Plastic Ash

by Jademarshal

Mickey couldn't count how many times he'd pictured his father at his mercy; completely vulnerable to his command but in those moments he'd always assumed that Terry Milcovitch would still be alive to feel every punch he ever landed on Mickey reflected back at him, not dust in his hands. Three years; Ian had gotten on that bus and three years later there was no one left.

Mikey thumbed his lip and stared down at the plastic bag in his hands. Mikey had always hated the feeling of ashes; dry and flaky but that's all he could feel against the plastic in his hands.

Mikey couldn't count how many times he'd pictured his father at his mercy, completely vulnerable to his command but in those moments he'd always assumed that Terry Milcovitch would still be alive to feel every puch he ever landed on Mikey reflected back at him, instead of dust in his hands.

Heart attack, a heart attack is what had finally killed Terry Mikcovitch. A fucking heart attack!Not someone comming for long awaited revenge or a meth overdose, a beer run gone wrong, a faulty drug deal or even a shooting, no, none of that; a single, mundane, heart attack.

He wanted to toss the bag, and all it's contents, into to the fire. Sure he realized that it was already cooked down to ash but he wanted his father to burn wether there was a hell to do it for him or not. But fuck! Mikey couldn't bring himself to do it. Even after all the shit his father had done to him the the fucker still had pull.

Fist met drywall, bone bruised skin but Mikey didn't have it in him to do anything but fling himself into the couch.

Mandy had left, left with Lip hours ago and Ian, Ian was gone, had been for nearly three years now but the time spent apart had done nothing to heal his wounds, if anything he felt the sting grow more and more demanding everyday that passed.