A/N: Fiona and Jimmy are out of town for the day.

Disclaimer: I do not own Shameless.

Summary: And so the Lord said, "Thy two faggots shall have their revenge."

Frying Pan Blues by FlyingNymphLady

Standing in the kitchen Ian held onto the frying pan with a vice grip, the sizzling butter still dripping from the inside. Everyone around him looked on shell shocked by what they'd just witnessed. Terry Milkovich had stormed into the Gallagher household cursing their family name as he went, swinging a crowbar to escalate the intensity of his threats. Poor Ian had been preparing to fry a batch of eggs for his siblings when the alien patriarch arrived and was forced to use the pan as a homemade shield at the first swing of the crowbar.

The sound of iron clashing was deafening, causing everyone in the room to recoil save Ian, who, over taken by his rage and the memory of this man's crimes against Mickey, began to wail on him with the frying pan. When Ian finally returned to his right state he looked down at his hands and found them splattered with blood. The blood felt different then the kind he'd expected to feel from his years of ROTC training. It felt overly warm upon his hands the way scalding water feels at the first touch. The red head found himself going numb right then and there.

Lip jumped into action first, approaching his brother with caution until he was inside the pan's swinging range, quickly disarming his brother. "Carl, go call 911. Debbie I want you to take Ian upstairs, Laim too. Go guys! Come on, we've got a bleeding Milkovich on our floor."

The younger children responded to his commands and quickly set to work. Debbie practically dragged her brother up the stairs, Liam taking his hand in an attempt to help her. Managing to get her brother into his bed Debbie paused a moment, wondering if Ian's current condition was acceptable to leave him in. He had the look of a man facing a ghost for the very first time.

"Ian, Ian look at me," His glazed over eyes slowly drifted to hers and Debbie hoped it meant he was listening. "Listen I have to go take care of Liam but I'm gonna be right back. You didn't have a choice; he was trying to kill you.'

Ian still didn't respond but Debbie convinced herself he'd heard her words and lead Liam away to change and put him down for him nap.

Outside the Gallagher's house an ambulance had arrived and parked right in front of the building. Mickey's heart stopped when he saw it. What had happened? Had his father finally gone through with his threats? Was Ian's body being removed from the home right now?

Rushing across the street Mickey disregarded the traffic, desperate to access the damage his father had done. Throwing open the door he scanned the living room, charging toward the group huddled in the kitchen upon further inspection of the room. He tossed the paramedics aside to reveal his father lying on the tiling.

"Where's Ian?" He demanded, ignoring his father's beating body.

Lip nodded to the upper levels of the house and the standing Milkovich took off, climbing the staircase two at a time. The door slammed against the wall and he breathed a sigh of relief as the redhead fell into his line of sight. Closing the space between them Mickey pulled him into his arms, Ian's face to his chest. "I'm so sorry… I can't believe he'd do this."

Ian mumbled something into Mickey's torso but the Milkovich couldn't quite understand him. Helping the Gallagher maintain some of his male dignity, Mickey didn't pursue the quaking voice further. It took quite some time to quell Ian's tremors but eventually he managed to calm himself. Mickey and Ian began to quietly talk about anything besides what had happened, even gaining a few laughs from Mickey as time went on. Ian fell asleep in his arms after a spell which Mickey took as a sign it was time to leave the Gallagher house.

- Shameless -

The hospital called Mickey's cell phone in the morning, the nurse on call all too familiar with the Milkovich clan. She seemed almost cheerful with her news, proclaiming the grave condition of his father with a song in her voice. Mickey took the news calmly, promising to stop by with his best wishes.

Heading over to the hospital around noon Mickey stole some flowers from the front of the floral shop, placing them in front of the hallway window. Terry had faded in and out of consciousness since ten but now he lay asleep on the bed, life being breathed into him from tubes stuck down his throat and nostrils. Ian had done a fine bang-up-job on Terry, Mickey thought. Both lungs had been punctured by smashed ribs fragments and now were held together only by experimental treatments and forced oxygen.

"Hey fucker," Mickey said coldly, lighting a cigarette between his teeth, "It's too bad Ian didn't get to finish with you, almost killed you. Of course, I suppose that's what you were trying to do to him wasn't it; kill him. For being a fag- like me."

The beeping of the heart monitor met his speech with a constant 'bleep'. "Were you gonna kill me next? Or, did you wanna bullshit yourself into the notion of curing me?"

Mickey took his father's hand and held it in his own for a minute or so. It was rough and broken in various places from scam jobs and many occasions in prison. Mickey had often wondered what his life would have been like if he hadn't grown up on the South Side, if his father hadn't beaten him every time he'd been drunk (which was all the time). Would Terry have held his hand when Mickey broke his leg and had to be rushed to the hospital (left in a room much like this one)? Would he have used that hand to teach him how to throw a baseball?

Releasing his hand Mickey stood and watched his father draw one final breath before he ripped the tubes from Terry's nostrils and lungs. Mickey took the time to briefly enjoy his father's convulsions before disappearing out the door.

Passing frantic nurses hurrying toward the room as he went Mickey sighed solemnly, "I guess we'll never know…"

- End -

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