(I still suck at finding titles (this one is a line from 'somewhere only we know' by keane) and good summaries, sorry!)
alright, so this is going to be my multi-chapter fic attempt at fixing what happened, at least for me :)
I apologise in advance for the depiction of Ian's bipolar disorder that I'm probably (quite certainly) not going to get right ... and for any English mistakes you might find. hope you'll still enjoy it :) (it can also be found on AO3, thewaterflowing)
Ian was lying on his bed, even though it was getting late, he had not planned on sleeping any time soon. His wide-opened eyes were staring at the ceiling as if he was trying to uncover the meaning of life carved into it. He was tired, his limbs were aching, his eyelids were fighting to close, but he had no intentions of letting them win. He didn't want to sleep, he'd rather think over and over again about the events that had gone down in the afternoon. These were all he was able to think about. He had not said many words to his family. They all assumed he was too tired from his trip with Monica. But the truth was, he didn't know what he'd be able to tell them. So they had left him alone.
In fact Fiona, was already busy with her own life, besides she had to deal with Debbie who happened to be pregnant with her new boyfriend's child. Ian had been surprised to learn the news. Surely his little sister was smarter than that. But lately, everything seemed to go wrong, like none of the Gallaghers were themselves. Except for Lip. Lip was still a jackass with all the women in his life. He had broken things up with Amanda who had been nothing but the perfect girlfriend for him. So, in exchange, she had broken his nose. Ian regretted not being there to witness it, he would have certainly cheered for Amanda. Just like he'd have cheered for Mandy … He tried to fight the thought. The name. He couldn't think about her right now, he couldn't think about the time they had spent together, he just couldn't. Because if he did …
He rolled to the side, cuddling his pillow, curling up in his bed. He closed his eyes for a brief second. The silence was heavy. Too heavy. Lip was god knows where, with his teacher or whatever girl he was treating like garbage. He knew Fiona was probably not home, either with Sean or with Gus (or the new love of her life, or even maybe Jimmy-Steve, who knew?), trying to figure out whom she truly wanted to be with at the moment. In any case, that was certainly not any member of her family. Debbie was in her room, sleeping or whatever a pissed off teenage girl could be doing at that time. At least, Ian knew her boyfriend wasn't here. Carl was still in juvie, so the only noise Ian could hear in his room was Liam's calm breathing. It was making him feel peaceful, reassured, like everything would be ok. He restrained himself from going to his brother's bed to hold him in his arms. Lately, it was another baby he would have wanted to hug, but he hadn't in a while. He missed him. But he didn't want to think about him. Everything about him was too painful.
He opened his eyes, they were used to the dark of the room by now. He could even see the time it was on his watch: 3:18. He didn't want to sleep; he was fighting the fatigue with all he had. He didn't want to drown in some dreams or nightmares he would certainly have. On his nightstand were still standing some tubes containing his pills. They hadn't been moved; even his bottle of water was full. It was as if he had never left. As if the army had never taken him. As if he had not gone away for a few days on a little trip with Monica. Everything was just as it was before all of that, except everything else had changed. He turned to look the other way, to stare at the wall instead. He buried his face in his pillow before realising why he was holding it so close. It smelled like … He slowly rejected it, putting it on the floor to get the smell away from him. But the truth was: the smell was everywhere around him, even on him. It had grown to be too familiar; it was all he could smell, but also all he wanted to smell.
He was feeling weirdly calm, calmer than he had been for days. It wasn't the same sensation of numbness he had felt when he was on his meds. He knew it wouldn't last though. His heart was racing inside of his chest, but the rest of his body was lying still. Conflicted emotions were fighting inside of him, among which: relief and regret, as he was reliving the events of the past afternoon over and over again in his head. He was convincing himself he had done well. He was sure he had done what was best for everyone. He hated to feel like he was a burden; especially to the people he loved most. That's why, even though they weren't doing it on purpose, he didn't mind that much being left alone by his siblings. It was as if they were respecting his choice … Though Fiona was probably thinking he would still take his meds, even on his own.
He started moving in his bed, not being able to find a comfortable position now that he didn't have his pillow to hold on to. He knew he wouldn't sleep tonight, so instead of staying in the room and taking the risk to wake up Liam, he got up. He grabbed his sweat pants and a random tee shirt before leaving the room. He changed quickly and after carefully locking the door of the house behind him, he started running.
It had been a while since the last time he had run, he was out of shape, but he didn't care if he was going to end up being exhausted. He needed to run. It usually helped him clear his mind. The streets were empty and dark, the atmosphere was cold, and it was his very favourite moment of the day. He would probably stay outside long enough to see the sunrise. He was running; not exactly knowing where he was going, his feet were carrying him, guiding him. It took him a few minutes to realise where he was unconsciously heading. He knew that path like the back of his hand. He had run there with a stroller more than once. He could recognise that street even blindfolded. He suddenly stopped. Well, his feet stopped. His heart kept on running at a mind-blowing speed. He felt the urge to turn back and run the other way, but his feet were still stuck in place, not moving. His eyes were stuck on that house he could see from afar. 'House' … More accurately, the place that had been his 'home' during a couple of months. Now it was all gone, out of his reach, because of his own doing. He couldn't allow himself to feel regret, nor guilt. Not when he had been the one so sure about what he wanted and what he didn't want.
Eventually, after staring at the house for way too long, he managed to move. He turned his back to the street, and started running again, running faster than he should. He needed to stop thinking about everything. He wanted to forget about all of it. All that had happened. All he had done and said. He didn't want to think about it, mostly because he was scared, terrified, of realising he was wrong. As long as he was convinced to having been right, everything would be fine. He ran, until his feet hurt, until he was out of breath and on the verge of throwing up, until he couldn't go on anymore. He practically dragged himself back to his house as the sun was slowly rising on the horizon.