Work Text:
Ian always made sure that Max and Isaac ate well and kept germs from out of their bodies. Not saying that he never gets sick – Ian will even admit that he is now, although the old Ian would dismiss the idea in a heart beat – but Ian showed deep concern for his kids’ well beings. Plus, he hated to see the long faces and hear the distressed cries for help whenever one of them got a sore throat or a stomachache.
Like this morning, for example.
It was six in the morning, and that meant Ian had to get up and prepare the kids’ breakfast dishes and lunch boxes. Compared to his husband, he was the early bird and expected his kids to have the same idea. Who says you need to wait until the last three minutes of the hour to get some food in your system before class begins?
Mickey was reluctant in letting Ian go tend to the kids’ food, primarily because he was a major cuddle bug – though he would never admit it publicly – and liked Ian’s arms tight around his body. Ian always complimented how adorable he was being, to which Mickey responded with a middle finger, as always. Since day one, Mickey was always the tough guy, though Mickey could say the same thing about Ian. Since they started having kids, though, Ian watched with heart eyes as his boyfriend turned husband became the physical representation of love, comfort, and compassion.
Their love story in general just warmed Ian’s heart so much.
With a kiss to Mickey’s lips, Ian was out of the master bedroom and into the bathroom to wash up. Upon exiting the bathroom, head to toe in clean clothing and the aroma of mint body wash on his skin, Ian heard a couple of sneezes from Max’s room, followed by a couple of sniffles, which only asked for some kind of trouble.
Max didn’t have much of a problem keeping himself well. Over seven years of good parenting got him to put on his socks and shoes when he walked around the house and to cover his body with the layers of bed sheets his parents got for him. Isaac was a little trickier to handle, being that he was younger than Max and didn’t know better sometimes. Still, he was a good child who usually listened to what both Ian and Mickey had to say.
The couple of coughs from his bedroom signaled an exception.
Ian walked over to Max’s door first and noticed the covers shoved off of Max’s body. Max didn’t like being covered in too many layers when he was ill. He took after Mickey in that aspect. The two of them never wanted to stay under the damn covers like Ian wanted them to.
“Max?” Ian asked, opening the door some more and looking down at his son’s face. He looked a little red, and that made Ian feel a little concerned. “Buddy, are you okay?”
The seven-year-old rubbed the sweat off his forehead with his arm. “Dad, I’m sick.”
“Yeah, I can see that,” Ian replied, sitting down on the bed and placing the back of his hand up against Max’s forehead. Yep, he was definitely burning up. “How long has this been going on?”
Max shrugged. “Yesterday.”
Ian should have suspected something when he heard him sneeze that one day he took the boys to school. He should have given him medicine before they left.
“I’m gonna go get you some medicine,” Ian declared, getting back up off the bed. “Stay right there.”
On his way out of Max’s bedroom, Ian heard a couple more coughs from Isaac’s bedroom, all of them sounding worse than the last few. He didn’t like it when his baby boys were sick and in pain. Isaac sounded like something was trying to rip his throat and chest in half, like one of those villains he and Max have been watching in those DVDs Ian and Mickey got them for their birthdays.
Ian searched through the cabinets in the bathroom for the children’s cough medicine and aspirin. He knew how much Isaac hated cough syrup in general, so Ian searched the store one day to get the cherry-flavored one, hoping that he would actually take it this time.
With the cough medicine, aspirin, and an electronic thermometer in hand, Ian started to make his way back towards the boys’ rooms. Before he made it there, he noticed that Mickey had left his room in the midst of hearing his son cough and cry in despair. Ian had peeked through Isaac’s bedroom door to see Mickey sitting on the edge of the bed, placing a hand on Isaac’s forehead.
“You’re burning up, man,” Mickey responded, which earned a few more coughs from the little boy below. “Cover your mouth, bud. That’s why you’re getting sick.”
Ian’s face fell at the look on Isaac’s face. His face and nose were red, and he held one of his hands up to his throat, trying to rub the pain away as best as possible. Nothing seemed to work, which sparked an irritable and depressed expression out of the four-year-old.
Mickey turned his head around, registering Ian’s presence in the doorway. The redhead walked in the room to hand Mickey the cough medicine Isaac needed. “They need to stay home today,” Mickey spoke to him.
“We don’t even know if the babysitter is available today,” Ian replied, sitting on the other side of Isaac’s bed.
“Fiona?”
“She has work.”
“Well, we can’t stay home with them. We have work, too.”
Between the two adults, Isaac let out a croaky whine. “Daddy,” he began to speak. His voice sounded terrible. There had to be some mucus stuck in his throat somewhere, irritating the little boy’s throat. Neither Ian nor Mickey liked that sound, especially when it came out of Isaac or Max’s mouth.
Mickey held an index finger in front of his lips and shushed his son before he could continue. “Don’t speak, bud, okay? You don’t wanna irritate it any further, do you?” Isaac shook his head in response.
Max had came out of his room and walked into Isaac’s room, taking note of the conversation Ian and Mickey were having. “Dad? Daddy?”
“Max,” Ian said, turning his head towards his son, “I need you to get back into bed, alright? I’m coming in there to give you your medicine.”
“And put on some shoes, for Christ’s sake,” Mickey added, looking down at Max’s space socks and getting agitated. “You two don’t listen. That’s why you’re sick in the first place.” Max’s head fell as Mickey spoke, and when he was done, he slowly strolled back to his own room to get in the bed.
Ian turned his head towards Mickey and shook his head as he got up off the bed, taking the aspirin with him. “Tone it down a bit. They both have headaches.”
“Because they’re over here walking practically barefoot like they’re on the goddamn beach or something,” Mickey responded.
Ian sighed. It was six in the morning – probably close to six thirty – and he didn’t have time to argue with his husband about something like this. “Check Isaac’s temperature with the thermometer before you give him the cough medicine,” Ian reminded him. “I’m gonna find the regular one so I can give it to Max.” With that, Ian was out of the room and back in the bathroom.
Mickey glanced down at Isaac, whose coughing fit returned in a matter of seconds. He sighed, running his hand through the little boy’s black hair. His kids meant very well to him. Their hearts were in the right place, and Mickey was very well aware of how adventurous they were at the ages they are now. But they were also getting older, too. They had to learn some discipline at some point, and he wanted them to live long, healthy lives. In order for that to happen, the least they could do was obey their parents.
Isaac’s only four years old, though, so maybe Mickey could cut him a little more slack for now.
Mickey took the electronic thermometer Ian left on top of the bed sheets, preparing to place it inside Isaac’s mouth. “Okay, little man. I’m gonna poke this thing in and see what your temperature is, alright?” Isaac nodded. Mickey pointed to the tiny end of the device. “This is supposed to go underneath your tongue, and I want you to keep your mouth closed until I’m able to read something. Sound good?”
Not a second later, Isaac slowly opened his mouth, keeping his hand on his sore throat as Mickey lowered the thermometer into his mouth. Isaac pressed his lips together and waited for the results. Before the beeping sound emerged from the device, Isaac let out a couple of rough coughs, trying to keep his mouth shut until his father was done.
Mickey checked the number on the thermometer and frowned. “Jesus Christ,” he muttered out. “You have a fever, man.”
Isaac made an attempt to clear his throat so he could address his father. “Papa –“
“What did I say about speaking?” Mickey asked him. “Your throat’s very sore, peanut. You need to let it rest.”
Mickey placed the thermometer down next to him in favor of grabbing the cough medicine, screwing the cap off and pouring some of the liquid inside. “Now I want you to take some of this. Maybe it can soothe your throat a little bit until Daddy and I get back.”
Isaac’s shoulders slumped at the reminder of Ian and Mickey having to leave the house for work. At four years old, he was really dependent on both of his parents. Sure, there were times where he was fine with just one of them, but in times like these, Isaac needed all the comfort and security he could get. Usually when he got sick, Ian was the one preparing warm food and convincing him to take medicine, while Mickey was the one entertaining him or even just holding him close to his chest. Even with a sore throat or a stuffy nose, those ended up being the best house days ever for the four-year-old.
A babysitter wouldn’t provide him with the same care. Danielle, the one Ian and Mickey hired sometime eight months ago, was a good babysitter with a kind heart and everything; Isaac sometimes even forgot that Ian and Mickey were gone when they sat in front of the television to watch a movie or play some kids’ board game. However, Isaac wasn’t feeling so energetic today, and all he wanted was to lay in either Ian’s or Mickey’s arms until his cold went away.
On a day like today, for the adults, it wasn’t a simple task to carry out.
Mickey scooted closer to Isaac, carefully holding the cap with the tips of his fingers. “Come on, peanut. Time to drink.” When Isaac shook his head, Mickey frowned. “Come on, man. I need to give you your medicine so you can feel better.”
“Don’t like it.” Isaac muttered out carefully so he won’t irritate his own throat.
“It’s the cherry kind. See?” Mickey held up the bottle and showed Isaac the blue and red label on the front. “It’s good. Let’s try it.”
Isaac was hesitant about it at first, especially after trying some of the old cough medicine a while ago. The taste was so revolting; Isaac practically felt himself vomit it up, along with some of his breakfast.
Ian and Mickey knew how much Isaac loved cherry-flavored things, like cherry Fanta or those Jolly Rancher candies he would color code once he picked them out from his Halloween basket. They were willing to do whatever it took to heal their youngest son, and treating him with something he loved usually did the trick in many other cases.
So it wasn’t a surprise when Isaac leaned forward and allowed Mickey to tip the cap enough so he could let the medicine flow through his system. “See? That wasn’t so bad, right?” Mickey asked him, covering the medicine bottle back up again.
Isaac didn’t respond. The medicine wasn’t a problem; actually, it was better than how Mickey described it. His mind was still stuck on Ian and Mickey having to leave for work and leave him and Max with a babysitter for the entire day. Isaac was nowhere near a patient child, and having to wait for about eight hours or so for either Ian or Mickey to return from work wasn’t what he wanted.
“Ay,” Mickey spoke, pinching Isaac’s cheek softly to grab his attention. “You okay, buddy?”
Isaac glanced up at his father’s face and cleared his throat, his chin slowly trembling. His throat was somewhat better, but it wasn’t enough for Isaac to speak as clearly as he wanted to. “Can you stay and hold me, Papa?”
Mickey sighed, reaching down to place a hand in Isaac’s hair again. He understood how lonely, restless, and hurt his son felt when he was sick, and the last thing he wanted to do was leave him alone in his bedroom.
Still, he had responsibilities to take care of for the household. If he wanted to contribute to getting food on the kids’ plates and keeping the roof over their heads, he needed to get out and do his job. Sure, Ian was also there to carry some of the load off, but Ian was only one person, as was Mickey, and his job only paid so much per hour in comparison to Mickey’s – not by a lot, really, but it still wasn’t too much. If Ian and Mickey had life their way, they would be financially stable for the next fifteen to twenty years so they could afford to stay home and tend to their kids.
Of course, life was never on their side about half to most of the time, with the exception of their siblings, their marriage, and their two sons.
“Daddy and I have to get going if we wanna make it to work today, bud. I want to hold you, I do, but Papa has to get ready to leave,” Mickey started, earning a pout from Isaac. Mickey brought his hand down to Isaac’s cheek, caressing it with his thumb. “Hey, baby, it’s okay. You won’t be sick for long. Soon, you’ll be up and running around again, and we can get back to watching cartoons in front of the TV again. That’s worth waiting for, right?”
“Yes, Papa.” Mickey felt a punch at his own gut just hearing his baby boy close to crying.
Mickey wrapped the blankets around Isaac’s body, preparing to wrap his own arms around him as well. Isaac leaned his head against Mickey’s chest, a tear escaping his eyelid as Mickey gently rubbed his back. “I know you don’t feel too well, Isaac, but it’s going to get better with time. I promise.” Mickey leaned down enough so he was close to his son’s ear. “Can you trust me?”
Isaac nodded. “Yes, Papa,” he choked again, his voice very thick.
Mickey placed a kiss on Isaac’s temple before releasing him, his heart beating at the tear stain on his cheek. He wiped it off with his thumb and proceeded to tucking the child back into bed. Once Isaac was comfortable, Mickey looked around and grabbed the stuffed Arthur doll that had been left on the floor, putting it under the cover so Isaac could hold it.
“Remember this guy?” Mickey told him, patting the head of the Arthur doll, and Isaac nodded. “He’ll keep you company until I get back. How about that?” A rush of relief fell over him as Isaac hugged the doll, tightening his hold around its middle. With one final kiss to the cheek, Mickey was out of Isaac’s room, leaving the door cracked open and heading towards Max’s room.
Inside, Ian had given Max his aspirin and a glass of cold water for him to drink. Ian also had some vaporub to dab some tissue in to help clear up Max’s stuffed-up nose. “This should do the trick,” Ian muttered, placing the container on the night stand and handing the tissue to Max.
“Daddy, what is this?” Max asked. Mickey winced at the sound of Max’s voice. He sounded worse than when he came out of his own room to Isaac’s.
“You’re supposed to sniff it so it can help open up your sinuses a little more,” Ian replied.
“Sinuses?”
“Yeah. They’re what’s making your voice sound like that.”
Max glared down at the tissue in his hand. He didn’t like this vaporub stuff. It looked disgusting, and he wasn’t even sure if it would actually work. Still, he was willing to clear his nose in any way he possibly can. So he did what he was told and sniffed the substance for a good few seconds.
“Don’t sniff too hard, okay?” Ian warned him. “It’ll irritate your nose some more.”
Silence came over the duo in the room for a few moments before Max spoke up again. “Daddy, have you ever been sick?”
Ian nodded. “Yeah, bud. Everyone gets sick one time or another.”
“Have you ever been so sick that you couldn’t get out of bed?”
Mickey knew where this was going. He and Ian have been doing a relatively good job with finding the right dosage of Ian’s medication, and since the couple started having kids, Ian hasn’t been having too many high or low days. Maybe there will be a couple of days where Ian locks himself in his room and cries on the pillow – and maybe Isaac will walk in and notice – but nothing too serious happened, either.
Or at least anything too serious that Max and Isaac witnessed, anyway.
Ian sighed to himself. He didn’t like talking about that kind of stuff with his kids. They were too young to understand what all went into Ian’s diagnosis. It would take a while for Ian to explain to them what happened when he was off his own medicine, and how his actions would affect the people around him. One day, when he’s not feeling so gloomy about the topic, he could address it to them – most likely when Max turns thirteen or fourteen. Until then, Ian just wasn’t ready.
Then again, Max did catch on to a lot of things his parents tell him.
“Yeah, I’ve had days like that,” Ian answered. “You know, when you feel so yucky that you start feeling very sad and all of that?” Max nodded, his eyes training down to his lap. “Daddy’s been through that a lot of times.” Mickey bit down on his bottom lip as Ian spoke. Ian chuckled. “I think one time I was asleep in bed for about a week.”
“You were that sick, Daddy?”
“Yeah, that sick.”
It was a miserable day for everyone, actually; not just Ian. Mickey thought it wasn’t much of a problem at first, but then after several attempts to wake him up, with the help of Mandy and Svetlana, Ian just had enough and started to yell.
Jesus, just leave me alone!
That day scared the living shit out of Mickey, and he’ll never get that memory out of his head.
Well, actually, there were days that followed that one that were worse, but this day started it all. This was the day Mickey literally had to call for outside help to figure out what the hell was even going on. It wasn’t until the next day or so that Fiona came to the Milkovich house, failing to wake her own brother up, to tell Mickey the words he never thought he’d hear in years.
It could be bipolar disorder, like our mom.
He could end up suicidal.
It could be weeks. It’s mood swings, okay? It’s almost impossible to handle.
Mickey didn’t want to believe her. He didn’t want this to be a thing he couldn’t take care of. Since that day, Mickey pledged to take care of Ian like his own life depended on it. He was and still is willing to do whatever he can to make his ginger-headed boyfriend turned husband happy.
And even after all of the road blocks Ian and Mickey have hit since his diagnosis, Mickey still made that promise.
“Did you have to take a lot of medicine to help you get better, too?”
Ian nodded. “Yeah,” he stated, and a part of him felt himself holding in a big breath he was wanting to get out. “Actually, Daddy still does.” Max frowned a little bit. “He, like you and Isaac, has to make sure he’s healthy and happy and everything so he can take care of you two – and your papa as well. You know what I mean?”
Max nodded. “Yes, Daddy.”
Mickey briefly shut his eyes nervously. Max still doesn’t know what bipolar disorder really is, yet Ian’s able to describe it in a way that didn’t disturb or shock him as much as Mickey thought it would. The couple would still need the official talk in the future, but for right now, this was very comforting for Mickey to hear.
Ian checked the watch on his wrist. It was roughly past 6:45. “Okay, Daddy has to go to work soon.” He began to cover Max up with the blankets, and Max laid back in the bed, his head resting comfortably onto the pillow. Ian took the tissue from Max’s hand and placed it on the night stand for Max to use later. “I’m gonna go fix you and Isaac some oatmeal. When the babysitter comes, call her if you want to eat some, alright? I don’t want you two walking around without something warm on you.”
Max nodded. “Okay.” All of a sudden, he let out a sneeze, followed by a sniffle.
“Bless you,” Ian told him, patting the covers down over his body.
“Thank you.” Ian smiled at him before leaning down to place a kiss into his equally red hair, which secretly made Mickey smile. Once Ian got out of bed, Mickey moved away from the door a bit and leaned against the wall that separated Isaac’s door and the couple’s bedroom door.
Ian came out of Max’s room and looked Mickey in the eye. He didn’t expect for Mickey to overhear their conversation, but when Ian thought it over, it made a little bit of sense. Before, Ian wouldn’t even admit to Mickey that he was sick, and even if he did, it was usually followed by some refusal to take his medicine or just flat out running away from him altogether. He didn’t accept his disorder the way he did now, and to Mickey, that was a very big accomplishment.
“I’m proud of you, man,” Mickey told him, tugging Ian closer to place a kiss to his lips.
Ian somewhat blushed at Mickey’s praise, even though bipolar disorder wasn’t a thing he usually liked to talk about. “You gonna give me shit about it taking long enough?”
Mickey shook his head. “Different strokes, right?”
Ian shrugged. “Right.”
The babysitter, whom Ian called a while ago, came once the oatmeal for the boys was ready. Mickey told Danielle everything she needed to know, and once she assured the couple that everything would be fine, Ian and Mickey gave their sons heart-felt farewells before heading out to the family car.