Lip was pissed.
“I just wanted to get away, and graduation just seemed…pointless, when I could enlist right away.”
Lip straightened up, “yeah? Except you couldn’t enlist, could you? So you go fucking faking your way in, using my ID and ruining your chances of West Point,” he narrowed his eyes at Ian, “I can’t say I’m that upset about that anyway. Less chances of getting blown up if you aren’t allowed back in.”
Ian blew out a sharp breath, but kept his cool. He knew he was the cause of all their anger, he knew he deserved their stingy words. He couldn’t justify skipping town on the fact he was heartbroken, when clearly he’d just broken all their hearts in turn.
“I wasn’t ever going to make West Point anyway,” he resigned, glancing down at his shoes. He was still wearing his boots from camp, even though the rest of his uniform had been handed in.
Lip sighed, scrubbing a hand over his face, before making his way over to Ian’s bed and pulling out a tin from the bedside drawer. A few seconds later Ian saw the familiar color of his favorite lighter, and a fresh rolled joint. Lip inclined his head, and with a small smile Ian made his way over to sit beside him.
“Why does every important conversation we have begin and end with getting high?” Ian questioned, watching Lip cup his hand and light the end. Lip took an inhale, passing Ian the joint before exhaling.
“I doubt I’d have made it through half our conversations if I was sober,” he glanced sideways at Ian, “you know, you could have told me you how much you wanted to leave. As if I wouldn’t understand how shitty it is being here in Southside.”
Ian let a puff of smoke escape his lips, holding the joint in his hands, “No, it wasn’t about anyone else. It was about me. I really am sorry I took your ID, Lip. I never wanted to fuck MIT up for you.”
Lip shook his head, grabbing the joint from Ian, “I’m not sure I’m going. I’m guaranteed the scholarship no matter how long it takes me to decide. Why not keep the fuckers on their toes?” He chuckled.
He bit back a wave of jealousy. Lip had the fucking smarts, he had the way out, and he never wanted to take any of it. Fuck, he even had an in to West Point if he wanted. Lip had every chance Ian had ever hoped for to get out of this place, and he completely let them fly by him.
“Just fucking go, Lip. I tried getting where I wanted to go, I failed. You got this chance legitimately, don’t fuck that up.”
Lip was quiet for a second before laughing, “What, you get your dream crushed, and now what? You’re a tortured soul handing out wise advice?”
Ian snatched the joint back a bit too forcefully, “Fuck you,” he replied, but the heat wasn’t in it.
Lip sobered up, “What’s that saying, ‘when one door closes another one opens’. Don’t think you ain’t going anywhere, Ian. You just gotta figure out what you want to do. And don’t go stealing my name when you find out what it is.”
Ian could only laugh as Lip smacked him on the back of the head. It felt more like forgiveness than anything else.
+++
Ian wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting. You didn’t come back to Southside and expect new beginnings. It had a habit of picking up right where you left off, whether you were gone a month or years. It was always going to put that same bad taste in your mouth.
So maybe Ian had accidently forgot about Mandy. Or, well, accidently on purpose forgot about Mandy. Mandy was his best friend, but she was also Mickey’s sister, and the last thing Ian wanted was running into him. If Southside wasn’t going to change, Ian was, and he didn’t want to fall into whatever allure Mickey had. Ian snorted, fuck, I’m really fucked in the head if I just put Mickey and allure in the same sentence.
Mandy had been at the Kash and Grab when Ian had wondered in to inquiry about his old job, unbeknownst to him. Maybe Ian wanted to change, but hell if he was going to find anything better than what Linda had been paying him, and he practically got away with free food on a daily basis. He could handle it until he figured out his next move.
The first thing Mandy did was smack him. Right across the face. As if she didn’t know he was leaving for the army!
“What the fuck, Mandy!” He cried, cupping his cheek. It felt like everything he’d wanted his family to do to him when he got home. Slap him, hit him, because he felt worthless for making them feel abandoned for absolutely no reason. He hadn’t succeeded in being in the army, he hadn’t stayed and earned his rank, he hadn’t made money to send home. He felt like he put himself, and them, through a fiery hoop for nothing. “You knew I was leaving!”
“That’s for not telling me you were back!” She glared at him, then landed another smack lower, thankfully, on his shoulder, “and that’s for not telling me about screwing my brother!” He flinched, looking around the store, and shushed her quickly. He didn’t need to come back to Southside only to be murder a few days in.
She rolled her eyes, “No one’s even here, Linda went in the back to find some Bar-B-Que Pringles, you guys were out. And fuck you, just- fuck you Ian Gallagher!” She shoved him, only to pull him right into a hug. Ian hadn’t had this many hugs in his life.
“I’m sorry, Mandy. That I left, if I worried you, and I’m sorry for keeping you out of the loop.” He breathed in the smell of her apple scented hair and for the first time he felt like maybe things could be okay again.
He felt horrible. He really had just left without any explanations. They hadn’t gotten a chance to talk about anything- everything - before he’d told her he was leaving. By then she’d just been upset and teary-eyed, wanting to spend their last days together in easy friendship. He didn’t know how to talk about it, anyway, if he’d wanted to.
“Found a case, but I think the expiration date is funny, I’ll sell them too you half-“ Linda froze, eyebrows raising as she held out a cardboard box filled with chips.
They stepped out of their embrace and Ian smiled sheepishly at Linda, “I hope you didn’t find yourself another Cashier.”
Linda scoffed, breezing past them to go behind the counter. She pulled a tube of chips out and rang it up.
“No, because for some reason every time someone works here they go disappearing.”
“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you-” he began, only to be interrupted by her hand held up.
“Stop. I’m done with excuses since Kash left. I don’t care why you left, I don’t care why you’re back. If you want your job back you start your regular hours tomorrow, okay?” When he nodded his assent, she turned to Mandy, “These chips may be outdated, I’ll sell them to you half price so don’t go suing me if you get sick.”
Many handed over a few bucks in change, and with a quick “thanks” thrown to Linda they were both out the door.
“Good thing it was Kash working when Mickey shoplifted, ‘cause if it was Linda he probably wouldn’t have survived,” she joked, but it fell flat, leaving him feeling cold inside. He knew she was going to segway into the topic of her brother, and he didn’t feel like talking about him right now.
“Mickey’s-“
“Look Mandy, I know I owe you like a thousand explanations for why I didn’t tell you about us, but right now I kinda just wanna forget about it? I’m back in Southside, shit sucks, I just wanna…” he trailed off, feeling like he didn’t know what he wanted. What did he want? For it to be normal? What was normal? Sneaking off with Mickey, being vague with Mandy, watching his life spiral into a depressive pile of self loathing? No. He didn’t want to go back to his old ways.
The only sound in their silence was the swish of the plastic bag holding Mandy’s purchase.
“I get it,” she finally said, clasping her hand in his. Her cut off gloves gave off just the right touch of warmth in his own cold hand, “Wanna go sit under the El and watch the old homeless people slip on ice?”
For the first time since he’d been back, the bark of laughter that slipped out of him felt genuine.
“Yeah, I think that might make me feel better,” and if he pretended the bitter wind picking up was the cause of his prickly eyes and not the understanding squeeze of her hand in his, well, no one was really around to judge him for it.
+++
In total, he’d missed about two weeks of school. He’d managed to use up all of his holiday vacation and then some.
The Christmas tree was still up in the living room, making him feel like a terrible person every time he glanced at it. Fiona had traveled up to his bedroom a few days ago, handful of wrapped presents in hand.
“Here,” she said, handing them to him. He set down the homework he’d been assigned over break, and the pile he’d missed after break, “these were still under the tree, I didn’t want Carl pawning them for cash. They’re yours, and even if you don’t feel you deserve them, I know you do.”
She sat down beside him. He sighed, glancing at the presents before setting them on the small dresser near his bed. Lip was out again, he hadn’t asked him where, so this left Fiona with the perfect opportunity to make her move. He wasn’t really prepared to talk about everything yet, but he supposed he never really would be.
“Go ahead, I know you want to ask, Fi.”
She shook her head, setting a hand on his thigh, “No, I don’t want to ask, Ian. I want you to tell me. I want you to want to tell me.”
It felt weird. He’d kept so many things a secret for so long it felt wrong to talk about them now, but at the same time this was all he’d ever truly wanted. Someone to ask, someone to talk to, someone he could confide in. Lip was great, but he didn’t understand, and he was still hung up on the gay thing. It was hard to talk to someone who didn’t really want to hear about it. And Mandy? She’d just been out of the question.
So he told her. He told her about how excited he had been getting the Kash and Grab job, how he’d already experimented with boys and was just understanding that yeah, maybe he was different, maybe he was gay. When he’d met Kash he’d always been so nice to him. Where Linda was authoritive and brash, Kash was sweet and informative. Ian hadn’t really tried to start anything with him, he’d known about Linda and the twins. He didn’t think of it as an option, but Kash had always been asking him about school, and ROTC, and he liked Kash. Really liked him. He couldn’t really remember how they’d started it, he was pretty sure Kash kissed him first, and after that they just kept sneaking around.
Fiona kept her gaze to the floor, taking it all in, but the weight of her hand on his thigh grounded him.
He continued to tell her about that night with Mandy, and the accused “rape”, when really it had been the opposite way around. How Mickey had put a death sentence on his head, and when he’d gone to confront him they’d fought; a fight that turned into something more. He talked about how he hadn’t ever expected the thing with Mickey to last as long as it did and how Mickey just kept reeling him in, even when he went away to Juvie all those times.
He paused, and Fiona moved to lay her hand across his shoulder, giving it a reassuring squeeze.
Telling her about the last few months of Mickey and his…what? Relationship? Fling? That was going to be hard. No matter what anyone else saw in Mickey, no matter what he did to Ian, Ian knew deep down Mickey did really love him. While away at training he’d realized that maybe it wasn’t enough, but he knew Mickey had cared about him in his own fucked up way, even if it wouldn’t ever make him be the person Ian wanted him to be.
So with a breath, he finished up the story and told her all about that too; about Juvie, frank finding out, Mickey and him spending time together because he was in the halfway house. He tried to rush over Terry beating them up but of course she interrupted,
“Terry Milkovich was the one who did that to your face!? Ian, I can’t believe you kept that from me!” She sounded hurt, and pissed, but probably more so at Terry than him.
“It doesn’t matter now. Terry made Mickey have sex with some whore to “fuck the fag” out of him, and now she’s pregnant, and that’s why Mickey got married.”
Fiona’s hand slid from his shoulder, “So that’s why he got hitched. I never really thought of Mickey Milkovich as a settle down kind of guy.”
Ian shrugged, already done with the conversation and not really wanting to talk about it further.
“I guess not.”
Fiona looked at him sympathetically, “Why do us Gallagher’s fall for the ones that fuck us up the most?”
He chuckled, “It’s probably in our DNA. I mean look at our parents, absolutely terrible for each other.”
Silently, she agreed.
“Ian, look. I don’t care what happens between you and anybody anymore. If you have a problem I want you to know you can talk to me about it. There’s no use having this many people in this house if you can’t talk to even one of them.”
“I know,” he replied, and he did. He knew he could talk to Fiona and Lip. It hadn’t really been about them, it had been about him always wanting to figure things out himself. It had been about Mickey and his secrecy. It was about never wanting to be the one to start problems.
She squeezed the back of his neck, making him glance up at her, “I also want to make you a promise. I promise to pay closer attention to when you need me, even if you don’t make it obvious. You’re a good kid, Ian. I want you to believe that.”
He looked down at his clasped hands. He knew he was a good person, but feeling that and knowing that were too different things.
“I do.”
“Good,” she slapped her hands on her knees before lifting off the bed. She paused at the doorway, turning to look over her shoulder at Ian.
“Thanks for telling me. I may not understand a lot of your decisions, but I at least want you to share with me what goes on in your life, ok?”
He heard her yell, “DINNER IN TWENTY!” as she walked out of his room and descended the stairs.
He sighed and lay back on his bed. All this talk about Mickey left him feeling that itch under his skin again. He was back in Southside but that didn’t mean he had to start up bad habits. Mickey was married, and if it was one thing Ian had learned from past experiences was never to fuck with a married man.
He stood up and shut the door, turning the lock for a bit of privacy.
There was no harm in thinking about a married man, though, right?
+++
“Come on, it was your first day back to school since you left. You’ve got all your shit done, let’s go celebrate with a bit of vodka, pizza rolls, and bad movies,” Mandy was walking backwards in front of Ian, clouds of puffy white breath escaped her mouth from the winter air. School had just let out.
“Mandy, I just really don’t want-“
“-to run into Mickey, I know. But he’s not even home! He’s been working some construction job since the time you’ve been gone, and let me tell you the fit he threw when you left was an epic one.”
That perked Ian’s interest some, “what?”
Mandy smirked, knowing she’d hooked him now, “Oh yeah, he left after you did, came back completely drunk off his ass and trashed his room. Apparently he told Lana he didn’t want her coming around no more, and that’s when she told him she’d had a miscarriage. He flipped shit.”
Ian almost froze mid-step, stumbling over his feet. Whatever, he told himself, it doesn’t matter she isn’t pregnant, he’s still married to her.
“Anyway, Mickey doesn’t get home from that job until late. He always goes out with his work buddies afterwards. He’s never home much anymore, so you’re safe for a few hours, please please please, Ian!”
He laughed at her puppy dog pout, “Alright, but only if I get to pick the movies this time. I don’t want to end up watching Kung Pow! Enter the Fist again for the thousandth time. Not enough booze could make that movie bearable!”
She shoved him, moving underneath his arm to walk side by side. “Shut up, it’s like a classic, and it’s hilarious!”
“I don’t think anything in that movie could constitute the word classic,” but he just pulled her closer as they resumed the walk to the Milkovich house.
+++
It wasn’t until a few weeks into his return that Ian saw him.
Since he’d been ‘unoffically’ grounded by Fiona, and he no longer was fooling around with anyone, it meant he had a lot of time to be bored on his hands. Mostly, he spent time with Mandy.
“Lip doesn’t really talk to me anymore, even though I got that fucker into MIT,” she admitted, settling down on the couch next to Ian with a bowl of buttery popcorn. Ian had wondered aloud why she was always free when he called up her, and she seemed to be in the same boat as he was. No other friends, no other fuck buddies, just a lot of time to sit and wallow in depressing thoughts.
“Uh, I think that has a lot to do about you fucking up Karen.” When he’d found out Mandy had been the one to run Karen over he had felt conflicted. He couldn’t agree with how the Milkovich’s handled their emotions, but she was his best friend. He didn’t agree with what she did, but to lose her now in the midst of all his own troubles? Lip hadn’t said anything to him, even though Ian knew he knew where he was most days. He figured Lip understood; even though Mandy did an unforgiveable crime, Ian still needed someone. It was hard to find friends in Southside who had a completely clean slate, to say the least.
“Yeah, yeah, let’s stop talking about that Jackson bitch,” thrusting the bowl into his lap harder than necessary. He grabbed a handful and shoved it in his mouth. Who was he to lecture people on running others over? Hell, if he had succeeded he’d be learning how to kill people with over a hundred different weapons by now.
He let his mind drift away from his stint in the army. It was a lost cause now, thanks to his own failure of a plan, and there was no amount of thinking or wishing that could take it back.
So, instead of running drills and shooting fire arms, he spent the night gorging on popcorn and soda, and taking an impromptu nap.
It was the sound of a heavy thump that woke him up. Ian had always been a light sleeper, something he could never understand seeing as he lived in a house filled with five other people. He’d figure his natural survival instinct would kick in to save him from sleep deprivation- it hadn’t.
He sat up, heart racing. Mandy’s head lolled back onto the couch cushions. Fuck, was Terry here? Mandy said he’d been caught violating his parole again, what with the small arsenal he had stashed in his kitchen, but maybe he’d been released. Or worse, escaped to come finish Ian off.
He slid further forward on the couch, shaking his head to clear his thoughts.
He forced himself to calm down. His sleepy daze was wearing off, and he realized it was probably one of Mandy’s brothers. Ian tossed the blanket off his legs, where it fell across Mandy’s sprawled body.
He made his way over to the hallway, by the front door. If it’s one of Mandy’s brothers, then it could be-
“Mickey?” Ian asked the heap by the door. He couldn’t make out who it was with the small amount of light in the house, but he could see the scarf Mickey loved to wear when it was cold out.
“mmm-fuck off,” the pile grumbled, shifting to lie on its back.
Ian could see Mickey clearly now. He had glossy eyes, his mouth was open letting short sporadic breaths escape, and he had a cut across the top of his left eyebrow.
“Fuck Mickey, you’re bleeding,” Ian leaned over Mickey’s body, but Mickey’s eyes were focused on the ceiling. His pupils were blown wide, his eyes looked inky black.
Ian’s hands made contact with Mickey’s face, but they were met by fighting hands.
“I said,” Mickey slurred, still not focusing on Ian hovering above him, “fuck off.”
The force of Mickey’s hands slapping away his forearms ‘caused him to fall from his crouched position. He landed on his ass with a soft thud while Mickey let his arms fall to his sides, eyes closing shut.
Ian huffed, picking himself up to hover above the snoozing boy below him. He was done with this wasn’t he? He was done taking Mickey’s bullshit, always being the one to pick up the pieces; the pieces that tended to be his very own.
But looking down at Mickey’s face, creased in discomfort even as he dosed, Ian could only feel for him. Every time he saw Mickey’s face he saw him jumping on Terry’s back, or his dead eyes as Svetlana was ordered to fuck him. No one was there to pick Mickey up when he fell, and he certainly looked like he couldn’t do it himself right now.
Ian sighed, pushing away everything that told him to turn away, and heaved Mickey up under the arm pits. I don’t need to be the one doing this, but if it isn’t me, who’s it going to be?
“-wha’s going on?” Mickey could barely hold himself up, feet sliding on the floor and Ian wondered how he made it home. Did he walk? Did someone drive him?
“Up and at ‘em, Mick,” he supported Mickey’s weight on the short shuffle to his room, and not for the first time did Ian thank all his training for making him bulk up. He hadn’t been lying to Lip all that time ago when he said the only thing he could pass was the physical training.
He nudged Mickey’s door open with his foot, guiding him over to the bed and letting him fall backwards. He wasn’t exactly sure what Mickey was on, he seemed more than just drunk but it could have been a combination of shit where Mickey was concerned.
“What did you take Mickey?” He asked, not expecting an answer. He said it mostly to keep the silence from making him feel weird about taking care of someone who always seemed to write him off. If Mickey was sober he’d probably be calling him a fag right now.
He shoved Mickey on his side a little too forcefully. There, if he pukes he won’t choke to death.
He didn’t bother taking Mickey’s shoes off or helping him undress like the movies always show. Fuck that, I’ve done enough.
He turned to leave, feeling a pang of something he wasn’t sure of.
A small wheeze from the bed made Ian turn back around. He damned himself for caring so much, but he didn’t actually want anything to happen to Mickey.
“Thanks, Gallagher,” Mickey mumbled, eyes still shut and head buried in an off white pillow.
Ian swallowed back a reply and continued on his way out.