Anonymous whispered: so prompt mickey's first night at the gallagher's dinner table? with amanda/lip and kev and v? please and thank you
Send me more, because I can’t stop.
”Why the fuck am I doing this again?” Mickey asked quietly as he made it down the stairs with Ian just a step ahead of him.
Somehow Ian had gotten him to agree to a family dinner with the Gallagher’s. Only thing was, it wasn’t just dinner. It was Thanks-fucking-giving. And it wasn’t just the Gallagher’s. It was Kev and V too, with their twins and that chick Lip was seeing was there too. What was her name again? Amy?
Mickey didn’t like her, so he simply didn’t bother to know her name.
Mandy would be there too. She didn’t want to, but Ian had his ways with everything it seemed. He wasn’t sure how he’d bribed Mandy, but he might have promised Mickey a special reward if he could sit down at the table for an hour. Didn’t have to play nice or anything.
”Because you secretly love me,” Ian joked, his head turned back to look at his boyfriend with a massive grin on his face.
”Not so fucking secret anymore,” Mickey muttered under his breath, wanting to get this over with. He might not love all of the Gallagher’s, but he sure as hell respected them. He’d grown attached to them during the last couple of months, with Ian’s downs. He was all better now, but Mickey was still wary, still expected him to wake up in the morning and not get out of bed. He was scared shitless because of it.
So he sat down at the table between Ian and Mandy, and he would play nice. Because they did. They didn’t look at him like most people did. They weren’t afraid of him. They had learned to treat him like he mattered, because he mattered to Ian. Looking around the table, at the dysfunctional people and the way they joked and laughed and cursed, he knew what this was. This was what family was like. And he’d grown to be a part of it.
Somehow, he really didn’t fucking mind.
Tiny little sequel to this because I needed closure.
Ian Clayton Gallagher lived a long and mostly happy life. He had his ups and downs, like everybody else. His first twenty years consisted of more downs, but he pulled through. He was a Gallagher after all.
After the death of his first love, he went into such a depression he killed himself. Dead for a whole of one minute and thirteen seconds. Paramedics saved his ass, and when he woke up he was different. People claimed it was how things were – you die, you wake up different. Ian only remembered blood on his wrists and then blackness and then waking up in a hospital bed with his family by his side.
He took a year off anything and everything after that. Tried to find himself in this new world of his, tried to balance out his bipolar disorder with the problems within his family. But they had always been there, would always be there.
When Ian was twenty-seven, he finally realised he would never meet a new Mickey. Never meet someone who would make him feel as good as he had. Feel as brave and shiny and broken and whole all at the same time.
At the age of thirty, Ian met someone he didn’t feel like he would have to settle for. He was tall and gangly, sandy blonde hair, liked to wake up early in the morning for a run around the neighbourhood. He had a good job, and he was nice. Treated Ian the way everyone should be treated. His family loved him, they never fought. He never drank, never smoke, and during the thirty years they spent together, Ian never once heard him curse. And somehow, he had no issues dealing with Ian’s dysfunctional family. He was worth loving.
But when Ian woke up some nights with dreams so vivid he never once told him the real thing. Always lied smoothly about memories from the army. Never admitted to the image of Mickey dying a thousand deaths inside his mind.
They got married, they had kids, and as the years grew them apart, they remained good friends. When they finally realized they just weren’t in love anymore, Lip joked that maybe there was just too little drama in his life nowadays.
Ian and Mandy remained best friends. They had their issues, but no matter what, they were always there for each other. He was her best man at her wedding, godfather to her child, the shoulder to cry on when she found out about her breast cancer. But she fought that bitch like she fought everything else, and she survived. She was happy.
They used to talk about Mickey a lot. Did everything they could to keep his memory alive, but as the years passed they forgot the sound of his voice and how his eyes lit up when he smiled, and they forgot how many times a day he could say the word fuck. But they never forgot how much they loved him.
They never did stop talking about him, but it happened less and less over the years and eventually it only happened on his birthday. They would visit his grave, talk about the things they loved about him the most, Mandy would shed a few tears, and then that was that. Repeat again next year. But he was always in their minds.
Ian would have a recurring dream where he was at the dugout with him. The entire conversation was never there, but Mickey was far too emotional, talked way more than he ever had, and said his name too many times for it to be a real memory. But it felt like one. Felt too real, felt like it had happened. He kept telling himself it was just a dream, but he knew it wasn’t.
Ian died of a heartattck at the age of seventy-five. It happened in his sleep, didn’t feel a thing. Only thing he knew was that when he fell asleep, he felt a sort of calm inside him that he hadn’t felt for years. He felt like when he woke up next morning, something good would happen. He would embark on a new journey.
He didn’t wake up in his bed. He woke up on wet grass on a warm starry summer night, and his muscles didn’t feel as worn out anymore. He felt strong, felt alive, felt radiant. He jumped up on his feet in a swift movement, too swift for his old body, and he looked over himself in surprise. He was wearing jeans and a tanktop that strained a little over his muscles. He was seventeen again. He never wondered why, just remembered an old dream from an old life where a young brunette told him he’d wait.
Looking around, he noticed where he was. A place from his past, a place he hadn’t been in almost fifty years. The baseball field. It looked like it always had, and his feet started to move underneath him. Getting closer and closer to the dugout, he could see a dark feature getting closer.
In his hands he held a sixpack of his favorite beer, a halfway smoked cigarette balancing between two of his fingers. Ian traced over him, his worn out jeans and his dirty shirt to his dark brown hair and blue piercing eyes. In front of him, he could see the face of his first love. His true love.
He moved close enough to reach out and touch him, and he felt so warm and so safe and he could feel the life of the boy in front of him radiating towards him.
“Took you long enough, man.”
The boy in front of him showed that toothy grin that was only really meant for him, and Ian knew. Knew that this was his own taste of heaven.
And he would get to share it with Mickey.