Chapter Text
Ian couldn’t believe how epically he’d fucked up his life. Well, scratch that. He absolutely could, he just didn’t want to believe it. He’d never hoped for anything as much as he was hoping this was a bipolar hallucination.
It wasn’t.
So here he was, Ian Gallagher, being booked into prison for arson.
He knew how he’d gotten here. It’s not like he’s a victim in this. He may not have blown up the van himself, but it was his idea and it was his Gay Jesus movement that the explosion bolstered.
But once he’d been back on his meds and could look at his actions from the outside, he could see the error in his ways. But, as they say… too little, too late.
As he walked in here, he couldn’t help his mind from going to Mickey. How he must have felt when he was booked in, how scared he must have been, how sad he must have been after Ian had broken his heart in front of his house. God, Ian would never stop feeling like a shitty person for the way he’d done that.
“INMATE! MOVE DOWN HERE NOW!”
Ian was broken out of his trip down memory lane by the voice of a loud, angry woman. He sheepishly smiled at her as an apology, and she didn’t blink.
Ian moved down quickly, schooling his eyes to the floor. The last thing he needed was to make himself more of a target than his Gay Jesus fame would. He tried to disassociate as he went through the intake process at Beckman. Strip search, cavity search, fingerprinting, STI screen, blood test… all of it just seemed so debasing. Yet another reminder of how far different his life was from what he’d dreamt it could be all those years ago.
“INMATE! You’re headed to the medical unit, so follow me.”
Ian sheepishly looked around at all of the other men he was being processed in with. The worst thing he could think of on day 1 would be the other prisoners seeing him being treated with preferential treatment. That’s a quick way to get the shit kicked out of you fast. Quickly, he schooled his face back to his scowl and silently followed the guard to the medical unit. He was handcuffed to a bench with a gruff “shit down and shut up.” Ian sat there for almost 45 minutes (judging by the clock he could see down the hall) before a different guard came back, unlocked him and led him to an exam room.
A short, balding man entered the room, distracted by reading the file in front of him. Once he’d finished, he looked up and said, “Ian Gallagher. I’m Dr. Fitzgerald. Call me Fitz.”
Ian was taken aback at the relative kindness this man was showing him. It was in complete contrast to everyone else he’d come into contact with so far today. He gave Fitz a small smile.
“So, Ian, it says here that you have bipolar 1 disorder with psychotic features, is that correct?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Your entire medical history is in this file, but I don’t really care, honestly. I want to know how you’re doing now. Have you been taking your daily medications?”
Ian was floored. He feels like he’s constantly reliving all of the bad things that his disorder had made him do, but Fitz didn’t want to go over any of them. It was a welcomed change, especially given the location.
“Yes, sir. After taking my meds as directed, I’m much more level than before.”
“Good, Gallagher. That’s good. As you know, it’s court-mandated that you stay on your medications in prison, as well as when you’re released. Your medications will be dispensed to you twice a day. In addition, you’ll be participating in sessions with me weekly.”
Ian nodded. He knew this was how it was going to be.
“Do you have any questions for me?”
“Just one, sir. I’m sure you’re aware of the media attention I got and how I ended up in here. I was called ‘Gay Jesus’ by people who believed in what we were talking about--being accepted for who we are. I just need to know what kind of homophobia I could experience here.”
“I’m sure I don’t need to tell you that prison isn’t the most gay-friendly environment. And people try to assert their dominance over others all the time, trying to establish a hierarchy. Keep your head down. Don’t try to fight just to prove yourself, that makes situations worse most of the time.”
Ian shuddered. Guess that self-defense training from Carl and Kelly wasn’t going to come as in handy as he thought. Holy shit, this entire thing was going to fucking suck .
“But, in an effort to not draw attention to you, we’ve placed you in C block. That block houses some of our least violent prisoners, along with those who are in...I’m not sure how to put this tactfully… long-term prison relationships.”
Ian’s eyes widened. “Prison bitches?!”
Fitz chuckled. “More like prison ‘husbands’. These men have been together for a long time. And their relationships are more predicated on reciprocal feelings rather than dominance. You’ll be as accepted there as you could hope to be in prison.”
Ian exhaled the breath he hadn’t known he was holding. His conversation with Terry Milkovich had fucked up his mind so much, and it was good to hear that it wasn’t going to be the nightmare hellscape he’d created in his mind.
Fitz continued, “Also, because of several inmates that have been paroled recently, you’ll be in a cell with someone who’s also new to this facility. It might help you both to acclimate easier, since neither one of you will have been here before today. He got booked in a couple of hours before you did.”
Ian bobbed his head and tried to take all of the information in. He had to try to stay calm. The last thing he needed was to go off the rails in fucking prison. That’s an easy way to get a quick trip to the SHU.
“Alright, Gallagher. That’s enough for today. Make sure to be in your cell after breakfast and dinner so you don’t miss the meds distribution. I’ll see you again in 3 days for our session.”
Ian’s eyes glazed over. He felt safe in here with Fitz, and the idea of leaving this room for somewhere less safe was terrifying.
Fitz snapped his fingers. “Gallagher, listen. It’s going to be hard. But I think you can do it. Take your meds, keep your head down, and try to blend in.”
The guard directed Ian to the laundry facilities to get his bed coverings. As he climbed the stairs in C-block with his sheets, blanket, and pillow, he couldn’t help but long for the threadbare bed sheets from the Gallagher house. He’s never going to take home for granted again.
God, what he’d give to go back home .