
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/501025.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      F/M, M/M
  Fandom:
      Shameless_(US)
  Relationship:
      Ian_Gallagher/Mickey_Milkovich, Lip_Gallagher/Karen_Jackson
  Additional Tags:
      Non-Graphic_Violence
  Stats:
      Published: 2012-09-01 Updated: 2013-01-28 Chapters: 2/? Words: 4948
****** guess i'm in love (with the fucked up kid) ******
by cigarettestainedeyes
Summary
     He did anything he could to stay away from all the bad; a story of
     relapse, relationships, and reckoning.
Notes
See the end of the work for notes
***** Chapter 1 *****
                                  Chapter One
Mickey only needed two things in life to be happy: sex and food. Money would’ve
been a nice third option, but that came around even less often than either food
or sex. He could usually find something in the back of the kitchen cupboard or
in the nightstand in his room where he would hide a box of crackers that Mandy
would buy every two weeks mixed in with the usual haul of beer, microwavable
dinners and other assorted groceries. Sometimes that was the only thing he ate
all day.
When there weren’t even crackers to gorge on, Mickey would try to go to a
friend’s house to see if he could eat, but lately most of them were too busy
peddling drugs or taking them. He tried hard not to get involved in anything
heavy, so he didn’t spend the amount of time with them that he used to.
The main reason for this was Ian.
He couldn’t help it; the sex was the best he’d had in his short, uneventful
life. He reminded himself daily that he could find a new slice of teen heaven
anywhere he wanted, but if he believed that he would have agreed to deal for
his friend Dustin last week or taken that free handful of Xanax from Margaret
the night before. They’d crossed paths along a series of alleys, completely by
accident. He could have had a real party.
But he didn’t. He liked working at Kash and Grab, for the most part, and seeing
Ian everyday was a bonus. The kid made him smile even though he would never let
Ian know that.
So instead of ruining everything, Mickey laid low for the first time in his
life. He only smoked pot when things got too stressful and if he had to deal
for extra cash, he only sold to people he knew. To keep busy he practiced his
shooting near overpasses where hardly any cars passed so he could boast about
being a better shot than Ian, he cleaned his room and then the rest of the
house – the Milkovich’s didn’t own much – while moving around his family as
they shot him weird glances because of what he was doing. He did anything he
could to stay away from all the bad.
Fortunately that meant seeing Ian almost every day. Ian made Mickey’s hands
stop shaking and the nagging itch beneath his skin vanish. In return, Mickey
supplied sarcastic commentary and cigarettes. That’s all he felt he could
offer, but if you asked Ian – as long as he wasn’t within hearing distance of
Mickey – he would tell you that he liked how Mickey kept him warm. During the
chilly nights as summer transformed into fall, sometimes the night snuck up on
them and they ended up passing out together by complete “accident”. He also
liked the way Mickey’s face lit up when he bought him coffee even though Mickey
tried to muffle his enthusiasm. Coffee, and not the sludge Mandy or Fiona
brewed at home, they were talking about the Starbucks cups filled with searing
hot happiness and topped with swirling whipped cream. It was a luxury they
could rarely afford. Still, Ian tried to save enough to pick some up at least
three times a week. It was worth it to see Mickey’s eyes get larger and a smile
stretch across his face.
On bad days, Mickey would hide away in his room. He wouldn’t answer the door or
the phone. Only his family – and Ian, of course – disturbed his peace. His
family had to go through his room to get into the bathroom, so he couldn’t do a
thing about that. Ian would always find a way inside, whether it was buttering
up to Mandy and agreeing to play “boyfriend” and watch a movie with her and
some friends, or crawling through Mickey’s window when he didn’t have patience
for Mandy. He only had to break one lamp before Mickey decided to leave the
space in front of the window clear for Ian to use in the future.
Ian never shied away from how bitter Mickey was on his comedown days. He
brought soup in chipped, heavy thermos mugs and Nyquil he’d stolen from the
pharmacy. He wrapped Mickey in blankets and they watched bad sitcoms in the
living room. Mickey would snap at him and Ian would snap back until the shaking
stopped.
By this point he was sweating so much that when he peeled away the blanket, it
fell to the ground with a heavy flop. Ian would bring him another shirt because
Mickey was too exhausted from shaking so much. He would put on the new shirt
but stay in his boxers. During these times Ian would sit in the ragged, sturdy
armchair and watch until Mickey’s muscles weren’t so locked up, until his body
sank into the rundown couch, the seams stretched and ready to burst in some
areas, yellow sponge spilling out in others. Only then, when Mickey drifted
off, would Ian join him on the couch and put a protective, worried arm around
his clammy shoulder. Ian Gallagher, who could shoot someone in the same place
twice without thinking about it, who had stolen a car, who had hidden from the
cops; all of the hard edged, cold and calculated logic would be replaced with
worried hovering and mother-like tendencies when Mickey was asleep. Ian knew
the guy would tear his head off if he knew Ian liked to run his fingers through
his short hair or rest his head on Mickey’s shoulder and touch the hollow spot
where his chest became neck.
If you asked him, Ian would admit that he was terrified Mickey would relapse.
Rehab wasn’t an option, medicine was too expensive, and life as a whole was
constantly wavering between complete shit and somewhat manageable. Mickey had a
lot of reasons not to stay clean. There was money in the drug business, there
was structure and order, but there was also anonymous sex and easy-going
friendships.
Given the choice, most people wouldn’t consider the ramifications or health
consequences or social stamp reading “loser” when put up against things like
sex, money, and a guaranteed fantastic trip.
But there was a toll taken on the body and the mind. There was violence and
addiction. Mickey hated not punching people out and not carrying his switch
blade for safety, but he liked the extra money and the fact that food had taste
again. He liked all of it too much to start using again. Ian helped, but it was
all on Mickey to make his own life worth it again.
When he felt ready, he went to a party. It was a friend’s birthday. They were
making a big deal about a lot of nothing – turning 22, how fucking boring.
Jason was worse off than the Milkovich’s so he didn’t have anything to show for
it. Everyone who came knew this and brought what they could in forms of booze,
drugs, and cigarettes. Mickey had actually gone out and bought him a gift, a
metallic cigarette case with flames on the side. It was the only real present
Jason got.
Mickey allowed himself two beers to make it look like he was committed to the
party. They played card games for hours, lit cigarettes left and right, and
listened to music before someone pulled out a tin of store-bought cookies. No
one had any candles. After an off-key, mostly sarcastic rendition of “Happy
Birthday,” they ate the cookies, refreshed their drinks, and then Jason pulled
out a stash of grade-a heroin. Mickey’s blood went cold. He almost called Ian
and got the hell out of there.
Instead he fucked up.
No, he didn’t just fuck up, he completely collapsed. It was like everything he
fought for and all the things that mattered lost their iron grip around his
willpower and it became an entirely different entity, pulling and controlling
and propelling him forward.
He ran to Ian’s house. He didn’t know how he did it without throwing up. There
was a distinct tension in the air, the seams of forgiveness and understanding
were down to its last tethered thread, threatening to bust and be lost to angry
words and weak smacks to the back of Mickey’s head. Ian saved his energy and
threw a blanket over Mickey when he pitched forward and landed on Ian’s couch,
garbling about the party before passing out.
“Ian! Why is that grungy kid on our couch?” Fiona shouted hoarsely up the
stairs the next morning. You could hear the coffee in her voice; four hours of
sleep, tops. Ian had gotten good at guessing. “Ian? Mandy’s brother?” She
continued shouting as she climbed the stairs.
He stared at the ceiling until the heavy footsteps got to just outside the
door, then he rolled over and rubbed his eyes, pretending that he was just
waking up. The truth was, he didn’t want to face the boy lying on the couch,
the one who was stupid and dirty and angry and crazy.
“Hey, isn’t that the kid who wanted your ass when Mandy lied about you
attacking her?” Ian couldn’t even laugh at how ironic and poignant her question
was.
“He got drunk,” Ian lied, “Needed a place to crash. I think he thought I was
Lip.”
Fiona nodded and scratched at her hooded eyes. “Alright, but get ’im out of
here before Deb gets home. I don’t need her waving a frying pan at his head.”
“Where is she?” Ian asked.
“Beth’s. They’re gonna bake all day for this thing at school next week. She’ll
be gone till at least two.”
“Alright, thanks, Fi.” Ian said and sat up on his bed, sliding off and
stretching his arms.
Fiona smiled and lifted the steaming mug in her hand. “Coffee’s fresh. I gotta
run, I’m working at the hotel today.”
“Grab me some shampoo.” Ian yawned and made his way to the bathroom.
                                       *
He poked Mickey in the cheek until his hand was smacked away. The boy grunted
and blinked his eyes open.
“Fiona bought that cinnamon coffee creamer you like. Wake up.” Ian demanded
bitterly.
Mickey surprisingly listened and hoisted himself into a sitting position. He
took the coffee and thanked Ian with another grunt.
“So are we gonna talk about this or just ignore it?”
“Is the latter really an option?”
“Fraid not.”
“Thought so. Got any food? I’d rather be full before you start biting my head
off.” Mickey tilted his head back and downed half the drink in one go.
Ian gestured to the slices of toast on the coffee table. Mickey shoved an
entire piece into his mouth then took another long sip.
“You were almost six months clean.” Ian began.
“Sorry, mom.” Mickey snorted sarcastically.
“No, you’re not. I’ll say it again: don’t do this for me, do it for you.”
“What makes you think I would quit for you?” Mickey was trying to act tough.
They both knew he would quit for Ian or at least that used to be part of the
reason. Ian found him one night at home back when they had really started this
thing. He was reeling and shirtless and when Ian slipped through the bedroom
door while Mandy was cooking Mickey told Ian that he was officially more
important than his x box, which is saying a lot since you can pawn an x box for
money and Ian should be so fucking happy about this news. Ian was shocked and
when he pushed the issue Mickey just reached out and grabbed him, pulled him
down and wouldn’t get off of him for ten minutes. Ian took this moment and
shoved it in Mickey’s face whenever he got bitchy. Mickey would shut up
instantly. It came in handy sometimes.
“Just tell me first next time?”
“So you can convince me not to do it?”
“No, so I can fucking pick you up. I don’t need the cops finding you and
hauling your ass back to juvie. Your family doesn’t need it either.”
He didn’t say Mandy’s name but Mickey heard it in every word. There was no
chance to save his brothers, but Mandy was still young, untouched by jail cells
and court dates. Mickey had once told Ian that he wanted to protect her. Ian
promised to help. That meant bringing her name up whenever Mickey acted stupid.
However this time it dripped in the subtext without either of them really
saying it.
“I know, I know. I fucked up, ’kay? I got it.”
Ian looked satisfied with this answer, and he was at first. He took the empty
plate back into the kitchen to get more toast when a shocking amount of
annoyance and anger surfaced all at once. He slammed the plate onto the counter
top and rushed back into the living room.
“No, okay? No. If this hellhole of a house has taught me anything, it’s the
amount of bullshit kids lie about.”
“Not much of a fucking kid, am I?” Mickey deflected.
“You don’t get it, Mickey.”
“It happened once, it’s fucking over. How the hell am I supposed to fix this
shit now?” Mickey got to his feet, unsure what to do once he was standing but
knowing that he wasn’t going to back down.
“What about six months ago? Three months before that? And two weeks before
that? Every single time you tell me you get it, you go and fuck it up again.
I’m beginning to – ” He stopped cold.
Mickey looked rampant. “What? Beginning to give up? Starting to see what’s
really going on? This ain’t all sunshine and gangbangs, hun.” Mickey spat.
Ian deflated and didn’t say anything for a beat. “Ya know, I almost believed in
you for a little while there. Really had me going.” Ian let out a short laugh.
“Just get out. You’re welcome for letting you stay and covering for you when
Mandy called. And the food.” Ian snapped as Mickey calmly collected his things.
However when it was clear Ian was finished, Mickey was there, grabbing and
shoving him against the wall. “Your family ain’t shit either, Gallagher. Your
dad does more drugs than my whole family put together. I do a little heroin and
you freak?” Mickey guffaws and it’s so loud Ian jolts under his hold. Mickey
pushes away from him and is laughing. He runs a hand over his face before
pointing at Ian. “If you had met me a few years later you probably would’a been
in the same shit. Just like your brother.”
That was it. Ian punched him in the face.
***** Chapter 2 *****
Mickey didn’t know about Ian’s right hook. Blood was flowing from his nose,
half of it was slowly beginning to swell up, and the color was spreading to his
upper cheek. There would be a black eye. Mickey was frozen, speechless at the
punch and how much it’d hurt. Ian might’ve been in ROTC but Mickey was always
the guy with the muscle, the son-of-a-bitch with a witty comeback and a killer
swing. Fucking with that persona annoyed Mickey to no end.
So instead of backing down he came right back at Ian, fist raised, his gray
tank top stained red in the front, skin clammy and sweaty from being wrapped in
a blanket all night. His veins protruded below his skin, taut with tension like
a violin bow bending too far. His eyes sunk into his pale face, the scowl his
mouth was formed into seemed to be a permanent line.
Ian jerked away at Mickey’s advances, rage still in his eyes but a softer
expression on his face now that his anger had depleted a little from the punch.
Unfortunately Mickey was raring to go. He didn’t swing; he grappled for Ian’s
shoulders instead and pushed him back. Ian’s head smacked against the wall
before the rest of his body did but it all hurt the same.
Mickey almost went for him but the energy he had exerted from the push mixed
with the comedown made him still. He was shaking too hard and any minute he
would drop if he didn’t calm down. He could feel his stomach heaving in
reluctance; his body was trying to restrain him from doing anything stupid but
his mind was racing. He wanted to punch and kick and fuck this kid all at the
same time. Mickey didn’t usually prefer fucking Ian, even if the kid brought it
up often enough, but right now with Ian’s wide eyes and grimace and tousled
hair Mickey wanted to pin him to the ground and wipe the expression off his
face.

Instead of snapping and lashing out more or throwing Ian down on the floor
Mickey snorted and wiped his bleeding nose before reaching down to grab his
jacket that he must’ve crawled out of at some point in the middle of the night.
He had been way too high to take it off when he’d arrived.
Ian was in a fighting stance but he didn’t move. Mickey didn’t look at him
again and a few seconds later he slammed the door shut so hard the pictures
rattled. Fiona came running down, her hair wrapped in a towel.
“Ian, what’s going on?’ She asked with a head full of worry lines. She hadn’t
heard any of it. She’d been showering. Ian was relieved. He didn’t need to
explain Mickey’s attitude or the things he’d said or how worried Ian sounded
about someone he should’ve hated.
“Nothing, Fi. Saw a spider.” It was a ridiculous lie but it was all he had.
She didn’t buy it but Ian busied himself with fixing the couch and picking up a
few things that had been tripped or pushed over while Mickey and Ian were
brawling. Fiona didn’t push it and walked into the kitchen wearing a long
sweater that hung below her thighs, her pale, bare legs showing.
Ian went to work as normal and didn’t see Mickey. Kash told him he’d called in
sick.
After work, he went home in an exhausted rage. He wanted to collapse on his bed
the second he walked through the door but instead he went out into the backyard
and sat down beside Lip who was smoking a cigarette and supervising Carl who
looked like he was trying to build some sort of rocket ship out of a broken
washer.
“Need to talk to you.” Ian said when Lip acknowledged him with a glance and a
quick tip of his head.
“Shoot.” Lip replied, eyes flicking back to Carl. “You’re gonna need more duct
tape, dude! Can’t have that engine falling out when you hit hyper-speed!”
“Mickey was over. He went to a party last night and he fucked up.” Ian spoke
lowly so Carl wouldn’t hear.
“Shit.” Lip didn’t hesitate. “Guess I should cancel the band for the wedding.”
Ian batted his arm in mock annoyance. “Please, like I’d let you pick the
music.”
Lip grinned for a second before his expression became serious. “What’d you do?”
“Punched him.” Ian deadpanned, stealing Lip’s cigarette and taking a drag.
“In the face?” Lip asked incredulously, staring at Ian with a look of
amazement.
“No, in the ass.” Ian responded sarcastically, making a face at Lip.
“Well,” Lip broke off into a laugh, “This is Mickey we’re talking about, excuse
me if I’m a bit surprised he let you swing at him.”
Ian rolled his eyes and didn’t reply to that. “He implied something.”
“And what exactly did he imply?” Lip played along.
“He said you did heroin with him.” Ian blurted out. There was no time for
precedence in this case.
Lip was quiet as he inhaled the smoke from his cigarette he’d snatched back.
“He’s got a big fucking mouth.” He exhaled and the smoke swirled.
Ian stole a glance at his brother. “So you did?”
Lip took a deep breath and nodded. “Twice.”
Ian remained still apart from his mouth. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
Lip let out a short, pathetic attempt at a laugh. “It wasn’t something I wanted
taped on the fridge next to my report card.”
“Yeah, but it’s me, man.” Ian muttered, trying not to add tension to the
mounting situation.
“It’s not a big deal. It’s not an addiction; it’s not a problem. It happened,
like, a year and a half ago, okay?” His tone was firm and Ian could tell he
wanted to end the conversation.
That was too bad.
“Does Karen know?” Ian pushed.
“That doesn’t matter.” Lip snapped.
“It does to me.”
Lip stood up so fast that it made Ian jump a little. “Fuckin’ a, Ian. It’s not
a big deal!” He shouted and stormed off.
Lip looked devastated as he walked quickly around the side of the house,
continuing until he left the yard. Ian bit his bottom lip anxiously and stood
outside for a few more beats, watching Lip’s cigarette slowly die out. Then he
started walking fast, his steps jerky and forced as he made his way towards
Mickey’s house.
*
Mickey was sitting at the table eating Cheerios when Ian walked in. The house
was dim and trashed as usual. There were clothes piling up all over the place,
boxes opened and taped shut, all stacked haphazardly against the walls and it
seemed that every surface was covered in a thin layer of dirt.
It used to be Ian’s favorite place in the world.
Mickey’s brothers were in the living room playing a video game. Ian had never
said a word to them but they had seen him around enough to know he posed no
threat, as if Ian’s size compared to theirs didn’t already scream that fact.
One of them grunted at Ian that Mandy wasn’t home. Ian could see Mickey’s face
pale as he eyed Ian angrily.
“I need to talk to you.” Ian snapped.
Mickey’s brothers didn’t appear to care that Ian was standing in their living
room and Mickey quickly got the situation under control by going into his room
and waiting for Ian to follow before locking the door behind him with a sharp
snap.
“You can’t just – ”
“You’re a dick, okay?” Ian shouted at him, hands outstretched like he couldn’t
even comprehend Mickey’s entire being. “This isn’t working and you’re a dick.”
Mickey stared at him, mouth furled up like a pug’s. Ian had always found it
endearing. “That all you came to say?” He snarled.
“No!” Ian shouted but then realized that, yeah, that had been about it. “Stay
away from my brother.” He tried to act like he really meant it but he wasn’t
stupid. Lip and Mickey would find a way to get together and do drugs if they
wanted to so Ian knew his words held little merit.
“Gallagher,” Mickey started, “Do you really think I give a fuck if you ever
talk to me again?”
It was such a brutal thing to say that Ian forgot every comeback, every reply,
every single witty comment he’d wanted to make. He just stood there and took up
room, stood there and converted oxygen and looked like a damn fool. He could
feel the edges of his eyes burn. He knew he needed to blink but the second he
did his eyes would be shining with oncoming tears and he couldn’t take Mickey’s
disgusted expression for another minute. Finally he looked away, breathing
heavily through his nose and slightly trembling from still not feeling the
best.
In this fight or flight situation the best thing to do was drop dead. The air
was tight with tension for a few minutes before Ian reached out to make Mickey
look at him but he was grabbed viciously and shoved towards the bed. Ian wasn’t
some wimpy kid anymore though. He had some form of coordination and didn’t
completely fall over like he had the first time he had fought with Mickey in
this bedroom. It had been so long since then. He took a firm step forward.
“Are you really sorry?” Ian asked through a set of grit teeth.
“You fucking spew this shit like the sun shines out of your ass.” Mickey ran a
hand over his sweaty face and glared. “I can’t keep doing this with you.”
Ian was quiet for a beat, looking Mickey up and down while the other boy
completely avoided eye contact. Ian tentatively reached out and brushed the
side of Mickey’s head. The boy jerked away but Ian caught the other side of his
face and pulled him forward, one set of fingers sliding through his hair, the
other gripping his face.
Mickey just couldn’t get used to it. Ian was so much taller and stronger than
he used to be. He wasn’t someone that could be jerked around anymore and it was
all becoming too tangible too quickly. The next few seconds passed in
heartbeats when both of them locked eyes. Ian wanted to bite Mickey’s top lip
while Mickey wanted to assault his mouth and scratch at his back, and Ian
wanted to feel him arch up underneath him. The skin around Mickey’s nose and
eyes was bruised and
There was a sudden pounding sound and they sprang apart. Mickey pushed past him
and unlocked the door hastily, one of his brothers shoving his way in and
muttering something about how Mickey was told a million times not to lock the
door. Ian and Mickey tuned him out though and opted to stare at each other with
crude glares, neither willing to back down.
It was kind of hot, actually.
Before Ian could even half-consider doing something about the rapidly
developing situation Mandy’s voice was screeching and tearing through the
tension and it was broken, dissipating into the air as the raccoon-eyed girl
rushed into the room.
“Mickey, this fucking bitch stole my wallet.” She snapped.
Mickey’s attention was instantly elsewhere. His eyes snapped to his sister.
“You know where she lives?”
Mandy nodded. “Yeah, off of North and Pine.”
“Then let’s fucking go!” He shouted and grabbed his sweater from where it was
lying crumpled on the ground.
Ian’s frown deepened. “I’m not done yet.” He started.
“Fuck off, I have shit to do.” Mickey sniffed and pushed past him. Ian watched
him leave the room and quickly followed. He always felt weird being in Mickey’s
space alone.
Mickey didn’t look back at him as they all exited the house. Even when Ian
stood on the sidewalk and watched them pace away, Mickey didn’t look back. Ian
felt a cold, sweaty feeling come over his body and clenched his fists together.
He knew who he had to talk to.
*
Ian had never spoken to Karen one-on-one. She was always with Lip, it was the
only time he saw her. So when he knocked on the door and Karen answered he
didn’t exactly know what to say. Karen had her hair up in a messy ponytail and
looked stoned.
“Yeah?” She said, leaning against the door.
“Hey, um…can I come in?” Ian shifted on the doorstep awkwardly. He’d never
really looked at Karen before and could kind of see why Lip liked her so much.
She was pretty but had the tell-tale hooded eyes and lanky form of a girl that
had been through hell; someone Lip could talk to.
“My mom’s…” Karen trailed off and glanced back into the house before stepping
outside and closing the door. “I’d rather talk out here.” She mumbled.
They sat down together on the steps and Ian picked at his nails. “So, I just
wanted to ask you something.” He took a deep breath. “Lip told me he did some
drugs with a friend of mine, and I wanted to know if he told you about it.”
Karen squeezed her knees together and wrapped her arms around her shoulders.
Ian almost offered her his coat. “Of course he did.” She shrugged and tightly
smiled at him.
“He tells me every time he does it.”
“Every time?” Ian echoed, looking at her darkly.
Karen nodded. “It’s not often, if that makes a difference.”
Ian looked away and ran his tongue along the inside of his cheek. “I guess I
just don’t know why he didn’t tell me too.”
Karen cocked her head to the side and inspected him closely. “Do you tell him
everything?” She asked lightly. “I mean, you didn’t tell him you were gay.”
Ian hadn’t thought of it that way. Maybe Lip just didn’t want the questions or
the looks the same way Ian hadn’t wanted any of it when he had been closeted.
Maybe he just didn’t want the attention. Even though Ian was still upset, it
made sense in some twisted way.
“He really worries about you sometimes, Lip.” Karen stood up and rubbed her
arms. “It’s fucking cold out here, I’m going in. Talk to your brother.” She
shut the door with a snap.
Ian rubbed his hands together and blew on them, trying to get some circulation
going but it didn’t seem to be working. Half of him wanted to call Lip but the
other half wanted to curl up in a ball and never talk to anyone again. He
couldn’t handle the stress with Mickey and with Lip, and just his life in
general at the moment. Everyone seemed to be trying to deal with their own shit
and no one was asking Ian how he was holding up.
He wanted to do something drastic to make them notice. Maybe it was childish,
maybe it was stupid, but he needed a reality check.
End Notes
     The title is from the song, "Fucked Up Kid".
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