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Ian has no reason to be mad. Well, he does, but the reasons he has are small and weightless when compared to the fact that he’s alive.
While he did have to claw his way through the earth to climb out of his grave, and while his own sister took some serious convincing before she believed he was really him, and while that poor psychic’s eyes were burnt out of her head, Ian is alive. He spent the last forty years of his life- a longer amount of time than he’s even had on Earth- in Hell. Now he’s alive and he’s standing next to Fiona in a barn, and she’s okay, and wherever Lip is, he’s okay, and Debbs, Carl and Liam are back home and also okay, and it’s fine.
It’s fine, except Ian is mad. Honestly, like, who does that? Who just pulls some guy from Hell and then leaves him in the ground? Who burns out some poor woman’s eyes just for trying to get a look at them? Yes, Ian’s mad.
“Who are you?” he barks out, but it doesn’t feel nearly as threatening as he meant for it to. The roof’s rattling settles and the sparks stop flying, all the lights having burst. The man who stands in the aftermath looks straight at Ian and smirks.
“I'm the one who pulled you outta hell,” the man replies, and it's there, the grand answer that Ian already knew, leaving a billion questions buzzing around it.
Ian squeezes the knife that's in his hand hanging at his side.
“Yeah, well... thanks for that,” he huffs before taking a few steps toward the man and jamming the knife into his chest. The man looks down at it, then up at Ian with amazed and amused electric blue eyes. Ian steps back, swallowing the saliva built up in his mouth and trying to find his breath. The strange man's whole mouth turns into a bright, flawless grin and he lets out a chuckle before pulling the knife out and letting it fall to the floor with a clatter. Ian and the man both notice at the same time as Fiona raises her own weapon up only to have the man grab it and touch his fingers to her forehead in one fell swoop, bringing Ian's sister to the floor. Ian stares in shock at the man.
“We gotta talk, firecrotch. Just me an' you.”
Ian goes off offence for a moment to hurry to kneel beside Fiona, checking her pulse.
“She's fine,” the man says. Ian glares up at him and then stands upright.
“Who are you?” he growls. The blue eyed man rolls his eyes and shakes his head, eyes roaming over the things laid out on the table where Fiona had set up her ritual. There was a whole arsenal there from back home; Ian and Fi had anticipated more of a fight.
“Name's Mickey,” the man responds. Ian mirrors Mickey's eyeroll.
“I know that. I mean, what are you?”
Mickey looks up, the smile on his face having lost most of it's 'I'm having fun' effect and found more of a 'we might be able to pull off a friendship here if you're a good boy' essence. “I'm an angel.”
Ian lets out a humourless laugh. He thinks he might throw a punch in a second.
“Yeah fucking right! There's no such thing,” he laughs, but he doesn't think this is funny. This is shitty and confusing and he's completely helpless. He could grab a weapon, but it wouldn't bring this guy down; five and a half feet tall or not, this Mickey didn't even flinch for the demon-killing knife and Ian doesn't think a few more salt rounds or silver will make a difference. He's just got to keep playing with the guy, he guesses.
Mickey gives him a look of disbelief, smile still tagging along on his lips, and he takes a few steps in the direction he'd first come from. Ian thinks for a second that he's leaving, but he stops and turns back, shoving his hands into the pockets of his shredded up, baggy jeans. He gives a shrug, eyes looking about the barn so that Ian can stare starstruck at his face without those vast eyes staring back. “You know, you haven't got any faith, Gallagher.”
“Yeah, well-”
There's a flash of lightening in the dimness of the barn and on the wall behind Mickey, large shadowy wings appear from nowhere. He smirks at the wonder on Ian's face. The carrot top is pretty cute for a human.
The lightening goes as quick as it'd come and Ian stares wide-eyed and breathless at an angel. Some short, pale, dark-haired, blue-eyed, cute angel.
“Well, some angel you are! You burned out that poor woman's eyes!” he accuses, hoping that he sounds even a little menacing.
Mickey rolls his eyes again, because what is it with these insignificant little humans and their grudges?
“I told her to back off. She shoulda minded 'er own,” he says in way of explanation.
“So you burned out her eyes?” Ian shouts, shocked at the casualness in Mickey's voice.
A look of regret passes over Mickey's pale face and his head lowers only slightly before letting out a huff. “I didn't choose to, Ian. An angel's true form can be overwhelming for you guys. So can my true voice, but you already know that, don't cha?”
Ian's brow scrunches before realisation washes over and he guffaws. “You mean the gas station? The motel? That was your 'true voice'?”
Mickey nods his head. “Yeah, little high for you?”
“Yeah, geez. Next time, lower the volume,” Ian suggests. Mickey shrugs. He takes a few small steps toward Ian and his arms cross over his chest as he looks the redhead over.
“Yeah, well, some people can see and hear my true visage,” he says. Ian scowls at the smug look on his face. “I guess I thought you'd be one of them.”
“What 'visage' is this? Holy hoodlum?”
Mickey smirks and looks down at his tattered jeans and rumpled tan tanktop. “This is a vessel. Don't pretend you've got a problem with it.”
Ian's cheeks heat up and rolls his eyes. “You're possessing some poor guy?”
“Well, yeah, but he prayed for it.”
Ian shook his head. “You know, I'm not buying what you're selling here.”
Mickey frowned for a second, looking confused and offended. “No, really. He had a shitty father, lived in a slum, spent most-”
“No, not that. I mean, why would an angel pull me out of Hell?” Ian exclaimed in interruption. Mickey raised his eyebrows, taking a few more steps toward the taller man, staring up wide-eyed.
“Good things do happen, Ian,” he said quietly. Ian shifted.
“Not really. Not to me.”
Mickey tilted his head, face screwing up in confusion. “What? You don't think you're worth saving?”
Ian tore his eyes away from Mickey's, letting them fall to the floor, jaw clenching. “Why'd you do it?”
Mickey allowed a smile to return, a friendlier one. “The man upstairs said so. Heaven's got big plans for you, freckles.”