Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The streets weren’t so busy this time of night. Street lamps dimly lighting up the way, shining off the snow that had been falling on and off for the past couple of days. Ian pulled his coat closer to his body, arms tucked between his side, mindful to step aside the patches of ice that have accumulated on the sidewalk. 

Fiona sent him out to fetch a couple jars of pasta sauce for dinner tomorrow. In her haste, the chaos of the day and Ian’s younger siblings who seemed to be at each other’s throats more often than not these days, plus the looming bills that Ian had seen her stress over, she forgot to check what was available in the cabinets. 

Using some of the cash she had on hand, she entrusted Ian with it to make a quick run and back, forbidding Carl and Debbie from coming even though they’d begged. 

He walked briskly, or as much as he could when he was trying to avoid falling on his ass. 

It was kind of peaceful at this time of night. Sure, there were still cars that drove by, some sirens in the distance, some arguing too though he couldn’t hear exactly what was being said--yelled, really. But there was less hustle and bustle, less people out, making him wonder why he didn’t take evening walks more often. 

Sometimes it was good to be out by himself. The house could get stifling with everybody in it and not many places to go for some peace and quiet. His siblings even barged into the bathroom when he was showering or taking a piss. 

A gust of wind swept by. Ian shivered. Of all the times Fiona wanted him to go out, why now? 

Technically, he’d been her second choice. Lip was studying for an exam coming up in two days and needed to focus. Their sister wasn’t going to argue with that, so she delegated the task to Ian instead. 

He debated on going to Kash and Grab but thought better of it. At this time of night, Linda wouldn’t be there. She’d be back at their home to tend to their children. 

Ian’s stomach lurched slightly at the reminder. 

Of course he’d known that going in, well aware that Kash was a married man and a father. But after Lip found out, he was incensed, more so at Kash for supposedly taking advantage of Ian. That was just crazy because Ian had wanted it too. But his brother wouldn’t listen to him, threatening to tell Fiona. Ian had panicked at the time, certain that everything would spiral out of control if he did. Kash would get arrested, he’d be fired without a doubt. People would know . It just couldn’t happen. 

“You can’t tell her,” Ian whispered. They were standing face-to-face in the darkness of their shared room while Carl was sleeping soundly. “Please, Lip, don’t tell her!” 

“So...what, you just want me to let him keep fucking you?” Lip said incredulously. “Jesus, Ian, he took advantage of you.” 

“No, he didn’t,” Ian said vehemently, and got right up in Lip’s face. “I wanted it too!”

“Do you even hear yourself?” Lip demanded. “He’s got a wife and two kids, dumbass. You’re like the other man!” 

Ian’s gaze dropped to the floor. “It’s not like that...” 

“What? You think he loves you?” Lip said in disbelief, like he was on the verge of snorting. “You think he’s interested in anything more than a good fucking?” 

Somehow, after making frantic promises to Lip that he would stop, it seemed to calm his brother down slightly. He was still p that he was kept in the dark like that, but regardless, Ian’s pleading had worked. 

Lip relented, reluctantly. He was probably still suspicious, probably didn’t believe Ian completely. And with good reason; Ian didn’t have any intention of stopping anytime soon. He would just be extremely careful whenever the next time took place. 

Or, that had been the plan. 

Lip’s words had been swirling around his head every time Kash made a move. You’re like the other man , the voice was in the back of his mind, his tone judgmental. Y ou think he’s interested in anything more than a good fuckng?

He’d... thought so. 

Ian craved the attention and love he didn’t get back at home. Fiona loved him, the others too. It just wasn’t the same. With Kash, it’d been different. That kind of affection that made his heart soar and his cheeks to go warm. 

It’d felt good to have someone looking at him with such desire. 

Now, he just wasn’t so sure. 

Instead of going there, knowing Kash would want to delay Ian’s walk home to get a quickie in to make up for him having the day off, he chose a different convenience store that was a little out of the way. It’d tack on a few more minutes to get back, but it was better than trying to explain to his insatiable boss that no, he couldn’t jump into the back freezer with him, not even for a moment. 

What’s worse was that Ian knew he probably wouldn’t have enough will power to deny him, especially if Kash tried guilt tripping him. 

The whole thing was complicated. 

His interest in Kash was starting to fade but something within him seemed to come alive under the hunger in Kash’s eyes. And it was impossible to ignore. Even if that’s what he really did want. 

After he paid for the pasta sauce, Ian exited the store, throwing his hood over his head. The snow was falling again, and evidently the sidewalk would need another layer of salt on it again. A curse left his lips when he nearly slipped, managing to steady himself at the last second without dropping the bag, thank God. 

Hopefully he’d get home in time to use the TV before Carl decided he wanted to use the game console Lip had stolen from a Goodwill bin a while ago. Ian wanted a turn too, especially on his day off since his brother had a lot more chances to use it. 

He passed by an alleyway, hardly paying attention until his ears caught onto heavy breathing. 

He stopped, glancing into the dark alley. He couldn’t see anything, even when he craned his neck. There had to be someone there, he was sure of it. 

Ian thought he heard a groan too. A groan full of pain. 

It might not be the safest decision to go in there. This was the Southside; it wasn’t unheard of for people to trick others into thinking someone needed help, only to rob them instead. 

And maybe if Ian was getting this nagging feeling in his chest, he would have continued on walking. 

“Hello?” He said out loud. “Is anyone here? I heard you.” 

When no one answered, Ian felt a little foolish. Maybe it was just a cat? 

Well, no , he thought. That groan sounded a little too human-like to be from a cat. 

He made his way to the end, wishing he had a flashlight with him. Would have made it a whole lot easier. All he had on hand was a tiny keychain with a light on it that didn’t go far enough. 

Ian’s train of thought was suddenly derailed when he tripped. 

He fell on the cold, wet ground with a yelp. The cans of pasta sauce rolled out of the bag and away from him. 

“Ugh,” Ian was the one groaning this time. He’d tried to use his hands to stop him but that only meant his palms were grazed. There was pain radiating down his leg too-he’d fallen directly on his right knee. That was just great. 

It took a moment for his brain to realize what he must have tripped on. A leg? 

Oh, fuck no. Ian scrambled to his feet, taking a couple steps backwards, freezing when he heard a quiet fuck in a voice that was too familiar for his liking. 

He fumbled with the keychain, using the button to turn the light on, and ultimately got the shock of his life when it shined directly in the bruised face of Mickey Milkovich. 

Chapter Text

It was definitely Mickey’s leg he’d tripped over, which was now hastily pulled back. 

Ian should do something other than stare at him with his mouth ajar and his eyes undoubtedly wide, but he couldn’t. It was like he was frozen, unable to pry his gaze off of Southside’s most notorious thug-who suddenly looked much younger sitting there trying to keep himself warm against the frigid cold. 

The thin coat he was wearing wasn’t doing him any favors. It was clearly a hand-me-down, not that Ian was judging or anything. Wouldn’t have a right to. Right up until he grew taller than Lip, he’d worn his older brother’s clothes until they were falling apart. He knew what it was like, and he knew being out in snowy weather with holes in the fabric and jeans that didn’t entirely fit wasn’t exactly proper winter attire. 

“The fuck are you lookin’ at?” Mickey’s words lacked any real bite, his voice was too weak for that, but it made Ian’s face flush all the same. 

How long had he been out here? Now that Ian thought about it, he hadn’t seen Mickey come into the Kash and Grab for nearly a week now. 

“What happened to your face?” Ian whispered, swallowing back bile from the slightly gruesome injuries. Mickey was severely bruised with some cuts here and there. It was hard to tell if one of his eyes was swollen or not, but it seemed that way. His lip was sliced open near the corner, not to mention he was holding his right wrist close to him. 

“Go ‘way, Gallagher,” Mickey was curling his body up. Ian knew that move; he’d done it when the electricity got turned off a couple of times, although he had a blanket during those times. Mickey had nothing besides the clothes on his back. 

“What happened?” Ian repeated. He felt a bit sick to his stomach, if he was being honest. He didn’t know why-Mickey caused more problems than anything, what with Linda taking money out of his paycheck to compensate for what was stolen and the constant agitation of Kash who would end up even more sexually frustrated. 

“Fuck you, that’s what happened,” Mickey spat. 

Another gust of wind swept by. Ian watched him shiver from it, gritting his teeth. 

“Why are you out here?” Ian ignored his previous quip. “It’s cold. You should be inside.” 

And he should be on his way home. Fiona would find it unusual for him to take so long. She’d get worried. 

But something was nagging at Ian for some strange reason. Something that was making it difficult to just walk away. 

“None of your fucking business.” 

He should have left it at that. Should’ve picked his cans of pasta sauce up and accepted that a Milkovich couldn’t be talked to like any sane person. 

Except, he just couldn’t. He couldn’t do that. 

“Did someone hurt you?” There wasn’t any need for Ian to soften his voice. Who would hear him out here anyway? Okay, maybe it wasn’t so much softened as it was lowered. 

“No,” Mickey ground out, but it was said too quickly for it to be true. 

Mickey had been in quite a few fights before. He was usually the instigator of them. It was what he was known for on the Southside. The rare moments when someone actively sought him out to try and hurt him didn’t go as planned. He was more formidable than someone might think. 

Was this one of the times where it went wrong? It was obvious someone had hurt Mickey. Ian just couldn’t figure out why he was here all alone in an alley and not at home. At least it was warm. 

“Get that fucking light out of my face,” Mickey suddenly snapped. Ian had been drifting in his own thoughts, not realizing he’d left the light shining in Mickey’s eyes. 

“Sorry,” Ian dropped his arm, not before letting it linger a second longer on the blood staining the front of his shirt. “Why isn’t your jacket zipped up?” 

“Think you’re my fucking mom or something, Gallagher?” Mickey sneered. Ian said nothing, not wanting to argue with him. With the light off of him, he couldn’t see his face, but he heard Mickey’s pained breathing. “It don’t zip,” he eventually said. 

“What?” 

“You deaf?” Mickey shot back. If Ian wagered correctly, he almost thought he sounded embarrassed. “I said it don’t zip.” 

“Oh,” Ian said sympathetically. He’d dealt with that before. There were only so many times hand-me-down jackets could be worn until they inevitably broke. “Sorry.” 

“Don’t need any fucking apologies.” 

“I’m just-” Ian was walking on thin ice. Why was he trying to make sure Mickey understood him? “I get it. I used to wear Lip’s old things. They broke a lot too.” 

For what felt like a long while, Mickey didn’t say anything in return. And Ian simply stood there, feeling like a fucking idiot. 

“Whatever, man.” 

He sounded exhausted. It kind of twisted at Ian's gut in a way. 

“I should...go,” Ian said lamely. Fiona would want an explanation. Best thing he could come up with is that he went to the Kash and Grab and Kash wanted to talk to him about work. “Uh...bye?” 

Mickey remained silent. Ian took that as his cue to leave and was halfway down the alley when he abruptly stopped. 

He couldn’t have explained why he was feeling anything for Mickey Milkovich of all people, let alone the slight worry that was swirling around in his stomach. Maybe because he knew how it felt to be vulnerable in the cold from back when they’d lived out of the car. 

It just didn’t feel right leaving him out here. The weatherman said it was expected to drop further into the negatives tonight. 

“Mickey,” he called out, chewing on his bottom lip. “You could come back with me...if you want.” 

Mickey must have been ignoring him, Ian begrudgingly accepted. He wasn’t saying anything. Probably took it as some kind of insult to his pride. 

Ian started to walk away again, ears perking up at the sound of shoes scuffing against the ground. 

He turned, and the closer Mickey got, he was able to see him in the dim lightning. 

Ian didn’t miss the way he limped, but he knew better than to remark on it. 

“The fuck you mean come back with you?” Mickey was trying to be intimidating, and failed spectacularly. 

“You look cold,” Ian said bravely. “And my sister could fix those cuts-” 

Mickey got right up into his face. Ian didn’t back down, or move away. “Get the fuck away me. I don’t need your fucking help with anything.” 

His voice seemingly drifted off towards the end. It was him who took the step backwards. 

Ian’s eyebrows furrowed in puzzlement. “Are you okay?” 

“Fucking fine,” Mickey was breathing out noisily. 

That couldn’t have been true. He didn’t look alright. 

“Look,” Ian said, putting more force into his words, “just come back with me for a little while so you can warm up. You’re gonna get hypothermia out here.” 

“What’s it to you?” Mickey challenged. 

“I’m just being nice,” Ian shifted his footing. 

Mickey scoffed. “Yeah, alright. After what you did to my sister, you think I’ll take your word for it?” 

“I didn’t do anything to Mandy!” Ian shouted. 

“She said you did!” Mickey said back heatedly. 

“She was lying! I never touched her!” 

He thought she would have clarified this with him or something once she found out about him being gay. 

“Besides, we’re dating now,” Ian forced the words out. “So you can chill out.” 

Not many people would stand up to Mickey like this. But in spite of the help Ian was willing to extend to him, he was also tired of the bullshit. 

Mickey stared at him for a few long seconds, like he was trying to process this. “You’re the fuck wad she’s dating?” 

“I guess so, yeah.” Ian let another second or two pass. “She didn’t tell you?” 

“Might come as a surprise to you, Gallagher, but Milkovich's don’t sit around talking and braiding our hair.” 

Ian rolled his eyes. He blew out a puff of air and saw his breath. “Look, it’s way too cold out here. I’m going home. If you want to come then come. Or you can stay here. I don’t care.” 

He kind of did though. And it confused him a lot. He really shouldn’t. He had no reason to. But seeing him here like this tugged at Ian’s heartstrings whether he wanted it to or not. 

It was on that note Ian made his leave. He didn’t think Mickey was going to follow, but there was that scuffing again. 

“Wait a fucking second,” Mickey grunted as he caught up. After Ian stopped to wait. 

“Something wrong with your ankle?” Ian eyed it, then lifted his eyes back up to meet Mickey’s. 

“Nah. Just sat on it too long.” 

Ian wasn’t so sure he bought that, but he wasn’t going to argue, lest he said something to upset Mickey enough that he’d be stubborn and stay out here. 

*

Neither one of them talked on the walk over. That was alright with Ian; he was lost in his thoughts, hoping Fiona wouldn’t have his ass for taking as long as he did and coming back with an unwanted guest. 

The walk took a little longer than it normally would since Ian was trying to be nice and not get too ahead of Mickey. 

How exactly was he going to explain this? Fiona had nearly gone down to the Milkovich house herself when she finally pulled the truth from Lip about where his injuries came from. She’d be none too pleased with Ian for bringing his assaulter back home with him. 

At the top of the stairs, which Mickey struggled a bit to walk up on, Ian licked his lips. His mouth was dry all of a sudden, knowing now he’d have to face the music. 

“Fiona’s not happy with you because of what you did to Lip,” Ian told him, one hand on the door knob. “Just try not to piss her off.” 

“Don’t give a shit.” 

Ian had to remind himself that even people like Mickey didn’t deserve to freeze to death. 

“There you are,” Fiona came out of the kitchen as soon as he was inside, face lined with exasperation and slight relief. “What took you so long? I was about to send Kev and Vee out to look for you.” 

Ian winced. “Sorry. I got a bit caught up-” 

He trailed off when Fiona’s face hardened. No doubt she caught a glimpse of Mickey. 

“What’s he doing here?”

“What’s it look like, bitch?” Mickey said harshly. Ian looked helplessly between them. “Your brother brought me here.” 

“Oh, hell no.” 

“He needs to warm up,” Ian cut in. 

“What?” Fiona said, a twinge of agitation in her voice. 

“It’s freezing out there, Fi.” 

“He has a house of his own to warm up in,” she said curtly. “Go.” 

“What? No, wait,” Ian said hurriedly to Mickey so he wouldn’t listen to her. “Don’t go yet.” 

“He beat the shit out of Lip, remember?” Fiona lost her patience and snapped. “Did you forget that?”

“ No ,” Ian felt like pulling his hair out. “Look, it won’t be long, okay?” 

Fiona’s hands were on her hips now. Just as she was about to respond to that, Mickey chose that opportunity to speak again. Ian braced himself, hoping he wasn’t going to piss Fiona off anymore than she already was. 

“Gallagher’s right, won’t be long. Just like to feel my fingers again.” 

It felt like an eternity passed before Fiona stopped staring. 

“You make one wrong move and you’re out on your ass,” she warned. 

“He won’t,” Ian interjected, not trusting Mickey to keep his mouth shut. 

Fiona muttered unintelligibly to herself. “Did you get the sauce?” 

“Yeah. Here,” Ian handed her the bag. With one last glance of suspicion, Fiona took it into the kitchen, leaving them alone. 

Silence permeated the air after that. Ian supposed he should try to be a little more hospitable instead of standing there awkwardly. 

“Uh, make yourself at home. You can watch TV if you want.” 

“Nah,” Mickey shook his head. 

“Well, you can sit down,” Ian suggested. “You know, to help your ankle.” 

“I ain’t stayin’ long.” 

Ian opened his mouth again, only to be called by Fiona. She wasn’t being subtle at all. This was her way of talking to him in semi private. 

“I’ll be right back,” Ian said. Mickey didn’t acknowledge this, only flexed his fingers which were probably coming back to life now that they were out of the frigid cold. 

His sister was in the corner of the kitchen, her arms crossed, expression pointed. “What are you doin’ with a Milkovich?” She questioned as soon as he was in there. 

“It’s not what you think,” Ian said quietly. 

“Oh, really? It looks like you were meeting up with him on purpose,” she retorted. “Is that what took you so long?” 

“I wasn’t,” Ian kept his voice lowered so Mickey wouldn’t hear him. “It wasn’t like that, I swear.” 

“Then what was it like?” 

Ian hesitated. “I found him.” 

Fiona’s eyebrows flew up to her hairline and he elaborated.

“He was in an alley, Fi. I think something happened.” 

Her face remained unchanged. “He probably got into a fight,” she shrugged. “So what?” 

“You saw how he looked, didn’t you?” Ian persisted. “He’s hurt.” 

Fiona ran a hand through her hair. “He did look pretty beat up,” she acknowledged. Ian nodded vigorously. “But he isn’t our problem.” 

“But what if he can’t go home and that’s why he was in the alley? I don’t think he would’ve been there if he didn’t have to be.” 

“Why do you care what happens to him?” Fiona narrowed her eyes. 

I don’t know . Ian shrugged, feigning indifference or close to it. 

She sighed, all heavy and with a slight tilt of her head like she was wishing she understood. 

He wished he understood too. 

“I’m sure it’ll work itself out. He probably...I don’t know, got into a fight with his dad and decided to hide out instead of going home,” she said, trying to put his mind at peace. 

If that was the case, then why an alley? Why not somewhere warm? Why not go somewhere around the city until he decided to go back home? 

It just didn’t make any sense. None of this did. 

“He’ll be fine,” she reassured him. Ian dropped his gaze. He really wasn’t so sure he believed it. 

And he didn’t know why. 

“You should really send him on his way. Not sure Lip’s going to take it well if he sees him.” 

“Can you at least have Vee take a look at him?” Ian asked. “He’s got some nasty cuts. They’ll probably get infected.” 

Fiona looked intently at him, sighing once again. “Okay, but after that he’s gone.” 

“Thanks, Fi,” Ian said gratefully. 

Her lips turned up into a slight smile. “I’ll go get her. You keep an eye on him and make sure he doesn't take anything.” 

She went out the back door after slipping on a coat. Ian was on his way back into the living, pausing in the archway to see Mickey lightly touching his chest where his ribs were. His face was screwed up in pain, eyes squeezed shut. 

Ian put a little more force into his footsteps so he wouldn’t startle him. Mickey quickly sat up straighter, pretending he was fine. 

“Fiona’s getting our neighbor,” he said, to which Mickey stared at him blankly. “She works in a nursing home as an aid or something. She’s gonna look over you.” 

Mickey stood right up, apparently that was too fast because he grit his teeth, hands curling into fists. “Fuck you. I don’t need anyone to look over me.” 

Ian didn’t know what came over him, but he got into Mickey’s way, blocking the door. “So what, you’re gonna go back out there until you pass out or some shit?”

“Move out of the fucking way!” 

“ No!” 

Mickey tried to remove him from the spot. Ian used all of his weight to prevent this. It must have looked like a sight. And all the while, Ian’s mind was screaming at him, wondering what the fuck he was doing. 

Then, Mickey backed off, and steadied himself against the wall. 

“What’s wrong?” Ian asked immediately. 

“Nothing,” Mickey answered gruffly. 

“You stumbled-” 

“No, I fucking didn’t!” 

Footsteps came thundering down the stairs. Ian inhaled, wondering which one of his siblings it was. 

“What’s going on down here?” It was Lip. He got down to the bottom, rounding the corner to see the two of them there. His eyes flickered from Mickey to Ian. “What happened to you?” 

Lip’s face was a little better but he wasn’t completely healed. 

Mickey’s face darkened. Ian knew he wouldn’t take the question well. 

“What are Debbie and Carl doing?” Ian interrupted. 

Lip sent him a questioning look, eyebrows raised. The redhead sent him one back, silently asking him to just go along with it. “Debbie’s in her room. Carl’s with Liam.” 

Ian nodded. 

“You wanna tell me what he’s doing here now?” 

“Just warming up. What’s it to you?” Mickey said snidely. 

“And that place just had to be here?” Lip said. 

“Lip-” Ian tried to get a word in but the back door opened and in came Vee and his sister.

“Alright, where’s the patient?” 

The three of them turned in her direction. Vee grimaced at the sight of Mickey. 

“What happened to you?” 

“Probably got into another fight,” Lip muttered. 

“None of your fucking business, that’s what,” Mickey scowled. 

Vee looked unimpressed. “Don’t be giving me any of that attitude. You’re lucky I came here. Sit.” 

Ian held his breath, hoping Mickey wouldn’t pick a fight with her. 

Luckily, he didn’t. He glared the whole time but otherwise did as he was told. Surprisingly. 

Fiona stood at the other end of the couch, hands on her hips, watching. 

Ian only took a couple steps forward, with Lip whispering to him, “The hell is Mickey here for?” 

“He’s hurt,” Ian murmured. 

“Yeah. I can see that. What happened?” 

“I don’t know.” 

Vee had brought a small first aid kit with her. She dampened a cotton ball with hydrogen peroxide, holding it up, preparing to use it. “This is going to sting,” she warned. 

“Just get it over with.” 

She pursed her lips, dabbing at the cuts one by one. As predicted, it did hurt. Mickey hissed through his teeth gripping the arm of the couch with one hand. 

Then Ian did something that was probably very stupid. “I think he hurt his ribs too.” 

Lip, Fiona and Vee all looked at him. He flushed. 

“I just figured...he was making a face-” 

“Fucking Gallagher,” Mickey growled. 

“Is this true?” Vee’s attention was on Mickey now. 

“I’m fine,” he lied. 

“Uh-huh. Pull up your shirt,” she instructed. 

“Fuck no!” 

“Pull up your damn shirt,” Vee glared at him. 

Ian had to hand it to Vee; not everyone could make Southside’s resident thug do what they wanted. He was still behind the couch so he didn’t see it, but he saw Mickey’s shoulder go up. Vee inhaled sharply. Even Fiona looked shocked. 

“What?” Ian came around, his eyes widening at the large, purple bruise that descending down the side of his chest to his abdomen. 

What the hell? Ian couldn’t believe what he was seeing. 

“Looks like someone did a number on you,” Vee eventually said. 

Lip took a look now that there was all this commotion. He stared. “Holy shit.” 

“Is he gonna need to go to the hospital?” Fiona asked Vee. 

“ No ,” Mickey said strongly. He seemed uncomfortable by all the attention. 

“Don’t be stupid,” Vee scolded him. “You could have internal bleeding.” 

“It’s been there for four days. I’m fine.” 

Four days? Ian wondered. 

Vee stopped what she was doing, looking incredulous. “You had this going on for four days and you’re just now having somebody look at it?” 

“I know how to take care of myself,” Mickey snapped. 

“Yeah, ‘cause you’re doing a great job at it,” Vee deadpanned. Then, to Fiona, she said, “He should get checked out but I have a feeling he won’t. Might wanna keep him here for a few days to make sure he doesn’t do anything stupid.” 

“A few days?” Fiona repeated, gobsmacked. 

“Wait,” Lip cut in, looking between Vee and Fiona, “he’s staying here?” 

“Hell no he’s not,” Fiona said angrily. 

“I didn’t ask to stay here,” Mickey scoffed, his hand automatically going to his chest again. He started to get up, having to grip the arm of the couch to keep himself from falling back down. 

“Where are you going?” Ian blurted out. 

Mickey was almost to the door when he stopped. 

“What, you thought I was staying?” 

“I just thought-” 

“I don’t need your charity, Gallagher,” Mickey said flatly. “What do you care anyway?” 

I wish I knew , Ian thought. He could feel the eyes of his siblings and Vee on him. 

“Just stay for a few days, okay?” 

“ Ian !” Fiona rebuked. 

But Ian wasn’t paying her any mind. “Okay?” He said again. 

Mickey kept his eyes on him only. “You said it was only going to be a little while.” 

“Yeah...” Ian nodded. “But do you really want to walk all the way back to your house like this?” 

He doubted Mickey would be going back there, but he would probably pulverize Ian if he let his thoughts on the matter be known. 

Mickey must be considering it. Fiona, on the other hand, wanted nothing to do with it. 

“He’s not stayin’ here. He can’t.” 

“It’s just a few days and he’ll be out of our hair,” Ian looked straight at her. He even roped Vee into this to help his cause. “Shouldn’t he stay here?” 

“Uh-uh, don’t get me involved,” Vee shook her head. “I said my peace. That's it.” 

Ian deflated somewhat. 

A couple seconds of silence passed by. Vee said to Fiona, “Probably would be better for him than going home.” 

“You sure about that?” Lip muttered. 

“You think Daddy Milkovich will nurse him back to health?” Vee rolled her eyes, closing up the first aid kit. “I’ve got to get going. Kev’s cooking dinner. You guys need anything else?” 

“No,” Fiona rubbed her face some more. “Thanks, Vee.” 

Ian thanked her as well, shooting Mickey a pointed look. 

“The fuck you lookin’ at me for? I didn’t ask her to come here.” 

“And he wants him to stay here,” Fiona muttered to Vee on her way out. 

“You’ve said the boy has a bleeding heart.” 

“Yeah, but I didn’t think it would be for a Milkovich.” 

The three boys stayed put while Fiona bid a good night to Vee, shutting the door. 

“You really think Fi’s gonna let him stay here?” Lip arched his brow. 

“Still here, fuck wads,” Mickey said rudely. “Don’t have to talk about me like I ain’t here.” 

Lip was giving Ian a look. 

Ian said, “I don’t know.” 

“Who says I want to stay here with you anyway?” 

“It’d be temporary,” Ian reminded him. 

“Where would he even go?” Lip asked. 

“Our room, I guess.” 

“Just what I’d want; to share a room with you two,” Mickey drawled.

“And our brother, Carl,” Lip added. 

“Fuck that. I’m not sharing a room.” 

“Because you’ve got a lot of choices here,” Ian muttered under his breath. 

Mickey’s eyes narrowed. 

Lip observed this. “So am I missing something,” he started, “Mickey’s house isn’t that far away. Why can’t he go home?” 

“He’ll need help taking care of his injuries,” Ian said. 

“Mandy’s there.” 

“Don’t think she’ll be up to playing nurse,” Mickey grunted. 

Out of his peripheral vision, Ian saw Fiona coming back. 

“Alright, look,” she said with a shake of her head, “he can stay but it’s temporary. Got it? Vee said ribs take six weeks to heal but he’s not staying here that long. It’ll be a week, a week and a half tops. He has to go back home after that. We have enough mouths to feed without adding anymore.” 

He really shouldn’t have felt so relieved about it. 

Ian brushed it off. S’not like it meant anything. He just didn’t want Mickey to freeze. Thug or not, no one deserved that. 

Chapter Text

It was just them now. 

The other two were gone, back up the stairs and around the corner. Ian kept darting his eyes towards Mickey, waiting to see which one of them would make the first move. It wasn’t doin’ good for his nerves, that's for sure. 

Too damn quiet in here. He didn’t need Gallagher looking at him like he was about to combust any second. 

He was fucking starving too. Barely had any cash on him the night he got kicked out, and now, there wasn’t even enough for a snicker’s bar. “You gonna do somethin’ or stare at me?” Standing here was making him feel dizzy, didn’t know if that was hunger or the concussion his pops probably gave him. 

“Sorry,” Ian said quickly. “Uh, do you need any help getting up the stairs? All the rooms are up there, so...” 

He trailed off, his expression apologetic. 

Mickey’s eyes flickered over there. It’d been a lot just to get here . Goin’ up and down the stairs everyday would be a challenge. “Nah. Just let me take the couch.” 

“You can’t,” Ian shook his head. “Frank wanders in sometimes and if Fiona can’t keep him out, he sleeps there.” 

Fuck . That’s just great. 

“I can give you a hand-” Ian started to reach out. 

“Don’t fucking touch me,” Mickey warned. Ian stopped, sighing. 

“Fine. Follow me then.” 

Just like he did out there, Gallagher walked real slow, waiting at the bottom of the stairs for Mickey to get over there. It hurt like a bitch every step of the way. At one point, his right leg nearly gave out on him, and his peripheral caught sight of Ian’s body twitching like he wanted to catch him but held back. 

He expected the kid to ask him dumbass questions like are you okay but that never came. 

Once they were at the top, after taking too fucking long because apparently he couldn’t move for shit now, Ian was pointed at various rooms to show him who stayed where. Not that Mickey was really paying much attention; his head was killin’ him so it’d really be great if he could go back to sitting instead of standing here in the damn hallway. 

“And just so you know,” Ian said just before they went into what would be Mickey’s temporary room, “Liam sometimes still wakes up in the middle of the night.” 

Fuckin’ great. Just what he’d want to deal with. 

Gallagher went in first, saying something that didn’t reach Mickey’s ears. He was too focused on the small as fuck bedroom. Were there really three people stuck in here? It’d been a long ass time since he had to share, back than some of his cousins were living in the house to help Terry out so Mickey bunked with Colin and Iggy. Mandy was lucky as hell being the only girl, she got her own room. 

“Whoa, what happened to your face?” A voice piped up in excitement. 

“ Carl ,” Ian groaned. “What did I just say?”

Gallagher’s brother was way too close, peering at him with a psycho looking smile. 

“Back the fuck up,” Mickey ordered, unnerved by the way he was being looked at. He didn’t like his space being invaded, even though he could take this runt any day. It still made his gut twist uncomfortably. 

“Carl,” Gallagher said sharply. “Seriously, leave him alone.” 

“Go back to your own bed, Bud,” Lip spoke up. 

“But-” 

“ Now ,” both brothers said simultaneously. 

Carl rolled his eyes, grumbling about how unfair it was. Mickey let out a soft breath when he finally went back to the other side of the room. 

Ian was standing by his bed, his face awkward. Mickey immediately saw the problem. 

“I ain’t sharing a fuckin’ bed with you.” 

He felt himself immediately go on the defensive when he heard Lip snickering. That son of a bitch-

Ian rubbed his face tiredly. “I know,” he said. “I’m trying to figure out what’ll work best here.” 

“He could sleep on the floor,” Lip said offhandedly. Ian shot him a look. 

“I’m not making him sleep on the floor. That can’t be good for his ribs.” 

“Yeah, and what about when I have to get up and piss?” Carl chimed in. “I’ll step on him.” 

Gallagher chewed on his lip, thinking hard and quick 

“You can take my bed,” he ended up deciding. “I’ll share with Carl-” 

“ What ?” Carl cried out in protest. “That’s not fair. Fiona! ” 

Ian shut his eyes, sighing. “Carl, please . It’s only for a week.” 

“I’m not sharing with you,” the boy said defiantly. “Why can’t he stay in Frank’s room? He’s not using it.” 

Hold on, there was another room and Gallagher wanted him to stay in this one? 

“Thought you said he slept on the couch?” Mickey said accusingly. 

“He does when he can’t get up here,” Ian said to him, then diverted his attention onto Carl. “Because if Frank does show up again, we don’t need a fight breaking out.” Ha, as if Mickey was scared of him. “Besides, the room smells like piss and booze.” 

Eh, not the worst thing Mickey ever stayed in. Sounds like a couple of the motels him and his family have been in on their drug runs. Sounds like his house, actually. 

Carl threw his head back, groaning again. “This isn’t fair,” he repeated. 

He was ignored in favor of Ian telling Mickey, “I can get new sheets on it if you want,” which made Lip respond in taunt. 

“Rolling out the red carpet treatment?” 

“Fuck off,” Ian said with no heat. “I’m being hospitable.” 

Hospitable, huh? Mickey wasn’t used to that sort of thing. Nobody was willing to be hospitable to a Milkovich. He learned that from an early age. 

“You don’t gotta do that,” Mickey grunted out. “Just move, Gallagher.” 

Ian did, sitting down on the edge of Carl’s bed, which only made the boy mutter even more in indignation. 

Everybody was staring at him, well, more so Ian and Lip. Mickey didn’t like that one bit. Out of habit, he tensed up. 

“You’re gonna need some clothes,” Ian said, oblivious to his reaction. “Mine’ll be too big but Lip probably has some in your size.” 

Lip didn’t look pleased that his brother was giving out his clothes on his behalf. 

Not like Mickey wanted to wear his stuff anyway. 

“I guess,” Lip said, displeased. 

Ian shot him a look that said all too clearly it’s only for a week . Please? 

The two of them held eye contact, a silent means of conversation. Mickey never had that with his brothers, Mandy either. They can be civil when they weren’t strung out on something or drunk out of their minds, but none of them were particularly close . 

Finally, Lip sighed, waving a hand in defeat. “Okay, fine. Just don’t ruin them.” 

Mickey scowled, feeling an urge just to do it out of spite. 

“Thanks, Lip,” Gallagher smiled, a happy go lucky expression that Mickey wanted to wipe away by punching him. 

Soon, a pajama top and a pair of pants was given to him. That was all he planned on using, Mickey had no intention of taking some other guy’s underwear. Ian seemed to understand this without directly speaking on it, a slight flush taking his cheeks that made his freckles pop out even more. 

“Yeah, you’re welcome,” Lip said snidely. Mickey just flipped him off. 

As much as he wanted to get these clothes off, the ones he’d been wearing for a few days now with more than few blood stains, he wasn’t gonna be changing in here in front of them like they were in the fucking locker room at school. 

“Show me the bathroom,” he demanded. 

He didn’t let Ian say anything stupid when he got there, just slammed the door in his face so he could be alone and breathe for a moment. It was already too stifling in the house. He didn’t really know how he was gonna survive in that room. 

Letting out a long breath, Mickey figured he might as well take a piss. Sure beats doin’ it out in the corner of the alley. 

He didn’t mean to look at himself in the mirror. 

Gallagher’s words came back to him, both him and his brother’s. What happened to your face? 

His father, that’s what. 

A hiss escaped past his lips from brushing along his busted up cheekbone. Terry didn’t mess around when it came to beatings. 

He didn’t know how bad it was till just now. Jesus. 

Deep down, some part of him wasn’t sure how to feel walking around in front of people like this . Mickey was no stranger to injuries, even less so to showing them off, usually the winner from whatever altercation he’d gotten into. This wasn’t like that. It’d never been this bad. He’d never show his face like this. 

It took probably close to fifteen minutes once he was done pissing to put Lip’s clothes on. He was gritting his teeth, probably could’ve sanded them down to the bottom, the pain was radiating through his entire body, the worst he’d ever felt. 

Outside the door, there were footsteps going back and forth. Mickey paused halfway through pulling the shirt on, partly to hear better and because he was in too much fucking pain to just pull it down all the way. 

Gallagher better not be out there , he thought. He didn’t need him asking if Mickey needed help again or somethin’. 

No one said anything, no one knocked. When Mickey finished, he set out to go back to the bedroom but came face-to-face with a little redheaded girl. She gasped loudly, her eyes going big. 

He stared at her, she stared back. 

“What?” He snapped. 

“You're Mickey Milkovich,” she said. 

“Yeah. What's it to ya?” 

“What are you doing here ?” She said, not tearing her eyes off him for one second. Even worse, she was going to touch him. “You're bleeding-” 

Before Mickey could curse her out, Fiona came out of nowhere. “Use the other bathroom, Debs.” 

“What's Mickey Milkovich doing here?” She immediately asked her sister. 

“He's stayin’ temporarily,” Fiona responded. “Now go.” 

“But he's bleeding,” the girl said again. “He needs someone to take care of that.” 

“Vee already looked at them,” Fiona told her. 

“But won't he need to put cream on them so they won't get infected?” The girl didn't wait for an answer. “I can do it.” 

“ No ,” Fiona said firmly. “Go, Debbie.” 

Debbie pouted, turning on her heels and going out of sight. 

It left him and Fiona there alone. Just like he and Ian were downstairs. 

“You doin’ okay?” She asked, which was probably out of forced politeness than actual concern. 

Bitch, do I look like I'm doing okay? Mickey scoffed. 

“Yeah,” he said gruffly. 

She nodded, lips pursed. “Listen,” she started off, and it didn’t take a fucking genius to see where this was heading, “I’m letting you stay here because Ian begged and it’s probably not a good idea to let you go...home like this.” 

Mickey stared. What did she expect him to say to that? 

“But you better watch yourself,” Fiona warned. “I don’t want anything to happen to my kids. One punch, one mishap and you're gone. Got it?” 

He didn’t take too well to people talking to him like this. Hell, he didn’t think besides father and a few older relatives, that anyone would have the guts to talk to him like this. Fiona Gallagher didn’t give a shit about his reputation. 

“Got it,” he said with a sneer. 

She gave him one last look, clearly not appreciating that one, and then back to her room she went. 

He dragged himself back to the boys room, still holding onto his bundle of clothes. None of them have changed, but it was still pretty early, he’d glanced at the clock on the wall down in the living room. 

“We’re gonna go watch TV,” Gallagher told him. Lip was climbing back down. 

Mickey didn’t see why he was bothering to tell him this. He raised a brow. 

“Okay? The fuck you tellin’ me for?” 

Lip rolled his eyes. “Come on, Carl,” he said to the youngest Gallagher boy. “Let’s go before Debbie takes the remote.” 

What is it tonight and him getting stuck alone with a Gallagher? 

Ian scratched the back of his neck. “I know you can’t get down the stairs easily so I can stay up here if you want?” 

“I don’t need you to babysit me,” Mickey scowled. 

“I’m not babysitting-” 

“Bullshit.” 

“I’m trying to be nice,” Ian was frustrated, looking at Mickey like he was the problem. 

He had enough people in his life who looked at him like that, who treated him like he was a damn inconvenience. He didn’t need it from Gallagher either. 

“Didn’t ask you to,” Mickey could feel his temper starting to rise. “Didn’t ask you to do any of this.” 

“Did you want me to just leave you out there?” 

Yes , Mickey almost said, but at the same time there was a resounding no . Being in here was loads better than staying outside in that alley. Any idiot would know that. Didn’t mean he had to like it, of course. 

Instead, he said, “I don’t need your charity, Gallagher.” 

“Can't you just accept some help?” Ian said, annoyed. “Quit letting your ego get in the way.” 

“Don't fucking tell me what to do. I didn't ask you to bring me here or defend me to your fucking family,” Mickey snapped. 

This is where an argument would have started if he were back at his house. He was used to yelling, he expected it. Gallagher didn't do that, only folded his arms, giving him this unimpressed look. 

“You know, Mickey, you should really just let people help you sometimes.” 

And then he just left. 

*

Mickey didn't say a word later on when the Gallagher boys returned to climb into bed. He was exhausted, and could have fallen asleep already but kept himself awake, not trusting Carl to keep away from his injuries or Lip not to do something stupid like draw on his face and take a picture. 

Ian glanced at Mickey a few times, which was never acknowledged. He had nothing else to say to him. 

“Do you want some water?” He asked. “I probably should've asked you earlier.” 

Truthfully, Mickey's mouth was fucking dry. But he wasn't about to say anything to Gallagher right now. 

He settled for glaring to get his point across. 

“Or not,” Ian muttered. To Carl, he said, “Scoot over. There's not enough room.” 

“I wanna lay on this side,” Carl argued. 

“Why? It makes more sense for me to lay here.” 

“What about when I gotta piss?” Carl challenged him. 

Ian gestured to the lower half of the bed. “Just slide down and go. Come on, Carl, just do it.” 

“Don't be difficult, Carl,” Lip intervened. 

The boy huffed, throwing himself on the bed with more force than necessary. Ian just rolled his eyes. 

The lights went out. Mickey was still sitting up in bed. He heard the sounds of Lip turning around up on the top bunk and Ian getting himself comfortable. There were also some not so quiet muttering between him and Carl about who needed to move over.

His teeth sunk into his lower lip, hard enough to draw blood as he lowered his body down on the mattress. 

The pain nearly took his breath away. Past few nights he'd been sitting upright. Still hurt, but nothing like this. 

“Fuck,” he gasped quietly. 

Instantaneously, the lights were back on. 

Ian was on his feet, and looked straight at Lip, who was on his side. “We need to do something. That can't be good for him.” 

Carl opened his mouth. 

“Shut up, Carl,” Ian beat him to it. He still waited for Lip to answer. “Well?” 

“Do you know if he got any pain meds in him?” Lip asked. 

“Shit,” Ian cursed. “No. I forgot.” 

“Carl, go grab the Tylenol from the bathroom cabinet,” Lip instructed. 

“Why do I have to do it? Ian's closer.” 

“Just go,” Lip said, exasperated. “And bring a glass of water.” 

The boy stomped on his way out, making sure they were all aware that he wasn't happy. 

“He'll also need to prop himself up,” Lip continued. “There's probably another blanket or pillow in the hall closet he can use.” 

“I'll get that,” Ian volunteered. 

Mickey was too busy taking deep breaths in and out, eyes squeezed shut as if that would somehow block the pain, to notice Lip was watching him. 

Good God, every breath was so damn painful. He had to bite his tongue so he wouldn't accidentally make any noise. 

“You have to sit up,” Gallagher was back, hovering above the bed. “Just for a minute so I can put this under you.” 

Mickey grunted while sitting up, not going far, like he was doing a crunch. That was a mistake, clearly. “ Fuck!”  

“Don't do that,” Lip said unhelpfully. 

Fuck you 

Ian quickly put the spare pillow underneath him, laying a hand on his shoulder to ease him back down. “I put your clothes in the laundry chute,” he told Mickey. “Fiona will take care of them tomorrow.” 

He couldn't even care right now. Didn't have enough energy in him to have something to say about Gallagher touching his stuff. 

“Fiona gave me the strong stuff,” Little Gallagher was back, and with less attitude. He held out the tablets and water to Ian. “Here.” 

“Thanks,” Ian took them, turning back to Mickey. 

The water felt good on his dry throat. Carl got him a big glass filled to the brim. Mickey chugged the rest after taking the tablets, a few droplets falling down his chin. Sue him. It was the first time he'd had a drink in hours . 

“Do you want more?” Ian asked, and was when Mickey remembered he wasn't alone. 

“No,” Mickey muttered, wiping away the water on his face. 

“You sure? It's not a problem.” 

“If he doesn't want any then just leave it be, Ian,” Lip said from his spot. 

Ian hesitated, standing there. He took his brother's words to heart, getting back into the bed for the second time that night. 

It was going to be a long night, that was for sure. 

*

Scratch that, it was worse than a long night. 

Mickey hardly got any sleep. Whatever they gave him definitely wasn't any strong stuff . It did nothing to eliminate his pain, not even a little. 

Every so often, he'd shut his eyes, fall asleep for a very short time and wake up again to a room of dead silence except for the soft snores coming from a couple of them. 

*

The next time he woke up, the sun had risen; Fiona was telling the others to get up and get ready for school. 

“Rise and shine, Monkeys,” she said, hitting the side of the bunk bed with the palm of her hand, and turning back around to leave. 

Mickey jerked awake at the sound. He blinked several times, feeling disoriented and wondering where the fuck he was.  It was definitely not his room-

Something moved out of the corner of his eye. Mickey tried to sit up, a natural instinct to prepare to defend himself. That was the wrong move to make, and too fast. He immediately clenched his chest, suppressing a pained hiss.

“Morning,” Lip said, his feet hitting the floor. 

Oh, right. The Gallagher house. That’s where he was. 

“You get any sleep?” Lip said conversationally, throwing a fresh shirt on. Did this asshole really think Mickey was going to talk to him like they were all buddy-buddy now? Not like he missed the look he’d given Ian when he came down downstairs and saw Mickey, when he questioned why he was even there at all. “You should probably try to rest today,” he added when Mickey didn’t answer him. 

Just what he needed. More fucking advice that he didn't ask for. 

On the other bed, from what he could see, Ian was still sleeping. His head was facing Mickey’s direction, his chest rising and falling. Jesus, how many freckles did that kid have? Way too many if you asked Mickey. 

“Hey,” Lip lightly kicked the bed, “get up. Time for school.” 

That was enough to have Ian cracking his eyes open. He rubbed them, arms stretching. The other kid, Carl, must have still been sleeping. Must have been a kicker in his sleep; Gallagher suddenly let out an ah in surprise. 

“Quit kicking me, Carl!” 

“Five more minutes,” the kid said sleepily, rolling over and dragging the blanket with him. 

Lip yanked it right off. “Get up. Fiona won’t be happy if you’re late again.” 

“It wasn't my fault,” Carl said in a whiny tone that would’ve had Terry beating his ass if he were in the Milkovich house. 

“Oh, yeah. Sure it wasn’t,” Lip scoffed, taking a comb through his unruly curls. “Don’t think she’ll wanna hear anymore of your excuses, Bud.” 

“You and Debbie hogged the bathroom. Wasn’t my fault I couldn’t get in there to brush my teeth,” Carl was sitting up now, pouting. 

“You wouldn’t have brushed them even if you could get in.” 

“Yeah, huh !” 

“Hey,” Gallagher was blocking his view of the other brothers. His hair was all disheveled, t-shirt all wrinkled and he looked like he could have gone for a few more minutes of sleep himself. “You feeling okay?” 

“What kind of question is that, dumb ass?” Mickey grumbled. He could barely move, his bladder was ready to burst after all the water he chugged last night, and his neck was getting a cramp from the way he laid all night long. How did he think Mickey was feeling? 

Ian shrugged. “Never broke my ribs before. Hey, I think we have an extra toothbrush, right?” He was talking to Lip, not Mickey. 

“Uh, yeah,” Lip responded. “Should be under the sink.” 

“Okay,” Ian was looking back at him now. “You’ll have to share my toothpaste until we can get you your own.” 

“Whatever.” 

Gallagher held out his hand to Mickey, who stared at it like it was diseased. “Come on,” he said. “Let me help you up.” 

“I don’t need help-” 

“Fine,” the red-head crossed his arms. “Then get up.” 

“I don’t take orders from anybody, Gallagher. Let alone you .” 

“Do what you want, Mickey,” Ian said, like he didn’t care. “But you might wanna hurry up if you wanna catch the bathroom empty.” 

As if on cue, Carl leaped off the bed, racing past his older brother to make it to the bathroom, his heels thudding into the floor. 

He must not have made it. There was some heavy pounding and yelling, too much for this early in the morning. 

“ Debbie! Open up, I gotta piss!” 

“I’m almost done !” The girl shrieked back. “Use the other one!” 

“Lip’s probably in that one!” 

Mickey’s head throbbed. All this screamin’ was making it worse. Ian, however, remained unfazed. Fucker was probably used to it. 

“Told you,” he said promptly. 

“Well, congratu-fucking-lations for being right, Gallagher,” Mickey rolled his eyes. 

“Just give me your hand,” Ian said, looking impatient. “I need to get ready for school too.” 

“Thought you told me to get up?” 

“You’re gonna hurt yourself that way,” Ian said matter-of-factly. “I don’t know much about broken ribs but I’m pretty sure you shouldn’t be getting up like that on your own.” 

The two of them held steady eye contact. It would’ve gone on much longer if Mickey wasn’t feeling an urge to piss. Grudgingly, he extended his hand for Gallagher to take. It was grasped, then another hand was placed on his upper back to gently pull him into a seating position on the edge of the bed. Mickey’s face came close to touching his shoulder, which set off an immediate feeling to flee . This was close, too close for two guys to be. 

His dad would say they looked like a couple of fags. 

“ Move ,” Mickey couldn’t, he couldn’t bolt out of here and be on his way so Gallagher needed to move his ass and back the fuck out of his space. He’d been too out of it to say anything last night, too out of it to realize how all of this would look to someone else watching. 

“What?” Ian frowned. 

“Back up!” Mickey barked. 

“What’s your problem?” Ian said, baffled. He did as Mickey said, though, taking a few steps backwards so there was a bit of distance between them now. 

Mickey took in all the air he could, his father’s face still hovering in and out of his vision. “Don’t need you in my space,” he rasped. 

“You didn’t say anything to me about it last night.” 

“Well, I’m saying it now!” Mickey retorted. Couldn’t Gallagher get the hint or did he have to spell it out for him? 

“Okay,” and that was all Ian said. It was hard for Mickey to figure out if he was annoyed or not. “Come downstairs when you’re ready. We have to go shopping so there’s only cereal. You can wear more of Lip’s stuff if you want.” 

Mickey decided against getting dressed. Going piss was the only thing that mattered at the moment. Gallagher was already gone, so he hobbled out of the bedroom to the hallway. That same bathroom he’d used last night was occupied. He didn’t give a shit, though, so he slammed his fist into it. 

“Carl, go away!” The girl, Debbie, shouted. 

“It ain’t your brother, Raggedy Ann. Now open up. You can finish twirling your hair around later.” 

There was silence on the other side. Some rustling too. Then the door opened, with Debbie peeking out. “Fiona says we’re supposed to wait our turn.” 

“Yeah, well I don’t see her anywhere, do you?” Mickey would’ve shoved her out if he could’ve. Not too hard ‘cause she was a girl, but he would’ve made her move nonetheless. 

She looked unimpressed. As unimpressed as a little girl could. 

“Look, unless you want me pissin’ all over the floor, you might wanna let me in.”

“Why can’t you use the other one?” She said, angst at having to give up the space. And for what? Mandy did makeup nowadays, but he didn’t think a kid her age would. Than again, it was sometimes hard to tell who was older and who wasn’t. 

“Too far away,” he said shortly. 

Debbie’s eyes swept up and down. “Fiona said you were hurt. Did you get into a fight?” 

Jesus, why couldn’t she just move aside and let him relieve himself in peace? 

“Something like that,” he muttered. 

The door opened all the way. “You should really do something about that eye,” she told him on her way out. “It looks pretty bad.” 

He slammed the door without acknowledging it. 

*

Mickey was the last one at the breakfast table. The Gallagher kitchen, unlike the Milkovich’s, was bustling with activity. Fiona sped around, putting together lunches, simultaneously talking to Lip about how short they were on the electric bill. Carl and Debbie were arguing over the milk-something about Carl using too much and now there wasn’t going to be enough to ration it out until the next grocery trip. And as for Ian, he was taking large bites of his cereal, contributing to the conversation about the electric bill every so often. No one noticed Mickey at first, so he stayed there on the last step, just watching them. 

And to catch his breath. 

“Take a seat,” Fiona said suddenly, cutting herself off, gesturing to one of the empty ones. “There’s cereal for breakfast.” 

“But not that much milk,” Debbie said with a disapproving glance at Carl. The boy flicked some of it at her, and out came a screech. “ Ew! Carl, don’t do that!” 

“Guys,” Fiona said sharply, coming over there. “Stop it. You-” She said to Carl, “eat. And you-” She said to Debbie. “Eat. You guys are not going to be late again.” 

Lip was finishing his glass of juice, swallowing. “Hey, I’m tutoring after school so I can probably cover the rest if you need me to.” 

“Yeah?” Fiona said, dumping a load of laundry in the washer. “That’s good. I don’t get paid ‘till next week.” 

“I can ask Linda for more hours,” Ian said, his back against the refrigerator, still scooping up spoonfuls of his breakfast. 

“I thought Kash was your boss?” Debbie remarked. 

Upon hearing the name, Ian’s gaze dropped. Huh . Guess having Towelhead for a boss wasn’t so nice after all. No surprise there. Dude’s a pussy if Mickey ever saw one. 

“Not really...” 

Even Lip was looking at Ian now, all pointed too. The red-head caught it, his expression unreadable. 

The fuck was that about? No one else paid much attention. 

“Danny Henderson says she’s a hard ass,” Carl said with a snicker. 

“ Hey ,” Fiona swatted the back of his head. “Danny Henderson also steals at every opportunity. Remember when he took our pictures to pawn them?” 

“He brought them back,” Carl shrugged. 

“Yeah. After Tony made him,” she shook her head. “I’m not surprised Linda’s a hard ass if she’s dealing with people stealin’ her stuff.” 

Gallagher had the audacity to raise his eyes, glancing at Mickey. He glared right back. 

Fuck him. 

"So, uh,” Lip gathered everyone's attention, though he only meant to get Fiona and Ian’s. “What are we doing with him? We’re just gonna leave him by himself all day?” 

“I gotta work,” Fiona said automatically. “Not takin’ a day off.” 

“I’ll stay home,” Carl said enthusiastically. 

“ No ,” Fiona shot that down. He slumped down in his seat, disappointed. 

“Why would you stay home?” Debbie demanded. “You’re only gonna watch TV.” 

“Will not!” 

“Will too! You’re not gonna take care of him!” 

“I’d do a better job than you would!” 

“I swear to God , both of you...” Fiona snapped. They quieted down, still shooting each other looks. “Shut up and eat your breakfast. God, why do I have to keep telling you this?” 

“I could stay with him,” Ian said quietly. 

“What? No. Ian, you’re not missing school-” 

“It’s only the second week back,” he said with a shrug, “we’re not doing much. I won’t be missing anything. Just tell them I’m sick and I’ll look after him.” 

Mickey wanted to tell him that he didn’t need to be looked after. Did they really have to talk about him like he wasn’t even here? These Gallagher’s were gettin’ on his fuckin’ last nerve and it hadn’t even been a whole day. 

Fiona wasn’t convinced yet, so Ian tried to reason with her some more. 

“We can’t just leave him alone. He might fall or something. He needs someone to be here if he needs help. Just let me stay out this week, Fi. Please.” 

“You’re gonna stay here the whole week?” Lip said, skeptically. “What about work? You gonna tell Linda you’re sick too?” 

“I don’t work until later,” Ian said. “You guys will be home by than.” 

“I don’t know, Ian,” Fiona said with a heavy sigh. “I don’t want you falling behind just to play nurse.” Mickey’s nostrils flared at the tone she used. 

“I won’t,” Ian promised. “Remember when I had chickenpox? I didn’t fall behind than and I was out for a week.” 

“Oh, yeah. I remember that. Frank tried to take you to the corner, pretending you had some incurable disease and begged for money,” Lip reminisced. 

Mickey’s lips twitched. Involuntarily. The thought of Gallagher being forced out there like that was kinda funny. Not that he’d tell him that. 

“Didn’t Daddy get chased home?” Debbie said. “By some lady?” 

“Yeah,” Lip said with a grin. “She figured out he was lying pretty quickly and set her dog on him for exploiting Ian like that.” 

“Didn’t the dog bite his ass?” Ian said. 

“Mhm,” Fiona said, smirking. 

“Poor Daddy. That must have hurt,” Debbie lamented. Her older siblings shared a look but didn't say anything. 

“Alright, Ian,” Fiona said, washing her own bowl in the sink. “If you want to stay, I'll call you out. But if you start falling behind, you're grounded until your grades are back up.” 

“Okay,” he agreed without protest. 

“He's going to need more pain meds. Make sure he eats too,” Fiona said and Ian nodded. “Debs, get Mickey a bowl and a spoon.” 

“On it,” Debbie got out of her seat to fetch them. 

Ian peeled himself off the fridge, setting his bowl down. “You want orange juice?” He asked. 

“Whatever,” Mickey muttered, the first thing he'd said since being down here. 

“Have fun staying with that all day,” Lip said to Ian, who elbowed him in the ribs. 

“Here you go,” Debbie chirped, giving him what Fiona said. “We have corn flakes or generic fruit loops. Which one do you want?” 

“Don't care.” 

“A little appreciation would be nice,” Fiona scolded him, shaking her head in disbelief. 

“He probably didn't sleep much,” Debbie brushed it off. “It's okay. I have a hard time sleeping with Liam sometimes. He cried a lot.  It's probably impossible with your ribs. I heard you broke them.” 

Too bad he didn't break his eardrums so he didn't have to hear her or any of these Gallagher’s yap on and on. 

“Just gimme the fruit loops,” Mickey said. 

Chapter Text

The house quieted down significantly once everyone left, almost eerily so. Besides the muffled crunching coming from Mickey, he’d not said one word now that they were alone. Ian couldn’t help but wonder if it was as awkward for the other boy as it was for him. This was really the first time either of them had been in each other’s presence without someone else around. 

His bottom lip was probably intended now with teeth marks. Should he say something or just keep to himself? Sitting across from Mickey, watching him eat, that was just setting up a disaster. Not that Ian could really blame him for that; he’d be just as quick to blow up if Fiona was staring at him the whole time, like she was anticipating something happening. 

It was for the best, for both of their sake, if he kept busy. So, Ian filled the sink with soapy water on one side, clear water on the other side, to take care of the breakfast dishes so there’d be an easier load tonight. While he got to work, he stole a glance or two at Mickey, taking note of how ravenous he was. Milkovich’s weren’t known for their manners, barring Mandy; still, Mickey was taking large Spoonfuls of cereal, the milk dripping back into the bowl, shoveling it into his mouth like he hadn’t eaten in days. Ian had to turn away, his face scrunching up in mild disgust.  

Jesus , he thought, submerging the dishes in the water. Some part of him chalked it up to Mickey being a Milkovich, and yet, there was something else there to suggest it was much more than that. When was the last time he ate? 

“The fuck’s wrong with you?” 

Sudsy water flew out, spattering on the counter and Ian’s shirt. He’d dropped a bowl, Mickey’s question startling him half to death. “Shit,” Ian muttered, dismayed at the wet splotch on his shirt. He wiped it dry, or tried to, with a rag that hung over the handle of the oven. 

“You on somethin’?” 

“What? No,” Ian said, puzzled. 

“You were staring at nothing,” Mickey pointed out. 

“I was just thinking,” he said, and he’d leave it at that. Mickey would become defensive immediately if he knew he was on Ian’s mind. “You, uh, want some more fruit loops?” 

The bowl was empty, the milk drained out of it. Even the juice was almost gone. Ian wasn’t stupid; it didn’t escape him that Mickey’s eyes had darted to the box of cereal. 

It was the wrong question to ask, he learned. He should’ve just let Mickey be, focusing on the task at hand, pretending he didn’t see anything if the other boy reached for the box for a second time. 

“Don’t need your fucking permission to eat.” 

This was going to be an extremely long day at this rate. 

“I know that,” Ian said, with all the patience he could muster up, “I was just asking-” 

“Fucking don’t .” 

Ian’s jaw clenched. Here he was, trying to be helpful and the guy was being a major douchebag. He didn’t have to offer Micey a place to stay! Didn’t have to plead with Fiona so she wouldn’t force him on his way back to his own house to heal up. But he did. He did so Mickey could have had the decency to show some gratitude. 

But all he did was notice Ian’s anger and use that as an opportunity to rile him up even more. 

“What’s the matter with you, Gallagher?” Mickey’s lip curled up into a smirk. 

Ian refused to engage with him, refused to make eye contact. He knew exactly what he was doing, and it wasn’t worth it. Ian paid closer attention to the dishes, focusing on a stained fork that wasn’t coming clean easily. 

“You ignorin’ me or somethin’?” Mickey did take the box again, but instead of pouring some more into the bowl like a civilized person, he dug in with his bare hand to pull out a handful and stuff into his mouth. “Fuck you too, then.” 

“Seriously?” Ian couldn’t just stay silent any longer. The whole family ate out of that box for fuck’s sake. He glowered at Mickey, who was unaffected by it. “You can’t use the damn bowl?” 

He knew he shouldn’t have acknowledged it, unintentionally encouraging him to continue. He knew that, but Ian couldn’t help it. Mickey pushed his buttons, and because of that, he had Ian right where he wanted him. 

Maintaining eye contact the whole time, Mickey did it again, just to piss him off more. 

Ian scowled, snatching the box away from him.

If he would have been less agitated, he wouldn’t have missed the way Mickey had flinched when that happened. 

 “You’re a fucking pig. God !” It was nothing to get overly worked up about, but he was tired and somewhat grouchy and now Mickey set him off. “Did anyone teach you any fucking manners? We all eat from this, you know.” 

Wanting to hit an injured person was probably on the list of things that were considered deplorable and morally wrong, but Ian really, really wished he could do it. 

Mickey was unbothered by the outburst, amused even. “Who pissed in your cheerios?” 

He wasn’t going to dignify that with an answer. Taking the tylenol, he placed the two tablets on the table, asking with forced politeness, “You want some more juice?” 

Mickey shrugged. “Whatever.” 

Well, he’d do it anyway. There was only about a fourth left in his glass. 

He went back to finishing up the dishes, blowing out puffs of air. Thankfully, Mickey didn’t antagonize him anymore, he must have gotten his fill for the time being. 

“Listen,” Ian started, not knowing where he was going with this, “I don’t want to argue with you. That’s not going to help your recovery.” He heard Mickey snort and acted like he didn’t. “Let’s just try to get along, okay?” 

It was meant to be a peace offering. A momentary truce, as this wouldn't likely extend once Mickey was out of the house. 

But he should have known that wouldn’t work on a Milkovich. 

“You think this is summer camp, Gallagher?” The bastard scoffed. “You think we’re gonna be sitting around a fire like a couple of girl scouts, holdin’ hands and singin’ songs? Get fucking real .” 

“Well, I’m sorry for trying to make the best of this, Mickey,” Ian spat, giving into the urge to respond, dishes be damned. “But Fiona isn’t going to let you stay if you act like this in front of her.” 

He wasn’t trying to use this as a threat to throw around, to assert some dominance over Mickey that most people could never have. It wouldn’t take much at all for his sister to dump Mickey on his ass outside without a second thought. 

It was a warning. A warning that Ian had a feeling he wouldn't take kindly to. 

Predictably, Mickey didn’t take it well. A look of fury came over him, and whether that was from what Ian said or the very real fact that he couldn’t simply storm off like he’d likely wanted to do-he didn’t know. 

“Guess you forgot what I said last night,” he said icily. “I fucking told you I don’t need your charity.” 

It was no use protesting that this wasn’t charity. He’d never see it unless he wanted to. Right now, he didn’t, so Ian left that little detail alone. 

Arguing with him wasn’t going to get either of them anywhere. As difficult as it would be, Ian just had to withstand whatever obscenities or remarks flung his way until the week, week and a half was over. 

In the meantime, he’d do what he, Lip and Fiona had to do when Carl and Debbie were small and misbehaving; not bring any attention to him when he was angry. If Mickey was anything like Ian’s younger siblings, he’d calm down when he’d see that Ian wasn’t going to acknowledge him until he was no longer worked up. 

Somehow, all the anger, the disgust, the urge to throw a punch to his smug face disappeared. Maybe it was because Ian could clearly see how pathetic Mickey looked sitting there; for all his bravado he put on, he was wearing the bruises and the discoloration on his face, he was dealing with the broken ribs and he’d been the one curled up in an alley in the dead of winter. 

It was really anyone’s guess what happened out there. 

“If you want to eat more, use a bowl,” Ian said, voice even and calm. “And try not to waste any. We have to get by with that until Fi goes shopping again.” 

Mickey expected another reaction, he noticed. He was staring at Ian suspiciously, waiting . 

“Do you need any help getting up the stairs?” Ian tried. “I’m gonna take a shower but I can help you up if you need it.” 

“Fuck no.” 

He wasn’t going to make any of this easy. 

“The TV’s there if you get bored,” Ian said nonchalantly, so Mickey wouldn't feel like he was giving him permission again. 

Mickey said nothing as Ian went up the stairs to head to the bathroom, not that he was expecting him to. 

*

“Do you wanna watch a movie?” Ian said when he was about halfway down the stairs that led to the living room. He’d figured Mickey would wander in there at some point, which he had, flipping aimlessly through the limited channels. 

Maybe he should have made his presence known by walking heavier so he didn’t startle Mickey as much as he did. The sound of Ian’s voice triggered a violent flinch, his head whirling around to meet his eyes so fast that he didn’t have time to pretend he never saw it. 

Didn’t have time to pretend he didn’t see the flash of pain in Mickey’s face either. 

“What the fuck do you want?” Mickey said angrily, a flush coming over his cheeks. 

Ian remained on the last step, rubbing the back of his neck. “I asked if you wanted to watch a movie. We can use the laptop. It’s old but it still works.” With it being this early in the morning, there probably wasn’t anything good on the TV. 

“Fine, whatever,” Mickey spat. 

Rolling his eyes, Ian went to fetch the thing, holding it at angle while typing in the password. The connection was shitty sometimes but it was better than nothing- not like they had much else to do. “Here,” he handed the laptop off to him after he clicked on one of the sites they frequented whenever they wanted to watch something without paying for it. 

“What the fuck is this for?” 

“You do know what a laptop is, right?” Ian deadpanned. Mickey’s scowl deepened. 

“Fuck you.” 

“Watch a movie or something. I’m sure you can find something you like,” Ian said with a shrug. “Unless you want the TV.” 

“Whatever. But you ain’t sittin’ with me.” 

“Wasn’t going to,” Ian scoffed. He had an upcoming algebra test to study for, this current unit they were on was kicking his ass. 

He might not be going to school right now but that didn’t mean he’d spend all this time doing nothing. 

While Mickey was preoccupied and quiet - thank God - he brought his backpack downstairs, spreading all his materials out, making himself comfortable on the floor. It did suck that he’d have to miss ROTC this week, he thought. 

“What the fuck are you doing?” 

Ian lifted his eyes, noticing that Mickey was staring at him like he’d lost his damn mind. “Homework,” he said, unable to keep the tiniest bit of sarcasm out of his voice. You’d know what that is if you actually went to school. 

At some point, Mickey unofficially dropped out. Ian was fairly sure there was supposed to be paperwork and whatnot to that kind of thing, but Mickey just brushed all that aside and stopped showing up, or so he’d heard. 

He wanted to say it was during Mickey’s own sophomore year, but he couldn’t be sure. Lip knew more than Ian did; after all, they were technically in the same grade despite the fact that Mickey should have been a senior by now but was previously held back. 

“I see that, dumbass,” Mickey sneered. 

“Then why did you ask?” Ian rolled his eyes, opening up his textbook to the middle of the book, going right to the examples at the bottom of the page. He thought that was the end of it- evidently, he was wrong. Mickey was peering over the laptop at him, his expression making it quite clear that he thought Ian was a dumbass. 

“You ain’t in school this week. Why bother?” 

“Don’t want to fall behind,” Ian responded without looking up at him. “I have an algebra test coming up.” 

“So?” 

“ So ,” he did look up this time, annoyed, “I’m shit at it. I failed the last one.” 

It occurred to him that they had a micro-normal conversation just now. Maybe Mickey realized it too; he went back to the laptop, choosing to ignore that Ian existed for now, which was perfectly fine with him. 

For the next half an hour to forty-five minutes, Ian worked through various examples, his frustration growing. He was making more mistakes and understood very little of what he was doing. Lip might have to explain it again, although that didn’t go over well the first time. His brother could whiz through the stuff easily, but he wasn’t the greatest at explaining it without sounding kind of like an asshole about it. 

Still, this was probably his best bet if he was going to get a better grade this time around. 

Would have helped if his concentration wasn’t broken either. The sudden noise of gunshots had Ian flinching, his pencil flying in the air, landing on the other side of the couch towards the kitchen. 

What the fuck? Ian’s heart was beating rapidly in his chest. But just as quickly as he was thrown into this startled, scared half to death state, he was taken out of it, and instantly annoyed. 

The noise came from the laptop. Mickey obviously found a suitable movie to watch, and wore this shit eating grin, all smug and satisfied. 

“You’re an asshole,” Ian spat. 

“You just found that out, Gallagher?” Mickey drawled. 

Of course he knew it. The whole Southside knew it. Ian huffed. “I’m trying to study. I don’t need you distracting me.” 

“Then find somewhere else to study, Pippy Longstocking,” Mickey said. “Ain’t like you’re studying much anyway with all that whining you’re doin’.” 

He’d made a few noises of frustration, yes but it wasn’t whining . Mickey was just tryin to rile him up once again . It was stupid, and definitely not worth acknowledging. 

“I wasn’t whining,” Ian muttered, unable to help himself. 

“Whatever you say, Gallagher.” 

*

Spending the day at home on a school day was not as exciting as Ian would have imagined it to be at one time. 

This much silence in the Gallagher household was a rare commodity.  Even in the dead of night the quietness didn’t compare to this; someone was snoring, sniffling or Liam woke up abruptly, crying loud enough that no one was getting anymore sleep unless you shoved a pillow on either side of your head to block out the noise. 

His school books were pushed to the side, shoved into his backpack for another day when his brain wasn’t mush from all the work he’d put it through. Mickey still occupied the family laptop, for once peaceful and not a disturbance so Ian let him be. Later, when noon struck, he wandered into the kitchen to make them both a grilled cheese sandwich for lunch. 

When it was all said and done, Ian handed the plate off to him with a simple, “Here.” 

He was given a stare in return, as if Mickey suspected the sandwich was poisoned. Then, he took it, stuffing a large bite of it into his mouth. “Don’t expect a thank you,” came from him, muffled with a few crumbs falling out. 

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Ian said dryly. He sat back in the armchair, legs crossed at the ankles, eating his own sandwich neatly in comparison. Every so often he’d look in Mickey’s direction out of curiosity mostly. This just wasn’t the kind of situation he ever imagined he’d be involved in. 

Not only that, but for some odd reason, he couldn’t find it in himself to look away from the injuries on his face. He wondered who’d done it, what led up to the brutal beating. It wasn’t hard to believe that Mickey might have run his mouth to the wrong person, but something else told him otherwise. 

“Can I ask you a question?” 

It was blurted out before the part of Ian’s brain could stop it with some fucking common sense. 

Mickey paused, no longer eating and his limbs going stiff. “What the fuck do you want?” 

He’d have to tread carefully, not because he thought Mickey’d have any strength to hurt him, but because he was combative as hell. “It’s about your-” He gestured towards his own face. Mickey’s eyes narrowed. 

“What about it?”

“What happened?” Ian really, really wanted to know. “Who hurt you?” 

“None of your fucking business,” Mickey said harshly. 

“Come on, Mickey, it’s just us-” 

“Fuck you! I don’t have to tell you a damn thing!” 

“I was just asking,” Ian blew out a breath, irritated that he had to have his head chewed off like that. He wasn’t trying to be overly nosy, anyone in his spot would have asked too. 

“Fuckin’ don’t ,” Mickey muttered in between his bites of grilled cheese. 

“Fine,” Ian didn’t even try to keep his voice pleasant anymore. “Are you gonna at least get dressed?” 

“Didn’t know there was a dress code around this shithole.” 

“Or shower,” Ian said, ignoring the quip. 

“The fuck are you tryin’ to say?” Mickey was immediately riled by the suggestion. 

Ian bit his tongue. He’d heard the rumors about Mickey not bothering to shower, hell , he’d seen the guy walk around with enough dirt on his face to know it was true. People like Karen Jackson remarked on his body odor, mostly by whispers that traveled down the hallways at school and through the streets. Although, his reputation was infamous enough that his lack of proper hygiene was the last thing anyone was thinking about. 

“I just meant because you’d been outside for a few days....” He trailed off. It was a bullshit excuse and they both knew it. “Look, if you don’t, Fiona will make you like she does to Carl.” 

He honestly didn’t smell too bad right now, and hadn’t when Ian was in closer proximity to him. 

Before Mickey could respond in some smart ass way, Ian added, “I can get some more of Lip’s clothes and you can change down here. I’ll even ask Mandy if she can bring you some of your own stuff tomorrow-” 

“No,” Mickey cut him off. 

“What?” 

“Don’t tell Mandy a fucking thing.” 

“Why?” Ian said, confused. Did he not want her to know where he was? He didn’t know why it had to be kept a secret. 

“Just don’t,” Mickey said through grit teeth. 

“Alright....But don’t you want your own clothes?” If Mickey was going to be here for the full week, week and a half, he’d be using more and more of Lip’s things. His brother hadn’t been too happy about it last night- he’d be even less thrilled about it recurring. “I know you don’t like wearing Lip’s stuff anyway-”

“ Jesus , give it a fucking rest, Gallagher!” Mickey exploded, immediately regretting it after when he grabbed at his chest, breathing through his clenched teeth. 

Ian had to really suppress the urge to call him out on it. 

“Fine,” Ian shrugged, finishing off the rest of his sandwich and getting back on his feet. “I’ll bring some clean clothes down for you. Change if you want. I don’t give a shit.” 

Mickey sneered. 

*

The clothes he’d draped on the back of the couch were still there when his brothers and sister trickled in through the door. 

Carl burst in first, the door slamming against the wall. Mickey flinched again, Ian caught that, and Lip was scolding their younger brother on his way in. 

“Jesus, Carl! Don’t do that.” 

But Carl paid no mind to him. He dropped his backpack on the floor, making a beeline for the kitchen to grab a snack. Lip rolled his eyes, then nodded once at Ian. 

“Hey.” 

“Hey,” Ian shut the TV off, setting the remote down. 

“How was-” Lip’s eyes darted to where Mickey was, then back at Ian. He, however, didn’t get a chance to say anything. 

“Fuck you asshole, I’m right here,” Mickey snapped. 

“Wasn’t talking to you,” Lip quipped right back. He shot Ian a sarcastic smile after that, shaking his head at the mess he’d voluntarily gotten himself into. 

Ian blew out some air, keeping the thoughts he had to himself while Debbie was the last one to come in, holding onto Liam’s hand. He caught sight of Ian, brightening up instantly. 

“Ean!” 

All of Ian’s annoyance melted away when his brother toddled over to him. “Hey,” he said with a slight laugh, picking Liam up and was rewarded with a wide, toothy grin. “How was your day?” 

“Not good,” Debbie said seriously, sliding her coat off. 

“Why?” Ian frowned. 

Lip poked his head out of the kitchen. “Some kid keeps pinching him and hits him with the blocks.” 

“What?” Ian’s eyes roved over him, looking for any obvious signs of injuries but seeing none. 

“And when Liam hit him back, the teacher put him in time out!’ Debbie said unhappily. “It’s not fair. He started it!” 

“They have one of those zero tolerance policies,” Lip added from the archway. “Completely useless and only serves to punish the victim.” 

Debbie nodded firmly. “Carl thinks he should’ve hit the kid back harder.” 

“He should’ve!” Carl’s voice echoed from the kitchen. 

“We don’t want Liam to get kicked out!” Debbie argued back. Mickey was practically in the middle of this from where he was sitting, and clearly didn’t appreciate having to listen to them go back and forth like this given his scowl. “He’ll have nowhere else to go while we’re at school!”

“They probably wouldn’t kick him out, Debs,” Lip interjected. “They’d probably have Fiona come in for a meeting but that’s about it.” 

“Besides,” Ian said, adjusting his hold on his baby brother, “what damage could he do, anyway? He’s not even two.” 

“I don’t know, he bites pretty hard,” Lip said wryly. “Remember when he made you bleed that one time?” 

Ian grimaced. Liam had stuck one of the extremely small plastic pieces that belonged to one of Debbie’s dolls in his mouth. He was the closest to him at the time, and tried to get it out before his brother could choke on it. Liam had struggled, Ian struggled, and he ended up with a bleeding fingertip and teeth marks. 

“If he ever does that again, you’re taking it out.” 

Debbie, no longer invested in the conversation about Liam, sat down on the small part of the couch that Mickey wasn’t currently occupying with his legs. He stared at her, like he couldn’t believe she’d just done that. “How are you feeling?” She questioned. “Do you need some more tylenol?” 

“Can I touch your face?” Carl returned to the living room, the question coming out with enthusiasm. 

“Why the fuck do you want to do that?” Mickey was uncomfortable, Ian realized, by both of them. He’d tensed when Debbie sat down, and that didn’t change when Carl came into the room. 

But why? Those two could be annoying, Carl especially, but they weren’t a threat or anything. 

“ Carl ,” Ian shot him a look of exasperation. “Why?” 

“I wanna touch his bruises,” Carl answered.  Ian bit back a groan. Lip smirked from where he stood, enjoying the show. 

“Go get a snack and do your homework.” 

“I don’t have homework,” Carl protested. 

“Oh, yeah?” Lip arched a brow. “You don’t, huh? So if I check your backpack-” 

Carl scowled deeply, grabbing his backpack off the floor with more force than necessary. “It’s just a stupid reading assignment.” 

“Well, make sure you do that stupid reading assignment,” Lip lightly smacked him upside the head. “And stop asking to touch people’s bruises. Find a hobby or something.” 

“One that’s slightly less psychotic,” Ian piped up, referring to the other, less savory things he got up to. Carl rolled his eyes hard , beckoned back into the kitchen by Lip, and only left the three of them there. 

Liam made a noise, which Ian chose to take as one of agreement. 

“Yeah, he needs a hobby, doesn’t he?” He said to his youngest brother. Liam laid his head on Ian’s shoulder, a tiny hand gripping his shirt. His lips tugged into a smile. These moments were special, not just for him but all of them. Liam was one of the few good things that came from Monica. One of the few things that weren’t completely fucked up. 

“Should we put him down for a nap?” Debbie said. 

“Nah, not yet. It’ll mess him up. We’ll keep him down here for a bit. Do we know when Fi’s coming home?” 

“Not until later,” Lip responded. “She took another shift. We’ll have to bathe Liam and put him to bed.” 

“I can do it,” Debbie offered. 

“Last time you did, the floor was all wet,” Ian pointed out. 

“That's because he wouldn’t stop splashing! I told him to stop.” 

“He just needs a little reinforcement sometimes, Debs,” Ian said. She nodded. 

“You know you never answered my question.” 

She was speaking to Mickey again. Ian was fairly sure he’d heard the other guy mutter under his breath about “Fuckin’ Gallaghers” or something along that line. 

“Fuckin’ fine .” 

If Debbie noticed his harsh tone, she didn’t remark on it. “And your ankle?” She asked. “I saw you limping earlier. If you need help getting around, you can lean on me. I’m stronger than I look.” 

“I don’t need any fuckin’ help,” Mickey shot out defensively. 

“But why?” She pressed. “It’s okay to ask for help if you need it.” 

Ian smashed his lips together to keep his snicker stifled. Debbie was embarking on a PBS kids special segment with the wrong person. He should put a stop to this before Mickey snapped at her too, but he was allowed a shred of amusement after the sorta shitty day he’d had dealing with Mickey’s bitchy attitude, to take in the priceless expression on the other guy’s face that wasn’t a scowl. 

If it’d been anyone else, Ian would have reminded himself that the person was in pain so of course they wouldn’t be in a particularly cheerful mood. But this was Mickey Milkovich and he was never in a cheerful mood so Ian didn’t feel too bad about it.  

“If Mickey wants help then he can ask for it, Debs,” Ian intervened. “How about you go get the bag of peas for him?” 

“I don’t need the damn peas.” 

Ian could have used some more patience. At least a little bit more so he didn’t throw the damn bag at Mickey’s face. “Your ankle’s swollen,” he said instead, using his head to gesture at it. It was indeed that way, not a whole lot but just enough that it was visibly noticeable. “Just take the peas and shut the hell up.” 

By some miracle, Mickey complied. Not without glowering at Ian but he couldn’t care less about that. Debbie brought back the peas which were snatched out of her hand and laid rather gently on the injured ankle. 

“What’s for dinner?” Carl asked. 

“Uh, I don’t know,” Lip could be heard rummaging through the fridge. “Looks like there’s hot dogs in here.” 

“Oh, let’s have those!” Debbie pranced into the kitchen. 

“Do we have to?” Carl bemoaned. “We had ‘em three times last week!” 

“You got any better ideas?” Lip said. When Carl didn’t have a response, he said, “I thought so.” 

Ian rubbed Liam’s back, glancing at Mickey. “You okay with hot dogs?” 

“What the fuck ever, Gallagher.” 

“Great,” he mumbled, walking away to where Lip was. “I’m gonna put you down now, Okay, Liam?” 

He lowered Liam to his feet, a hand on his shoulder until his brother walked off towards Debbie. 

He turned to Lip, voice hushed. Carl and Debbie weren’t listening, preoccupied with her trying to tell Carl how to do his homework, but he still didn’t want to chance them overhearing. Or Mickey himself for that matter. 

“Hey, you talk to Mandy today?” 

Lip was taking out the package of hot dogs, sparing Ian a brief look. “Not really.” 

“What do you mean not really?” 

Lip shrugged. “Karen wanted to see me.” 

“So you didn’t tell her that Mickey's here?” Ian asked and then after a thought occurred to him, added, “Or Karen?” 

“No,” Lip furrowed his brows. “Believe it or not but Mickey Milkovich is the last thing I’m talking to Karen about.” 

Talking was probably the last thing Lip was doing with Karen Jackson at all but Ian preferred not to think of his brother’s sex life to preserve his emotional wellbeing. “Well, make sure you don’t tell her.” 

“Who, Karen?” 

“ Mandy ,” Ian breathed out through his nose. “Mickey doesn’t want her to know he’s here.” 

“Why?” 

“I don’t know,” Ian said, leaning against the closed refrigerator door. “I offered to have Mandy get some of his clothes so he wouldn’t have to keep borrowing yours but he didn’t want to.” 

“Huh,” Lip murmured. “That’s weird.” 

“Yeah,” Ian thought of all the strange behavior he’d witnessed since this morning. “Yeah, it is.” 

*

Ian was ten minutes late to his shift. 

“You’re late,” came the clipped tone of Linda, her severe gaze falling on him from her spot at the front counter. Kash was nowhere to be seen. 

“Yeah,” Ian muttered, taking his coat off and balling it up so it could be stashed behind the counter. “Sorry. I got caught up after school.” 

“I’ll be taking it out of your pay,” Linda said sharply, shutting the register. “Don't let it happen again.” 

“I won’t,” Ian promised. He let his eyes wander around for a second. “Where’s Kash?” 

“Out. I had him take the boys to dinner,” she said briskly. 

“Oh.” 

“I'm keeping an eye on the store myself so my pathetic excuse for a husband doesn’t let it get robbed yet again,” Linda had taken a box to restock the ramen noodles. 

“Well, I haven’t seen Mickey come by and take anything lately,” Ian said. 

Linda stopped what she was doing so she could turn around and face him. “No, but his brothers came in last night.” 

“They did?” 

“They took over thirty dollars worth of merchandise!” she said with poorly concealed anger. “How does that even happen? It’s ridiculous. And Kash just let it happen. I don’t care if Terry Milkovich himself came into this store, you don’t let it happen without stopping them!” 

“Maybe he was just nervous,” Ian said. It wasn’t a lie. Kash was definitely intimidated by Mickey- he’d seen it on more than one occasion. 

“Don’t make excuses for him,” Linda narrowed her eyes. “He’s a grown man. He should be able to stop a teenage delinquent and his brothers.” When the box was empty, she went to dispose of it, her shoes clicking on the hard tiled floor. “He doesn't know it yet but I’m going to take care of this once and for all.” 

“What does that mean?” 

“Do you know how to use a gun?” Linda asked him point black. 

“Uh, yeah,” Ian wondered where this was going. 

“Good. If we’re going to protect this store then we’re going to be armed,” she said determinedly. “If Kash can’t stop it from happening with a gun then he’s more worthless than I thought. I’m going upstairs. If any Milkoviches come into this store, I want to know.” 

“You got it,” Ian watched her leave, then made himself comfortable at the counter. 

For a good hour or two, hardly anything happened. Customers came in and left, none of it resulting in theft. Nothing needed to be restocked or cleaned, Linda must have done that already. Ian was pretty bored. 

At last, though, his spirits lifted when Mandy came through the doors, her face morphing into a soft smile that was only for him. That smile used to come out in the early part of their friendship, back when she was attracted to him and even outright flirted with him. “Hey.” 

“Hey,” Ian grinned. 

“Didn’t see you at school today,” she said conversationally. 

“Yeah.... I skipped,” he said, which wasn’t technically a lie. He just didn’t elaborate on why that was. 

“Wish you would’ve told me,” she said. “We could’ve skipped together. You coming tomorrow?”
“No,” he said. “I’m gonna be out the rest of the week.” 

She was puzzled by this. “Why?” 

“I have to study for the math test. I’m shit at this unit we’re on,” Ian kept his back to her, needlessly wiping off the donut case so she couldn't see his face. 

“Oh,” Mandy sounded disappointed. He couldn’t blame her for that. Apparently, he was one of the few friends she had, if not the only friend she had besides Lip- although he didn’t know if those two counted as friends or just acquaintances. “Well, I’m not much better but we could study together if you wanted.” 

She was hopeful, and it tugged at Ian’s heartstrings. 

“Sure. Should we go to your house?” 

In the reflection of the door to the donut case, he saw Mandy stiffen for a split second. It disappeared, and she shook her head. “No. You don’t want to go over there.” 

Something in her voice had Ian looking right at her. “Why?” 

“What?” 

“Why wouldn’t I want to come over there?” Ian said confused, not unlike how she’d been a minute or two ago. 

This caught Mandy off guard, but she recovered quickly. “You know Iggy, right? My brother. He’s got a new girl of the week and they’ve been fucking every chance they get.” 

She rolled her eyes for emphasis, and someone else might have moved on without thinking about it. But Ian found that he didn’t quite believe her. It was hard to say why, hard to pinpoint what made him second guess her explanation. But it was there; something she was hiding for whatever reason. 

Should he call her out on it? 

Ultimately, Ian decided against it. It might not be a good idea. Besides, he didn’t want her storming out of here. She was livening up his shift, as they were the only people in the store at this moment. 

“Oh,” Ian said. “Okay.” 

She nodded, her gaze averting, landing on the rows of pre-packaged food. “We could try your house.” 

Then she would definitely know where Mickey was. “Or we could try the library,” he suggested, hoping he hadn’t been too fast to shoot that idea down. “It’ll be less crowded.” 

Thankfully, she shrugged, seemingly agreeable to the change of location. “Sure.” 

“Okay,” Ian relaxed. “Uh, I could head over there before my shift starts sometime this week if you want.” 

“Sure. Fine by me,” Mandy glanced around, as if to ensure they were alone. “Hey, can I ask you something?” 

“Yeah,” Ian said instantly. “What about?” 

“My other brother, Mickey...” She hesitated, “I know he steals from here and I was just wondering if he’s been around lately.” 

Oh . Ian wondered if she was going to bring it up. “Well, I haven't seen him lately...” 

Her face fell but it didn’t stay that way for long. “Oh,” she said, keeping up an air of nonchalance. 

“Why?” Ian said carefully. 

“It’s nothing,” she tucked a hair out of her face. “Mickey ran off or something and I was just wondering where he went.” 

“He did?” 

Was she lying or did she really not know what happened? Ian doubted that running off was all Mickey had done considering the state he was in. 

“Yeah. I don’t know why. I came back and he was gone. Dad thinks he’ll show up eventually and my other brothers aren’t concerned...” She trailed off. 

She clearly was. Underneath the tough exterior that everyone else saw, Ian was able to see a touch of anxiety for her brother. It made her look softer, more vulnerable. 

“Maybe your dad’s right.” In a week, nearly two, Mickey would leave and go home, but she didn’t know that. “Maybe he’ll turn up.” 

“Maybe...” She chewed on her lip. “It’s not the first time he’s done this.” 

“It’s not?” Ian’s interest was piqued. If that was true, maybe Mandy wasn’t lying and actually believed he’d run away. 

Mandy must have said a little too much given the slight widening of her eyes, and the deer-in-the-headlight look that took over her face. “It’s nothing,” she said quickly. “Him and our dad get into it sometimes...so Mickey runs off for a few days and comes back.” 

Ian didn’t want her to think he was judging. He didn’t have a right to when his own family was just as fucked up. “Sometimes I feel like running off when Frank’s around,” he said. “But Fiona would have my ass if I did.” 

Mandy leaned against the counter, watching Ian do absolutely nothing and then changing the subject. She had enough of talking about Mickey and their home life, which he understood, honestly surprised she’d said that much. “So,” she said, “where’s your forbidden lover at?”

At the mention of Kash, a conflicted feeling settled into his stomach. “He took his kids out for dinner.” 

She hummed. “Damn. No fucks for you tonight.” 

A while back, Ian would have argued that it wasn’t just fucking. He’d felt something so much more than that, and would have gone down fighting to  take out anyone that didn’t think they had this... connection. 

But now ? He didn’t know, so he stayed quiet. 

Mandy fussed with the polish on one of her nails. “Isn't it kinda weird to be banging a guy with kids?” 

She wasn’t looking at him, but Ian looked at her.
“Do you think it is?” 

She thought about it. “Kinda. Seems a bit fucked up.” 

Mandy was the second person to think so, but unlike Lip, Ian didn’t have to worry that she’d go and snitch on him. Still, it weighed on him in ways that he didn’t like. The conversation, or rather argument, he’d had with his brother came back full force. 

He’d been trying not to think about it. 

“Hey, do you want a donut?” He asked, plastering on a smile and dropping the subject altogether. 

“Yeah, sure,” Mandy responded, and that was that.

Chapter Text

Mickey was itching for a cigarette. It’d been too many days without one. That first night on the streets, he’d stolen a pack from some guy that came out of the convenience store. He should’ve smoked them wisely, not in a day and a half like he did. Now he had no money, no cigarettes and Lip Gallagher was driving him up the fucking wall tapping his pencil against his notebook like that. 

Jesus, was he ever gonna stop? 

Better yet, why was he down here doing his homework anyway? There was a desk where the bottom bunk should’ve been in his bedroom. Yet, here he was, watching the television while writing one of them stupid ass essays and annoying the fuck out of Mickey. 

He didn’t know what was worse around here; him, the girl that kept askin’ if he needed fuckin’ help all the time or the psycho kid. Even Gallagher himself was more tolerable. Least it was fun riling him up. Easy, too. 

“You seriously gotta do that shit?” Mickey said after one too many taps . He was on the couch again like he had been so he could sprawl out comfortably. Lip was on the floor, the coffee table used as his makeshift desk. 

“What?” Lip hadn’t even fuckin’ heard him. Too focused on the damn TV. He looked at Mickey cluelessly. That just irritated him more. 

“I said -” Mickey let out a deep, hacking cough. It started off as happening here or there, but over the course of the past day and a half, it was growing more frequent. When it was all finished, he was breathless, and his eyes had watered too. “-you seriously gotta do that shit?” He hated how weak and crackly his voice sounded. Worse, Lip’s gaze had turned critical, like he was analyzing Mickey thoroughly. 

“You’ve been doing that a lot lately.” 

“No shit,” Mickey said, voice clearer now. 

“I can get him some water,” the She-Gallagher piped up outta nowhere. She’d been working in the kitchen with Fiona to prepare dinner. 

“Yeah, good idea, Debs,” Lip said. 

“I don’t need any fuckin’ water,” Mickey grumbled. Lip rolled his eyes. 

“You need to coat your throat. I’m tired of hearing you cough so much.” 

Asshole , Mickey thought as Lip went back to his essay. He couldn’t stand this guy, always thinkin’ he was so fucking important because he was smart and probably gonna go to fucking college. Fuck him. 

Debbie was back, holding out a glass of water for him. “Here you go.” 

He yanked it away, spilling some of it on the couch. This prompted Lip to scold him for his carelessness. 

“Hey, be careful with that. We don’t need you ruining the couch.” 

Just as Mickey was about to snap, Debbie defended him. 

“It was only a little bit. Besides, Carl’s done worse. Remember when he spilled grape juice?” 

Lip must have known this wasn’t worth pursuing an argument for. He started writing again, nearing the end of his page. 

As for Mickey, he took a sip of the water which was - not that he was about to admit it - refreshing on his throat. 

He wasn’t used to anybody coming to his defense like that. His brothers would sooner blame him just to get out of the line of fire when it came to their dad. Debbie, though, hadn’t thought much of it. In fact, he was spared having to say anything in return because she was already on her way back to the kitchen. 

So he settled for shifting his focus back on the TV. It was some shitty program Lip put on after he snatched the remote while Mickey hobbled to the bathroom. There was nothing else for him to do. God, he wished he’d had his phone with him, at least it would give him something else to do. Carl had the family computer, so Mickey was out of luck there. He was supposed to be working on something school related but Mickey saw past the bullshit excuse. 

Even Gallagher wasn’t here. He was working, probably near the end of his shift. So he’d heard, they’d all be having dinner together tonight so they were waiting on him to get back. 

Mickey had bit back a snarky remark when he heard Fiona informing them all of this, certain that Lip had told her how dinner had gone last night. They hadn’t waited for Ian to get back, while her own shift ran a little longer so Lip took care of the cooking with Debbie assisting. 

When it came time to actually eat, Mickey had point blank refused to move from his spot on the couch. He was in too much fuckin’ pain, too fuckin’ tired, and the last thing he wanted was to sit in those hard ass chairs next to any of them chatty Gallaghers. 

“Hey, are you coming in here?” Lip asked, hanging halfway out of the kitchen. 

“Fuck no.” 

Lip rolled his eyes. “Fine. Stay there.” 

He’d assumed he’d be getting a plate brought to him, so he waited. Nothing ever came. He heard the utensils hitting the plates, the raised voices of the younger Gallaghers and Lip directed Carl to stop dissecting his hot dog and just eat it. 

Where the fuck was his plate? 

“Ay!” He barked, even though it quite literally pained him to do so. Mickey had to stifle a cough that got stuck in his throat.

His shout had the table going quiet. 

“What do you need, Mickey?” Lip said. There was some obvious forced politeness going on, he fucking heard it. 

“Where the fuck is my food?” 

There was no immediate response. “I didn’t think you wanted anything,” Lip said. Mickey didn’t have to see him shrug, he heard it in the tone. 

“When the fuck did I say that?” 

“ You said you didn’t want to come here, I thought you weren’t hungry.” 

Bunch of fucking bullshit. 

From there, it didn’t go well. He’d ordered somebody to get him a fucking plate, didn’t specify the She-Gallagher but that’s what she did and of fucking course Lip had to open his damn mouth about it. 

“Hold up, Debs,” Lip said. There was shuffling in the other room, as much as Mickey’d rather not see the dickwad’s face, here he was in front of him. “Look, for some reason, Fiona’s letting you stay here but that doesn’t mean you get to be an ass. Show some fucking appreciation, as hard as that might be for you.” 

Mickey wasn’t going to stand this asshat talking to him like that. But in that moment, he’d been too clouded with anger to remember his injuries, standing up too quickly, nearly falling on the coffee table from the oncoming dizziness. Lip of all people had to catch him, hands pressing too firmly on his hurting ribs. 

“Fuck!” Mickey had cried out. He’d deny it if anyone ever brought up that his eyes had welled with tears. “Fuck!” 

“Shit, sorry!” Lip was genuinely remorseful but Mickey didn’t give a damn. 

“Is he okay?” Debbie and Carl were watching from the kitchen. She was worried, the little psycho was not. 

“Is he gonna die?” 

“What? No. Go eat your dinner and make sure Liam’s eating his.” Lip was trying to ease Mickey back down on the couch. “Just sit for a minute, Mickey.” 

“Fuck you!” Fuck this whole shitty situation. He didn’t even want to be here. He just wanted to be back in his own room in his own damn clothes and not have Lip Gallagher’s sympathy. He didn’t have to be down here anymore. “Get the fuck outta my face!”
“Where are you going?” Lip called when he was nearing the staircase. “You really shouldn’t be doing that without help.” 

Mickey raised his arm, flipping him off. 

He had a feeling Gallagher was going to be bitching at him for what happened. But to his mild surprise, the guy didn’t say a word during the time they were alone earlier. 

Thank God . 

“What’s for dinner?” Carl came bounding down the stairs, just in time for two perfectly in-sync shouts of “ Carl!” from Fiona and Lip. He shut the laptop lid loudly, setting it on the coffee table. 

“Spaghetti,” Fiona said, the wooden spoon she was using clunking against the metal pot. “And don’t use your fingers to eat it this time. You have a fork, use it.” 

“And don’t be launching noodles at anyone,” Lip added. Mickey nearly smirked, reminded of his own dinner table shenanigans he used to get into with Mandy. 

At the reminder of his sister, a huge weight settled in the depth of his stomach. It was fuckin’ stupid. Not like they’d been apart before. He wasn’t that close with her, fuck you very much. 

But she usually knew what happened, not like this time. 

“Lip, can you set the table?” 

“Yeah, I’m on it.” 

Now alone, Mickey scanned the room for the umpteenth time. He wiggled his ankle, moving it around but had to stop as it made him wince. 

It was still swollen, and had a bruise that wrapped all the way around. Walking on it last night had done him no favors, now it hurts a lot more. Ian musta known that, he’d been shooting Mickey pointed looks that were deliberately ignored. 

Speaking of the fucking redhead, he came through the door, a heavy gust of wintery wind following him. He shivered, stomping his feet on the worn out mat to dislodge any show from the bottoms of his shoes. “Jesus, it’s cold!” 

He’d slid off his coat by the time he came around the other side of the couch. “Hey,” Ian dropped into the armchair. “How’s your ribs?” 

“Really, that’s what you want to talk about?” 

“We don’t have to,” Ian said, eyes drifting over to the TV. “We can talk about whatever you want instead.” 

Of fucking course it was a trap. Mickey didn’t want to talk to any of these shitheads anymore than necessary. Even if he got pleasure in bothering Gallagher. He was too pissed right now. 

“Go fuck yourself.” 

“I should,” Ian sighed, stretching his legs out. “I need it.” 

It was unexpectedly funny. Mickey turned his eyes on the wall, staring so hard he could have burned holes in it, all to suppress that urge to laugh. 

And that pissed him off even more . 

Then, because apparently Gallagher didn’t get the fucking memo , he went on to talk about his day like Mickey had asked. “Linda was a bitch. You know she docked money from my pay for being late yesterday? I mean, it’s not like I’m late all the time. That was the first time it’s ever happened and she was still giving me grief about it today.” 

Did it ever occur to him that Mickey didn’t give a shit? 

“I think she’s just mad at her husband,” Ian’s volume had decreased significantly, and he was now muttering to himself. Then, he looked right at Mickey, who didn’t have to take a guess as to where this was going. “You really shouldn't keep stealing from there.” 

“The fuck you gonna do about it?” 

Gallagher shrugged. “Nothing probably.” 

“Then shut the fuck up,” Mickey snapped, his words starting to cut off at the end by a particularly rough cough. 

“Dinner’s ready,” Fiona called. 

Rising back onto his feet with a groan, Ian stretched his arms, coming to stand by the end of the couch. “You want any help or you got it on your own?” 

“Jesus Christ, do I look like a fucking cripple to you?” 

“You really want me to answer that?” Ian deadpanned. 

“I swear to God, I’m gonna-” 

“Fuck me up?” Ian finished for him, passing by the couch altogether. 

Motherfucker , Mickey thought, hands curling into fists, wishing he could wrap them around the asshole’s neck. 

The table was brimming with chaos just like at breakfast yesterday, only now it was worse that everyone was much more awake. 

“Carl, stop!” Debbie said shrilly, dodging the noodle Carl was waving towards her threateningly so he wouldn’t get any sauce on her sweater. 

“ Carl ,” Fiona said, exasperated. She’d been scooping some pasta onto the highchair for Liam. “Stop it and eat or you can go to your room.” 

The kid did stop, but he grinned so Mickey could tell he wasn’t taking that seriously. “But she makes it so easy .” 

“I do not!” Debbie said instantly. Jesus, she had lungs like Mandy did. 

“Hey,” Fiona said warningly, looking at both of them. “I don’t want to hear it. Eat your spaghetti and shut up.” 

“Yeah, guys come on. I think I found a way to crack into the neighbor’s Netflix. We can watch a movie after dinner if you guys behave,” Lip said, twirling around some pasta on his fork. 

“What kind of movie?” Debbie asked eagerly. 

“Uh, I don’t know. We’ll see.” 

The only available chair was next to Gallagher at the end by the back door. Even more unfortunate, much as he’d rather stalk upstairs to get away from these people, he was fucking starving. He could’ve devoured the whole pot, probably. S’what happens when ya go without eatin’ for a while. 

“You want anything to drink, Mickey?” Fiona briefly looked up from her own plate. 

“Sure,” he mumbled. “Whatever.” 

“Ian, could you get him some juice?” Gallagher was already up, getting a glass down from the cabinet. 

“Is grape okay?” Ian asked casually, as if he wasn’t being a jackass back there. 

Jesus, he just wanted to eat in some damn peace. “It’s fine,” he said, not bothering to reign in his aggressive tone. 

Ian set the glass down, returning to his seat. But not before muttering, “Asshole,” under his breath. 

Did this dumbass think that Mickey couldn’t hear him? 

Than again, Ian side-eyed him a couple of times so Mickey figured he’d known exactly what he was doing. Fucking asswipe. 

Whatever. He waited for the pot of pasta to come his way but everybody was too busy being fucking chatty cathy’s to notice that his plate was still empty. 

“Ay, gimmie that pot,” he demanded. 

This effectively stopped some of the conversations and chaos going on. 

“You know, we taught the younger kids to say please and thank you if you want something,” Lip said pointedly. 

“Why don’t you go fuck yourself?” Mickey shot back. 

“ Hey ,” Fiona got in the middle of it and she was not happy. “Enough of that. If you can’t act like a civilized person and learn to ask, then leave the table until you can.” 

It got kind of quiet again. 

Carl was snickering, saying, “Uh oh,” under his breath. Debbie glanced over at him waiting to see what he’d do. And the other boys continued to eat, saying nothing but their expressions saying everything. 

As for Mickey, he was not embarrassed but there was definitely some other fucking feeling setting in. Back home, he didn’t get scolded for this shit. Nobody cared, not that they were having fuckin’ family dinners together anyway. 

He fuckin’ wished he didn’t have to take this shit. But he also wasn’t an idiot and knew it was better in here than being out there. So he stayed put, shifting as much as he could even though there was no fucking point. No matter how he sat or laid, it was fucking painful. 

“Alright then,” Fiona was satisfied. Fucking smug ass bitch. “If you want some then ask for it nicely .” 

There was a noise across the table from fucking Lip of course. He’d tried hiding his laugh with a cough. Mickey should just stab him with his fucking fork and get it over with. 

“Fine ,” Mickey sneered. “Gimme the pot...please.” 

Fiona rolled her eyes but left it alone, Thank God. Ian was the one who passed the pot along to him. 

As Mickey was plopping some spaghetti on his plate, the conversations started back up again. 

“Did you hear we’re getting more snow tomorrow,” Debbie said to no one in particular. 

“Maybe they’ll cancel school,” Carl grinned. 

“We could offer to shovel the sidewalk for money!” Debbie was getting excited. 

“Hold up you two,” Fiona said with a laugh. “It hasn’t even started yet and you’re already making plans.” 

“Better wait to see what happens,” Lip added. “Could always shift and not give us much.” 

“But if it does, I want in,” Ian said. 

“That’s not fair!” Carl protested. 

“You already have a job,” Debbie pointed out. “We have nothing.” 

He laughed, taking a bite of his food. 

“God, I hope we don’t get anymore,” Fiona didn’t share their enthusiasm. “I almost slipped going to work today.” 

“Damn, you okay?” Lip was wiping some sauce from around his mouth. 

“Yeah, I’m fine besides almost falling on my ass.” 

The voices were blurring together, the laughter. Mickey caught himself thinking, gripping his utensil tighter. 

It wasn’t like this at the Milkovich house. Terry would be down the table, crumbs falling from his mouth as he shouted at one of them for their incompetence. The beep, beep of the microwave, shrill screaming from Mandy if one of their brothers tried swiping what she’d made for herself. Beer bottles cracking open, pounds of meth and money taking up most of the table. 

Despite his intense hunger he’d suffered through, his appetite all but vanished. 

“Who’s turn is it for dishes?” Debbie asked. 

“Carl’s,” Ian answered, his smirk poorly concealed. 

“Aww , man ,” Carl whined. 

“You better do them, Carl,” Fiona pointed her fork at him. 

“Yeah, and use soap this time,” Lip said. 

“And dry them,” Debbie said with distaste. “It’s so annoying picking up wet stuff.” 

Carl grumbled, crossing his arms. “I wish Liam was old enough to help out.” 

“I wish you could help out without complainin’ about it,” Fiona said dryly. Lip and Ian laughed. 

“She’s got a point,” Gallagher said. 

“Shut up,” Carl threw a noodle right at his face. 

“ Carl! ” Fiona said, annoyed. “Jesus Christ, just one meal-” 

Mickey, strangely enough, couldn’t help but be entertained by the whole thing. He watched Ian out of the corner of his eye as he wiped off the sauce that spattered over the bridge of his nose. 

“Permission to kill Carl and bury him in the backyard?” 

“Permission granted,” Lip and Fiona said simultaneously. Carl protested this while Debbie laughed at his misfortune. 

*

Mickey gripped the sides of the sink so hard his hands went pale, more so than they already were. 

He was breathless, gasping. He needed some fucking air, needed it now but that was the worst cough yet. 

The ache in his chest right where his ribs were intensified. It was no longer even just an ache anymore, but an almost unbearable throb . 

Mickey squeezed his eyes to block out the pain. If it weren’t for him holding on, he would’ve fallen by now. 

Someone knocked on the door. He was occupying the downstairs bathroom, the other one too far away for him to go up there. 

Jesus, couldn’t he just have a minute to himself? 

“Give me a-” Mickey made the mistake of leaning down, head nearing the faucet, the searing pain was worse, nearly making him fucking whimper. “Give me a fucking minute!” 

“It’s Lip,” came the voice on the other side. Fucking great. Just the asshole he wanted to deal with. “You, uh, alright in there?” 

Every last one of Mickey’s nerves were plucked. He was in too much fucking pain, was too fucking tired and lacked any kind of patience to handle stupid fucking questions. “Fuckin’ fine ,” he wheezed.

There came a pause. Maybe the dickwad left. God, he hoped so. 

“Okay,” Lip responded in that know-it-all voice Mickey honest-to-God hated . “Well, we’re gonna go outside in the snow but Ian’s staying inside so if you need anything, holler for him.” 

Yeah, fat fucking chance of that happening. 

Mickey had to keep his hand on the sink to steady himself as he sat down on the toilet, lid pushed down. He breathed in and out, slow and shallow. If he did it too deeply, it hurt like a motherfucker. 

There was a lot of noise all at once, he jumped, hissing under his breath at the pain it caused. Heavy footsteps pounded into the floor, it was Carl and Debbie on their way out. Lip and Fiona followed them, the faint voice of Fiona instructing them to wear their hats and shit. 

He leaned back, just sitting there, not doing anything else. His ears picked up on more footsteps as they were accustomed to doing in his own home. These weren’t accompanied by any other so Mickey quickly deduced it had to be Gallagher either coming into the kitchen for some reason or other, unless he was here to check up on him . 

Just give him some fucking peace. Why the hell did all these Gallaghers keep askin’ if he needed any goddamn help? 

He waited, sittin’ there some more and- 

Crash! 

He’d sprung up, pushing himself into the corner, no matter how much his body protested at the sudden movement. 

Mickey knew that sound. He was all too familiar with it, the noise having been around his whole life. 

Broken glass meant a broken beer bottle. A broken beer bottle meant that his pops was shit face drunk. 

Somewhere along the line, reality faded away, bringing him back to that house on Trumbull in that dingy living room. The stench of cigarette smoke and the stale alcohol on Terry’s breath was practically under Mickey’s nose. 

Whatever was going on out there, muffled to Mickey’s ears like he was plunged underwater, seemed to fade away. Terry - Terry was here, hovering above his bed in the darkness, wielding a gun. The cold metal was against his temple, harsh words that were said through clenched teeth and a beating heart inside of him that hammered against his rib cage. 

He remembered; felt the searing pain from his father’s belt bearing down on him again and again, enraged screams filling the air, spittle spraying down on him. 

Mickey was powerless to all of this, and a fear nestled itself in him, a fear that ran bone-deep, that’d been there for as long as he could remember. 

Fear that was ever present, that never really went away even when he was out bashing the twinks and anyone who got in his way. 

“ Shit ,” someone on the other side sighed in mild annoyance. 

That one little word brought him back down to earth, steadied him. Took him a second to register the voice but when he did, it slowly brought the air back into Mickey’s lungs. 

Gallagher. He was still inside. Must have dropped something. 

And Mickey - he wasn’t back home, wasn’t cowering under Terry. Didn’t have his arms up to cover his face, curling up his body to protect himself as much as possible. 

The Gallagher bathroom was coming back into his vision once more. 

“Fuck,” he whispered, panting. 

*

He couldn’t have said how many minutes had passed since he’d first gone in there. 

Mickey’s legs were loose, dangerously wobbly for someone who was already injured. Gallagher was still cleaning up the shattered glass when he got out, struggling to get the tiniest pieces that were there amidst the puddle of juice. 

He caught sight of it on his way by - a glass. Not a beer bottle. A glass, nothing more. 

Even so, there was still a swirling wave of nausea that threatened to make him upchuck all the spaghetti he’d eaten. He breathed out deeply, regretting that immediately at the stab of pain that hit him. 

Then came another cough. 

Gallagher’s head bobbed up, uncertainty clouding his freckled face. “You okay?” 

“Fuckin’ fine,” Mickey said thickly. 

“You were in there for a while...” 

Jesus Christ. “I took a shit. You wanna know more?” He shot back. No fuckin’ way would he let Gallagher know what happened in there. 

“I’ll pass,” Ian carefully picked up what he could dispose of in the garbage. “Everyone else went outside.” 

“I know. Philip told me,” Mickey grunted. “Left you in here to fuckin’ babysit me.” 

“It’s not really babysitting,” Gallagher said offhandedly. “I didn’t want to go back out anyway. I was freezing my ass off on the way back home.” 

“Whatever.” 

Ian tossed a wet rag on the puddle now that all the glass was picked up, using his foot to move it around to soak up all the juice. “Listen, I’ll be leaving a little earlier tomorrow.” He slowly met Mickey’s eyes. Instantly, Mickey was on guard. 

“So fuckin’ what? The fuck you tellin’ me for?” 

“I’m meeting up with Mandy,” Ian said, trying to gauge his reaction. “We’re meeting up at the library to study for that math test. But you don’t have to worry, I’m not going to say anything to her.” 

“What the fuck ever, man. I don’t give a shit what you do.” 

Except, he did. He’d tensed, already imagining Gallagher screwing up by trying to fucking help him or some shit by opening his big, fat fuckin’ mouth. 

“I won’t,” Ian repeated, firm. Then, quieter, he said, “She asked about you yesterday.” 

A sharp pain from his ankle reminded Mickey of that injury too. He needed to sit down, unfortunately that meant it’d have to be the table. He didn’t think he could make it to the couch at the moment. 

After he’d lowered himself down, he realized Gallagher was waiting on him to respond. 

“So what? Mandy always sticks her nose in my fucking business.” 

“ Mickey ,” Gallagher’s face was pinched in disapproval like he was his damn mother. “She’s worried about you. She asked me if I’ve seen you.” 

“What’d you say?” Mickey demanded. He remembered that conversation from yesterday, him wanting Mandy to bring some of Mickey’s clothes. 

“That I haven’t seen you lately,” Ian answered honestly. Mickey didn’t completely buy it, staring at him suspiciously. “You said you didn’t want her to know so....” He shrugged. 

“Figured you’d run your mouth like a little bitch and tell her anyway.” 

Ian rolled his eyes. “I can keep a secret.” He opened up the cabinet back up, taking out another glass. Mickey watched him pour in some more grape juice then set it down in front of him, placing the bottle of tylenol beside it. “You forgot to take some more.” 

“What are you, my fuckin’ nurse now?” 

Whatever Gallagher would have said, it was forgotten about when the front door was pushed open. He cursed, “Fuck,” and went to take care of it. From where he sat, Mickey could see nothing but he only had to wait a second more to hear the commotion that came from there. 

“Ian, my boy,” came the slurred voice of Frank Gallagher. “You’ve come to greet your old man.” 

Mickey was familiar with Frank, practically everyone on the Southside was. He was infamous, although not as much as the Milkovich’s were. They’d hardly talked face-to-face, Terry made it pretty clear that he wasn’t to fraternize with him. 

Shit , his dad. If Frank knew he was here, Terry would inevitably find out and then Mickey would be royally fucked . 

Panic surged through him, eyes darting around for somewhere to go. He didn’t care if this was a cowardly as fuck move, if Terry find out, he would kill Mickey without a second thought. He’d already tried. 

He hobbled up a couple of the stairs. If need be, he’d go further to the bedroom he was staying in. From there, he could hear Ian arguing with Frank. 

Ian sighed heavily. “You can’t be here, Frank. You have to go.” 

“You can’t talk to me like that! This is my house,” Frank was getting louder, and from what little Mickey could see without being seen himself, waving around a beer bottle. 

“You haven’t been here in weeks,” Ian pointed out. 

“I’ve been out earning myself a livable wage in this wretched economy, not that any of you ungrateful freeloaders could say the same.” 

Ian ignored that. “Fiona’s not going to be happy you’re here.” 

“What your sister fails to realize is that without your dear old papa here, none of you would have this humble abode that you see before you,” Frank said with exaggerated movements of his arms. “I am the reason you’re not stuck begging on those cold streets. Where is my appreciation? Where is my thank you? ” 

Mickey flinched when the back door swung open. Lip was shivering, brushing off snow from his mess of curls. He didn’t notice that Mickey was there. “Hey, Ian. Do you know where the-” He stopped, staring at Frank. “Shit. What’s he doing here?” 

“He forced his way in,” Ian said, resigned. “And he won’t leave.” 

“I don’t have to!” Frank whined. “Since when do the children get to order around the patriarch?” 

“When the patriarch is a drunken asshole who doesn’t give a shit about the children he’s supposed to be raising,” Lip retorted. “Get the fuck out, Frank. Don’t make us throw you out.” 

There was some noise - Frank was stumbling. “I’d like to see you try,” he rambled. “You don’t have the guts to do that to your own father.” 

Someone sighed, Mickey thought it might’ve been Lip. 

“Come on,” Lip said to Ian. 

Silence, then there was scuffling, incoherent yelling from Frank. The door was reopened, scratches on the wood, shoes squeaking on the floor, damp from the melted snow Frank had dragged in. 

“You can’t do that! I am your father! ” 

“Jesus Christ, Frank. Just go!” 

“Almost got him,” Ian said, voice tinged with frustration. “Just push his fingers. Like that-” 

They finally got rid of him. Frank was shoved back out into the cold, the door slammed shut and immediately locked. 

Mickey slowly came down those couple of stairs. Ian had plopped onto the couch while Lip stood next to it. The brothers shared a look, one that suggested this clearly wasn’t the first time they’d had to deal with Frank like this. 

“Where’d you go?” Ian noticed him. 

“Fuck off, Gallagher.” 

“Were you hiding from Frank?” Lip said with traces of amusement on his fuckin’ punchable face. 

“Were you?” Ian wasn’t on the verge of laughing like his damn brother, just curious. 

“I wasn’t hiding, dickwards,” Mickey snapped. “Just don’t need Frank runnin’ his fuckin’ mouth.” 

“I don’t think Frank gives a shit about you, Mickey,” Lip rolled his eyes. To Ian, he said, “I’m going back out. I’ll let Fi know he was here.” 

“Okay,” Ian replied. “What were you going to ask me when you came in?”

Lip was almost to the back door when he said, “Carl couldn’t find his hat. Fiona wanted me to ask if you’d seen it.” 

“He probably left it at school.” 

“Probably,” Lip went back out, leaving them there. 

Mickey’s hand flew up to his ribs when more pain shot through him. “Move,” he ordered. Gallagher moved his legs, swinging them over to make room. Sharing a couch with the guy wasn’t what he wanted, last thing he’d rather do actually, but he had to sit down for some fuckin’ relief. 

He could tell Ian was itching to ask him another question. 

“Get the fuck on it with it.” 

“What?” Ian said, surprised. 

“You wanna ask another fucking question. Just do it, Gallagher.” 

“Okay...” Ian licked his lips. “Do you not want Frank to know you’re here for the same reason you don’t want Mandy to know?” 

Mickey wanted to knock him out on principle for trying to pry. 

Not that it was any of his damn business but no . Had nothin’ to do with that. 

Mandy wouldn't go runnin’ to their dad to tell him where Mickey was, but that didn’t mean she needed to know. It was just for the better that way. 

“No,” he said shortly. 

Chapter Text

When Ian entered the library, he found Mandy already there. She was seated at a table in the very back corner, tucked away where not many people would bother her, not that most would as they were well aware of her surname and the weight it carried. 

Her backpack was on the table, unzipped, her materials sprawled out on her side. She was aggressively erasing her attempt at one of the problems, her agitation showing. Ian was sympathetic; he’d tried a hand at working on a couple of them earlier, having absolutely no luck. 

“Hey,” he pulled out a chair across from her, hanging his backpack over the back of it. 

“I fucking hate math,” she said bitterly. Her glance fell back on her worksheet- wrinkled, the lingering traces of pencil that suggested she’d tried more than once to work on it - rubbing her forehead. She groaned in frustration. “I don’t know how the fuck I’m going to pass this test. I can’t figure this shit out.” 

“Me either,” Ian said, bringing his math binder out. “At least we’ll fail together, right?” 

Mandy scoffed out a laugh. “Don’t you have to keep your grades up to stay in ROTC?” 

“Technically,” Ian shrugged. He felt a yawn coming through, stifling it. Mickey’s coughing kept him up last time. It was getting worse, making him wonder if there was something else wrong. He’d have to ask Lip, his brother hadn’t been too happy about being woken up repeatedly either. 

“Mrs. Ketchum is on my ass again,” Mandy twirled her pencil in her hand, her voice quiet but with an undercurrent of exhaustion from the whole ordeal. Ian knew vaguely of who she was referring to; Mrs. Ketchum was one of the guidance counselors assigned to students with the last names ranging from M’s to Z’s. The woman had been a nuisance for her before, hounding her about her grades and whatnot. 

“Oh yeah?” Ian slouched, not really wanting to do any of this but he didn’t have a choice if he wanted to pass the test, “how bad was it this time?” 

Mandy shrugged. “No worse than usual, I guess. Just about the same old shit again.” She then adapted a tone that was supposed to resemble Mrs. Ketchum’s voice. “If you lived up to your true potential, Amanda, you could get into any college you wanted.” She scowled. “Give me a fucking break.” 

He smiled a little in amusement. “Do you still have a D in geography?”

“It’s almost a C,” she immediately defended, only to be shushed harshly by one of the librarians wheeling a cart of books nearby. Mandy rolled her eyes but refrained from flipping the woman off. “Why? Are you any good at geography?” 

She was hopeful, a smile peeking out. It was really pretty, a break in her otherwise tough persona. If Ian would have liked girls, he was sure he’d have taken interest in Mandy. 

“Sort of,” he said. “If you want any help, I can try. No promises, though.” 

“You’re the best,” she said with gratitude. “Seriously.” 

He chuckled, “Yeah, well....”

Mandy showed him her worksheet, “Hey, do you think this looks right?” 

“You’re asking me? ” 

“Well, I don’t know this stuff either,” she said, dismayed. She leaned back, thinking. “I have my headphones with me. We could, like, google it or something. There’s gotta be a youtube video that can explain it.” 

“I guess,” he said, his voice reflecting uncertainty. Ian didn’t have high hopes that he’d come out of this exam on top, dragging his grade down lower than it already was. 

Mandy must have sensed it. She said, “We’ll be fine. We’ll figure it out.” 

“If you say so.” 

Even youtube, as they later learned, did not explain the concept well enough for them to properly understand. Together, with her arm stretched out to hold the phone between them, one earphone in each of their ears, the two of them watched one video after another. Mandy’s optimism slowly waned, her shoulders slumping. 

“I still don’t get it,” she said at the end during an ad. She shut her phone off, picking up her worksheet to look it over, despite hardly getting anything done. “Why the fuck do we have to know what functions are? I’m never going to use it.” She was quiet for a moment until she had an idea. “What about Lip?”

Ian blinked. “What about him?” 

“He can tutor us,” she said, her mind made up on the matter. “He probably understands this.” 

“Believe me, you don’t want Lip tutoring you,” Ian told her. 

“Why?” 

How should he put this? “He’s kind of an asshole about that stuff sometimes,” Ian said. “I wouldn’t do it.” 

“I don’t have a choice,” Mandy said. “I can’t fail this test too.” 

And well, he could understand that. 

They lapsed into silence, the only noise was from the soft sounds of books being placed on shelves, chairs scooting, hushed voices and the scribbling from their pencils. 

“So, how was school today?” Ian said conversationally. “Did I miss anything interesting?” 

“Not really,” Mandy considered, “I mean, Casey Fridgerald is pregnant. I heard her complaining about it in the bathroom.” The little smirk she wore was enough to have Ian chuckling. Casey was one of the popular bitches as she referred to them, strutting around the school as if she owned the place. 

“Is it by that one football player?” Ian thought his name might be Tyler or something along those lines. Those two had been in an on again, off again relationship for a while now. 

“Probably,” Mandy replied. She reached into the pocket of backpack, sneakily tossing him a piece of chocolate that she’d likely nicked from the Kash and Grab. He unwrapped it quietly, chewing it in the corner of his mouth so the nearby librarian wouldn’t see his jaw moving. “Oh, and there’s a science project coming up.”

Ian groaned a little. “How bad is it?”

“Not too bad, I guess. We have to make a poster, something about an ecosystem, I think.” 

“You weren’t even listening, were you?” Ian accused. 

“It’s not my fault. Mr. Branson is fucking boring,” Mandy pouted. “But he is gonna be all next week so hopefully we have a good sub. I hope it’s Mrs. Howard.” She was one of the substitutes that subbed in many classes. She was old as shit but that usually was in their favor, as she tended to just put on some educational movies, not really paying attention to any of them. “It’s too bad we aren’t in the same class.”

“Yeah.” It would have made it far less boring. As of right now, Ian didn’t have any friends in there, which made him dread group work since everybody else seemingly paired themselves off right away. “Did I miss anything else?” 

“Besides me catching Lip with his tongue down Karen’s throat?” Mandy said dryly. “Not much.” 

Ian grimaced out of sympathy. Ever since his older brother had gotten involved with Karen Jackson, it was unusual to find him in a heated makeout with her. 

He almost missed the way her eyes flittered over to him, then quickly looked away. “Do you think-” She started, thinking it over and resuming, “do you think they're together?” 

“Karen and Lip?” He watched her nod. “Uh, I mean, I don’t know if they’re exclusive but they’re sort of together.” He was fairly sure it was only sexual between those two, than again, he mostly stayed out of his brother’s love life. 

“Oh,” Mandy said, a hint of disappointment visible. 

“Why?” Ian asked, getting a weird feeling from this. “You don’t like him, do you?” 

She put her pencil down, going tense. “No, Ian, God ...”

“Then why did you-” 

“I was just wondering,” she shrugged. “They’re always together. I thought there was something going on.” 

Once again, Ian didn’t quite believe her. Even so, he wasn’t about to get into an argument over his brother of all things. “So, uh,” he decided to change the subject, “have any guys been bothering you lately?” 

“Not since we started dating,” Mandy said and he could practically hear the air quotes around the word dating . 

He was glad. Before they were friends, before he even tripped that fucking creep of a teacher, Ian was familiar with all teh talk surrounding Mandy. He didn’t know if they were all merely rumors or not, of how she’d take it from anyone or how she’d jump in the bed of any guy without hesitation. He wanted to think it wasn’t all true, and felt kind of bad for even considering it. 

*

The sun had long set by the time Ian returned home. He barely made it to the front gate when muffled shouting stopped him in his tracks. He groaned, recognizing his brother and Mickey’s voices at once. 

Fuck . 

It grew much louder as soon as he opened the door. Mickey was on his feet, right in Lip’s face. Fiona was nowhere to be found, thank God . Carl was off to the side, sitting on the arm of the couch, chanting fight, fight , and Debbie must be upstairs- he could hear wailing that he instantly recognized to be Liam. 

“Hey, hey,” Ian hurried over there, not even bothering to take off his jacket. “What’s going on?” 

“Lip said Mickey smells,” Carl chimed in unhelpfully. 

“What?” Ian mentally sighed, hoping his brother really hadn’t gone there. 

Lip turned abruptly to face Ian, his complexion reddened and his hands curled into fists. Yeah, the redhead thought. He’d definitely gone there. “He’s refusing to shower,” his brother argued, “and it’s making all my clothes smell like shit!”

It was absolutely the wrong thing to say in Mickey’s presence. It pissed him off even more, a snarl on his lips. “You wanna say that to my fuckin’ face? ” 

Lip took a step closer. His eyes never wavered from eye contact with Mickey. “Watch me.” 

Jesus Christ . Ian wondered why the fuck this had to be happening right now. “Okay, okay. Enough,” he tried to get in the middle of them before fists would start flying. Ian looked straight at Mickey, not missing the way he was gritting his teeth just now, his hand seemingly itching to fly up to his chest. “You should probably sit down.” 

“Fuck off. You don’t get to order me around, Gallagher.” 

“Mickey, you’re injured.” Dealing with a combative Milkovich was the last thing Ian wanted to do right now. He resisted the urge to roll his eyes, holding back a few choice words to express how fed up he was. “You need to sit down before you hurt yourself.” 

“Fuck off, asshole-” Mickey suddenly stopped, his breath coming out wheezily as he pushed out a painful sounding cough. Ian waited, not moving a muscle as he waited for it to subsided, but this particular fit lasted longer than the others. Mickey’s face was screwed up in pain, the sheer force putting too much pressure on his already wounded ribs.  

It gave Ian this nagging feeling something wasn’t right. But for the moment, he pushed the thought aside, shooting Lip a harsh look. “Can’t you try not to fight with him?” 

“Me?” Lip said indignantly. 

Ian didn’t want to say anymore in front of Mickey, knowing it wouldn’t go over well if they talked about him like he wasn’t even in the room. He let his eyes flicker towards his brother, a plea in them for him to understand until Lip threw his hands in the air in defeat, head shaking. 

He grabbed his coat, shoving it on and swiping a box of cigarettes that was laying on the coffee table. Ian spared him one more glance as he slammed the door on his way out. 

“Carl, get Mickey some water.” He didn’t stay long to hear Mickey protest, making a beeline towards the door. 

Outside, as the wind whipped the snow around, Lip stood at the bottom of the porch, his hood thrown over his head to keep the snow out of his curls. His cigarette was already lit, and he took a long drag. 

Ian meant to start talking, to say something , but the words never came and so he stood there, freezing his ass off during a long stretch of silence that loomed over them both. 

Finally, much too longer later when it became clear that he’d have to be the one to break it, he started cautiously, “Look, I know what you’re going to say-” 

He didn’t get a chance to finish. Lip rounded on him, “All I said was that he needed to shower. He fucking reeks, Ian. And he went batshit crazy on me!” 

Privately, Ian doubted that was all he said. But he didn’t let Lip know that. 

Smoke escaped through his brother’s mouth, face lined with frustration. “He’s been an asshole ever since you left. Told Debbie to fuck off when she asked him if he was hungry.” 

Ian nearly groaned. He wasn’t surprised, not really. “You telling him to shower probably didn’t help.” 

“Don’t tell me you think he smells fine,” Lip said with visible disgust. 

“That’s not what I meant-”

“Even Liam smells it, Ian.”

Ian winced. “I told him the other day he needed to shower. I can’t force him.” 

Lip shrugged. “You might. It’s not like he can really fight back.” 

Even if that was technically true, Ian did not want to test the waters. “Because that would go over well.” 

Silence fell over them. Lip let out a deep exhale, standing there and shivering, the thickness of his coat not really doing him any favors. “Is this really what you want to do?” He loosely gestured back at the house with his free hand. “You really want to nurse Mickey back to health? He hasn’t exactly been grateful.” 

“I know,” Ian reached out to take the cigarette from him. Lip rolled his eyes but allowed it. As he took another drag, his thoughts drifted back to a previous conversation with Mandy and so came out a murmur that his brother caught. “But he can’t go home.” 

“Why?” 

Startled, Ian said, “What?” 

“Why can’t he go home?” Lip repeated. 

Ian was at a loss as to what to say. He hadn’t meant for the words to come out, but they couldn’t be taken back now. “Don’t tell anyone I told you this,” he prefaced, “especially Mickey.”

“Yeah, okay,” Lip said impatiently. “So what is it?” 

He took a deep breath, preparing himself to rip the figurative bandage off. 

“I think something happened between him and his dad.” 

Ian saw it- the way Lip’s face changed slightly. That expression of irritation cracked a little, taking the information. “What makes you say that?” He asked when he found his voice again. 

Ian glanced back at the door, as if Mickey was going to come out there any second now, enraged by Ian speaking on his personal life. “Mandy came to the Kash and Grab the other day. We were talking and...” He was aware of Lip’s lingering gaze on him, mentally deliberating if he should continue or not, “she said something about how her dad and Mickey sometimes get into it and he runs off for a few days and comes back.”

Lip’s face was unreadable but Ian was sure he was contemplating on it. “You think that’s what happened this time? You think Terry did that to him?” 

“Maybe,” Ian really didn’t know. “I mean, Mandy thinks Mickey ran away again. She was asking me if I’d seen him.” 

“And what’d you tell her?” 

“That I hadn’t. I told you he doesn’t want her to know he’s here.” 

“Did he ever tell you why?” Lip pressed.
“No. And he probably won’t.” 

“Huh,” Lip murmured. 

“Yeah...” Ian handed the cigarette back, his mind drifting back to the coughing fit Mickey just had. “I mean, why would he want to keep it a secret from her?” 

“Why does Mickey do anything?” Lip put out the cigarette, rubbing it into the cold ground with the bottom of his shoe. “Just because he doesn’t want her to know doesn’t mean his dad did anything.” 

“But it could be,” Ian insisted. Lip was still not convinced. “Why else would he stay here then?” 

The question made his brother stay quiet. 

“Mickey doesn’t have to stay here,” Ian continued, more confident as the word flowed, “he could leave if he really wants to. But he hasn’t.”

It wasn’t unbelievable to think that Terry had a hand in this. He terrorized the Southside for as long as Ian could remember. Now he’d turned on his own kids, making him briefly wonder if Mandy had ever ended up a victim at one point or another. 

“Maybe,” Lip conceded. “But you don’t have any proof. And it’s not like Mickey’s going to tell you.”

Dismayed, Ian couldn’t really refute that. Not when he wouldn’t even tell him why Mandy couldn’t know anything. 

“This is so fucked up,” Ian muttered. 

He rubbed the heels of his palms onto his eyes. It wasn’t just the strange origin of Mickey’s injuries, it was everything. He couldn’t help but really wonder if there was more going on then they realized in regards to Mickey’s health. The coughing was getting worse, more frequent and done to the point of nearly vomiting. 

“Lip,” he said with a deep exhale, “I think something’s wrong with Mickey.” 

“You just figured that out?” Lip deadpanned. 

“Lip, I’m serious. He sounds sick.”

The little smirk that’d been creeping out smoothed away. Lip sighed, eyes flicking up towards the night sky, blinking away a few snowflakes. “Probably. He doesn’t sound too good.” 

So it wasn’t just him. Lip heard it too. 

Ian shivered. His hands were free from the cigarette, shoved into the pockets of his jacket. “What are we supposed to do?” 

Lip arched a brow. “What do you think? Mickey’s not going to let anyone help him even if he needs it.” 

“He let Vee.” 

“Not willingly. And it doesn’t mean it’ll happen again,” Lip said with a shrug. 

His brother was likely correct. It didn’t mean that Ian wanted to hear it. 

“He’s not even taking the tylenol anymore,” Lip said, breaking through Ian’s thoughts. “I tried, Debbie tried. He won’t do it.” 

“He’s in pain,” Ian couldn’t fathom why he was letting himself go through it when he didn’t have to. 

“He’s also a dumbass.” 

Well, Ian couldn’t dispute that. Still, he said, “Should we call Vee again? She might know what to do.” 

“She’s also not a nurse,” Lip pointed out. 

“But she could help.” 

“But she can’t provide the necessary medication attention he probably needs.” 

Ian dragged both hands down his face. “What are we supposed to do?” 

“There’s not much we can do,” Lip said after taking a second to think it over, his gaze lingering on Ian. It was an answer he expected, yet hoped he wouldn’t receive. 

“Yeah, I guess you’re right,” Ian said, voice quiet, letting out a gusty sigh that couldn’t be heard over the wind. “Do you think-” Lip’s attention was again on him, “do you think we can just not tell Fiona about this? She’s not gonna hesitate to kick him out.” 

“Can’t you blame her?” Lip said rhetorically while on the receiving end of Ian’s pleading face. 

“Come on, Lip. Do this for me.” 

“ Why” Lip couldn’t understand it. His eyebrows were knit together, looking quizzical. 

Ian didn’t want to deal with this question again . He repeated, “Please? Look, he’ll be out of here soon. But he can’t go back there now, especially if his dad did it.” 

His words managed to unlock some empathy within his brother, even if it happened to be the barest hint possible. “Fine,” Lip said flatly. “We won’t tell Fiona. But you might want to talk to Debbie and Carl about that.”

“Yeah,” Ian said, relieved, “I’ll do that.”He smiled, inhaling the frigid air. His nerves, which had gone on edge since returning home, relaxed somewhat. 

And then the door burst open, revealing a frantic Debbie. 

“It’s Mickey!” She squeaked. “He needs help!” 

“What do you mean?” Lip said immediately whilst Ian had froze. His brother was still able to have a clear head. “What happened to Mickey?” 

“He fell!” Those two little words sent a shockwave through Ian. “He was going up the stairs and I told him I’d help him but he didn’t want any help and he was halfway up when he fell. I think he really hurt his ankle.” 

Lip and Ian exchanged a quick look. Shit . 

They rushed into the house, their footsteps heavy and thudding against the floor. At the bottom of the stairs, there was Mickey in a heap, sitting up and clenching his ankle. 

“Fuck!” He cried out. 

Carl was close by, lips turned up into a grin. “You should’ve seen it,” he said enthusiastically, “he fell so fast.” 

“Carl!” Debbie said scoldingly. “He could’ve been hurt.” 

“I think he is, Debs,” Lip knelt down beside Mickey. Ian couldn’t take his eyes off him. “Mickey, hey, did you hit your head?” 

Mickey was in too much pain to answer, not that Ian was sure he would anyway. His head was bowed, eyes probably screwed shut. He groaned, jaw clenched tightly. It was obvious to anyone that his ankle was in a much worse state now. 

“Can I take a look?” Lip said in a neutral tone. Ian held his breath in anticipation. It seemed, though, that either Mickey hadn’t heard him over the pain he was experiencing or he’d ignored him altogether. 

“I don’t think he heard you,” Debbie said, hushed. She was darting her eyes back from Mickey to Lip. “Maybe you should ask him again...?” 

“Mickey,” Lip said a little louder this time around, “I’m going to have a look at your ankle, okay?” 

Oh, God , Ian thought, barely suppressing a groan of his own. 

It went exactly as he suspected it would; Lip was reaching out to pull back Mickey’s jeans so he could have a better look when Mickey reacted violently. 

“Get the fuck away from me!” 

He’d jerked away, a hand flying down to the side of his ribcage, undoubtedly in pain. He glared harshly at Lip, who in turn rolled his eyes in exasperation. 

“Mickey, come on. Don’t be stupid.” 

That’s really going to help , Ian thought. 

“Fuck off,” Mickey hissed. “I don’t need any fucking help.” 

“The fuck you do,” Lip shot back. His nostrils flared, breath coming out in short, agitated puffs. “Stop being so damn stubborn and let me help you. You already hurt your ankle once. You could be risking permanent damage. Is that what you want?” 

Mickey’s intense glare remained on Lip, making Ian wonder if he’d suddenly strike him or not. 

Then, Mickey said, in a clipped tone like he was holding his anger back, which he probably was, “Just hurry the fuck up.”

It took a moment for Ian to notice, too busy focusing on his older brother, but when he did, he was unable to ignore the very fact that Mickey’s breathing was labored. He must have been in tremendous pain. 

“Yeah, I’ll get right on that,” Lip said dryly. Still, he examined the injured limb, with Mickey gritting his teeth, especially when Lip’s fingertips ghosted over the area. 

“Fuck!”

“Don’t hurt him,” Debbie said, concerned. 

Unlike her, however, Carl was not too concerned. “So, even though he didn’t hit his head, could he still die?” 

“What?” Lip spared him a brief glance. “No. He’s not going to die, Carl. We’ve been over this.” 

“Oh,” Carl said in slight disappointment. 

Jesus , Ian thought, shaking his head. “Has anyone ever told you that you’re disturbing?” 

A very shark-like grin came over Carl’s face. “My math teacher told me. She said she won’t be surprised if I end up in jail one day.” 

“Yeah, neither will we,” Lip said with a slight snort. Very gently, he moved the ankle back and forth. A stream of loud obscenities left Mickey’s mouth. His back was arching, hands pressed into the floor. 

“Fucking hell! ” 

“Is it broken?” Ian said, alarmed. 

“Nah,” Lip said. “Just badly sprained. He’ll need to stay off it.” 

“What the fuck do you think I’ve been doing, dipshit?” Mickey shot back. 

Ian quickly interjected before Lip could. “Maybe you should stay in bed for a while.” 

“I don’t fucking need-” 

“You already sound sick,” Ian said firmly. “It’s probably better for you anyway.” 

Mickey glared daggers at him but Ian was not intimidated. He glared back. 

Then, Debbie offered, “I can go to Shelia’s and get some tea.” 

“Yeah, that's actually a good idea,” Lip said. “See if she has any peppermint. It’s supposed to be good if you have a cough.” 

When Mickey opened his mouth again to presumably bitch about something else, Ian butted in before he could. “Do you want to go back upstairs or on the couch?”

Lip responded for him, “It’s probably easier if we put him on the couch.” 

“The fuck do you mean put me?” Mickey said aggressively. 

“Can I help?” Carl jumped at the chance. 

“No,” Lip and Ian said simultaneously. Their brother muttered aww man under his breath. 

“You and Debbie can back up so we have room,” Lip added. 

“Should I go get the tea?” Debbie asked once she was back on her feet. 

“Yeah, sure,” Lip said while she was putting on her coat. 

“But don’t tell her who it’s for,” Ian told her. “Just ask for the tea.” 

“Got it,” Debbie said and went out the front door. Ian shivered at the wind that came in, even though his jacket was still on. 

Lip was standing again, his hands on his hips. “You ready?” He looked at Ian.  

Mickey was able to put together what was about to happen and naturally, he balked. “Stay the fuck away from me!” 

“This won’t work if you don’t cooperate,” Lip said with some semblance of calm. “Come on, Mickey, let us help you up-” 

“What part of that are you not fucking understanding? I don’t want your help.” 

Lip was unimpressed. “You plannin’ on staying here all night then?” Mickey’s mouth was clamped shut. He looked like he wanted to kill Lip right then and there. “Thought so. We’re just gonna get you to the couch. If you wanna sleep down here, I don’t give a shit.”

It happened fast- Ian could see the precise moment when fear flickered across Mickey’s face, right when one of Lip’s hands was on his shoulder, then the middle of his back. Ian’s brow furrowed, eyes glinting in confusion. 

Lip didn’t notice this, though. He was still trying to help, still trying to get a grip on Mickey, who’d -by now- gone frozen, not even trying to fight him off. 

What the fuck was happening? 

“Lip, stop!”

His brother did, looking startled, if a bit agitated too. “Ian, what the fuck?” 

If he brought attention towards Mickey now when he was clearly struggling - why, Ian didn’t know - then he’d get his ass kicked one way or another. “Just give him a second,” Ian said, his head tilting down at Mickey. 

If he thought this might be a sort of olive branch to Mickey, for him to finally see that Ian was trying to help him, he was mistaken. When Mickey finally seemed to come to it again, all he did was glare up at Lip. 

“Get the fuck away me.”

“Is that all you can say?” Lip said snidely. 

Ian had to bite down on his tongue to keep himself from speaking out against Mickey attempting to get to his feet. Jesus, it was pathetic. Him trying to not make his ankle pain worse but also dealing with the rest of his aching body. 

“Don’t fall again,” Carl quipped. Ian shot him a dirty look. 

On his way by, Mickey hissed out towards Lip and it made Ian’s brother redden in anger. 

“Fuck outta here with that faggy shit.” 

“The fuck did you just say?” 

Fuck, that’s just great , Ian thought helplessly.