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Mandy told him less than a week after his wedding.
Told would be a lie though, screamed it at him suited better. She shrieked and yelled, tears in her eyes and eyeliner dragged down her face as she threw things at him, pounded her fists against his chest and blamed him.
Like it was his fault, like he chose for this all to happen.
But he let her.
Took it all without a flinch because in the back of his mind, no matter how much he didn’t want to admit it, Mickey knew she was right. He knew he was the reason for it and that he couldn’t change it, couldn’t stop it even if he tried.
If he happened to feel tears of his own building up once his sister left, then that was his secret and his secret alone.
But it wouldn't change anything, wouldn't bring him back. Ian was going to the army and sure, he'd be coming back.
Just not to him.
"You never deserved him." Mandy tells him one night when they're both too drunk for their own senses.
And Mickey doesn't respond. Just laughs; loud and bitter.
Because she may have not realized until Ian fucking yelled it at her, at everyone, but she wasn't stupid.
He tells her. Tells her when it's snowing and they're huddled together for warmth, staring out the window at the nothing. It's just snow and dirt, meshing together in an image that shouldn't make him think of Gallagher.
It was only them two, Mickey didn't know where anyone else was. Didn't give a shit because he had Mandy and really, she had always been the only one that he'd ever have. The thought should be pathetic but instead it makes him ache on the inside, face buried into the layers he's wearing.
He tells her everything: How it happened, how it ended, everything in between.
Mandy doesn't say anything, just gives a sniff and pulls him into her side with tears of her own. Mickey doesn't cry, refuses to let himself.
He doesn't deserve the right to cry over Ian Gallagher anymore.
The Russian wasn't pregnant, never was. It was just something Terry told him to make him marry her.
Mickey knew, a part of him had always known. It just took everyone else longer to catch on to.
Mandy shoved divorce papers at him a month later, a Russian name he'd never bothered to learn scrawled across it in a rushed movement.
"I shoved her face against the stove and threatened to turn it on if she didn't sign them." She responded after a few minute of silence, as if it were the obvious thing to start with.
Mickey didn’t complain, just blinked at her before breaking out into a smirk. That piece of shit hadn't been working in months.
“You sly bitch.” He mumbled as he searched for a pen, scribbling an attempt of his own signature across the line in blue pen.
Done. He was fucking done. No more fucking Russian cunt to stay around, no more 'proud' remarks from Terry each time he leered at her.
Mickey was positive that he'd fucked her, didn't find it within himself to stomach the thought let alone find out.
Only he didn't have anyone to tell these things to, didn't have a redhead to go tell and beg for mercy (as if he'd actually do that though). So he kept his sudden joy to himself, locked it away with everything else.
"Don't expect me to have done that for nothing though," Mandy spoke up, smashing his thoughts instantly. There was a catch, always a fucking catch. "You owe me."
And if Mickey weren't so damn relieved, he would have ripped the paper in his hands up and told her to forget it.
Sly fucking bitch.
'You owe me' apparently meant that Mickey went back to school, even though he was fucking Freshman and refused for the first two weeks after it was suggested.
Once Mandy stopped asking and talking to him unless she had to, Mickey caved. He always fucking caved.
It hadn't been that bad at first. Sure, he stuck out because everyone knew he was and even the teachers gave him weary looks, but he just got on with it.
Go to class, meet Mandy at lunch, go back to class, go home and repeat. How fucking hard could it be?
Everything was going fine, until suddenly it wasn't.
Mickey didn't even know what he'd been doing, on his way to have a smoke when some punk thought it'd be funny to slam their shoulders together. And when he went to turn around and curse them out, the words he never expected to hear in his life rang in his ears;
"How does it feel knowing that your dad fucked your own damn sister?"
Mickey only saw red.
A broken nose, numerous cracked ribs later, Mickey staggered into the Milkovich 'home', not a damn scratch on him.
"Tell me it isn't fuckin' true." He grit out, probably looking as insane as he felt. He didn't care, didn't think he ever would again. This was happening. This was fucking real.
And the look that Mandy gave him only confirmed it, only made him feel sick to the pit of his stomach.
"What the fuck are you--" She trailed off, realization setting in before she looked terrified.
Mickey didn't understand how he didn't know, didn't understand how he hadn't realized. It explained so much: why Mandy was always at the Gallagher's until Lip left her, why she would always lock her bedroom door at night, why she'd never even talk about Terry.
Mickey needed to throw up.
Mickey needed to kill him.
He forced himself away, stumbled into his room and searched through things, through everything. He ignored Mandy at the door, ignored the noises she was making, pleading with him not to do anything, not to tell anyone what he knew.
Everyone had known except him.
Everyone knew except him.
Finally tugging his gun from under his bed, Mickey didn't give it a second thought as he shoved past her to everything else. He grabbed a bag, dropped near enough everything he could find inside it.
It wasn't enough, nothing would be enough.
Turning to come face-to-face with Mandy, Mickey hesitated. He needed to do this, for them. For himself.
"I'll take care of it." He murmured, voice low as he slugged the bag over his shoulder. Moving towards her, his arms wrapped around her despite Mandy's resistance. His lips pressed to her forehead, ignoring her pleads for him to stop what she knew was going to happen.
What should have happened too long ago.
"I'm going to take care of it. Just.. Just stay here, okay? I'll take care of it." He mumbled against her forehead, not sure whether he was convincing himself or Mandy anymore.
Pulling away, he didn't look back, didn't pay attention to Mandy stumbling after him.
"Mickey, please. Just wai--"
He pulled the door shut, the silence that followed feeling like a harsh slap of finality.
Mickey found him a day later, outside a drug house he'd done too many deals in.
He knocked him out easily, didn't give it a second thought as he smashed him around the back of the head with the bat he'd found in the back of the car he'd stolen from Terry. He brought it down, once, twice, three times as his emotions bubbled up inside him before sense reeled him in and he dragged his own father into the car.
If when he slammed the door Terry's head got caught, that just happened to be an accident.
He drove for too long, the hours wearing on and the night growing infront of his eyes. But Mickey didn't stop, didn't know where he was and didn't care.
Once Terry woke up, Mickey finally pulled over. Cut the engine and dragged him out of the car.
He probably should have given him a chance to explain, that was what they done in the movies right? Except this wasn't a fucking movie and Mickey didn't give a shit what piss poor excuse Terry had to defend himself with.
He shot him three times; twice in the head and once in the crotch. Just because it seemed like the right thing to do.
Mickey stayed for a while afterwards, blood drying on his skin and unblinking eyes staring back at him as he sat in the car. He couldn't will himself to move, to drive away until he forced his foot down and never looked back.
He'd never look back, refused to ever look back again.
Mickey built himself up after that.
Sure, he was still the same as he was but at least now.. Now he was trying, trying to better himself because there was nothing else left for him to do.
He graduated in the end, Mandy in the crowd grinning at him like the smug bitch that she was. He only flipped her off in reply, much to the bemusement to everyone around them.
He got a second job. It wasn't much, just at another store around the hours that Linda still gave him at the Kash N' Grab.
He had a fucking name tag and everything. Had to be nice to people.
It got easier as time went on but if he wanted to keep living, then he had to do it. For himself, for Mandy.
No one ever spoke about Terry or asked where he vanished to. If they did, they never said anything to him at least.
Mickey didn't care, never spoke of it anyway.
When he went home two days later after killing him, Mandy had stopped at the sight of him covered in blood with an empty gun and cried. Cried until he gave in and held her against him with soothing words on his tongue that he couldn't force himself to say.
He didn't know whether it was going to be okay. He didn't know if it was going to be easier now.
Except it did get easier after a while.
He got to see Mandy smile again. Real, careless smiles that he'd forgotten the sight of.
And if the downside of it all was that he had to get high every night in order to forget the beacon of red hair and too trusting eyes, then that was just something Mickey would do.
It was a Thursday when he heard it.
He was working in the Kash N' Grab, sorting out the fridges whilst Linda stood out by the cash register. She'd finally popped out that damn third kid, even if she took every ten minutes off to go check on the teenager she had looking after it up the stairs. Like she couldn't just leave it alone like a normal person. The thought alone had his eyes rolling.
He was walking out when he heard a voice, too fucking familiar and one that he didn't think he'd hear again. Even if it wasn't Ian.
Lip Gallagher, that cunt. Except he wasn't - Mandy had hit Karen with a car, Mickey couldn't say he blamed him for getting rid of his sister.
Mandy would have his balls if he ever thought of saying that aloud though.
"He'll be back next week. He got, uh, injured.. Not all that bad, considering, but he'll be back. I'll make sure he stops by."
Then Lip was gone and when Mickey walked out and handed Linda the list of inventory, she didn't utter a word.
Mickey hadn't expected it any other way.
Mandy dragged him along with her in the end, just gave him a look before gaining a death grip on his hand and only threatening to break bones whenever he tried to get out of it.
[It didn't exactly surprise him with the amount of times they'd gotten high together over the last few years (fuck, was that how long it'd been? years. fucking years.) and Mandy had turned to him with glassy eyes and asked all too nicely, "don't you miss him? I miss him."
To which Mickey had only inhaled deeper before nodding against his will. "I miss him."]
The Gallagher's were ahead of them, all of them bunched together to shield themselves from the cold. They were all grinning ear to ear like heaven was on Earth in a form of Ian fucking Gallagher.
It made him feel sick.
Then he appeared, all smiles of his own and red hair still fucking shining.
Mickey needed to throw up, he needed to go, run. But Mandy only starred daggers at him, completely unaware of his inner breakdown as he was forced to stand there.
It took too long for Ian to even realize that he was there, after Lip and Fiona let go of their younger brother and let him grasp onto Chicago oxygen. Then Mandy lunged, ignoring the looks that Lip gave her that made Mickey want to pummel him into the ground.
They were there for Ian, not to beat the shit out of his older brother. He had to repeat that to himself too many times before Ian finally locked eyes with him.
And really, after everything, he should have seen the punch to the throat coming.
But he didn't, staggered back as Fiona gasped and Mandy laughed until he landed on his ass. He probably would have cursed him out if he wasn't deserving of it, simply pushing himself onto his feet and brushing himself off instead.
He deserved so much worse than that. So much worse.
"What the fuck are you doing here?" Ian all but snarled at him as he finally cornered him, everyone magically disappearing like the cowards that they were. Even Mandy had fucked off somewhere, that bitch.
Mickey couldn't do anything but shrug, watching as the redhead's face only darkened more.
"You're married." He grit out like it hurt him to say and that snapped Mickey out of it, made him blink at him.
"No, I'm not." Mickey stated, voice careful.
He watched Ian's face shift, watched as he masked it. Not that it worked, it never had done.
"You have a kid." It was like he was trying to think of reasons for Mickey to fuck off. And honestly? If they were true, he would have by now.
"No, I don't." Mickey exhaled, head shaking. His eyes dropped, only now realizing the hand shoved into camouflage trousers, trembling away like it had no self control.
Was that Ian's injury? He wanted to ask, wanted to tug it out and stare. See if it was him that made it happen or if Gallagher really did get injured like everyone knew he would. At least he wasn't dead like everyone thought would happen.
"I was married for three months, eleven days and I've not seen her since." His shoulders shrugged, thumb swiping across his bottom lip nervously as Ian only stared him down, analysed him like a science experiment.
"I missed you." It was a desperate attempt, even for him, but he meant it. Meant every word as he choked it out, voice low and pathetic.
"Yeah fucking right. I bet Terry--"
"He's dead." Mickey didn't elaborate, didn't want to know what Ian thought of the man. Didn't care, didn't want to ever mention the name again.
Ian's face shifted, eyes softening and Mickey didn't know if they were meant to, didn't find it within him to complain.
"I missed you." He stated again, finally willing himself forward.
His face pressed into the redhead's neck, forehead in the crook and eyes screwing shut. His fingers curled into the front of his shirt before he could stop himself, too addicted to the sudden smell and feel of Ian to care.
If he was making an asshole of himself then he'd fucking deal with it. Would walk away and never look back.
But as if he felt Ian's arms wrap around his back, one still shaking furiously, Mickey gave into it.
And if Mickey refused to let go of Ian's trembling hand the whole ride back to the Gallagher's, fingers pressing into the muscle of his palm like a life-line, well that was their secret and their secret alone.