These things promptly followed the discovery of Ian with the razor, although most of it was over in a flash: Lip dove for the razor, grabbing it and nearly slicing open both his hand and his brother's; Mickey practically tackled his lover, pulling him in the opposite direction as Lip was going; and Ian… well, Ian just sobbed, getting blood all over his boyfriend's shirt and making sporadic, violent lunges to get the razor back.
"No, no, no, no, Ian," Mickey said, holding him back long enough that Lip could hide the blade. They'd get rid of it later. "You need to breathe."
This wasn't the first time that Ian had cut himself, it was just usually on his thighs. Mickey would find them during sex and for every one, he'd tell Ian positive things about himself. However, the redhead would never believe him; it's not that he didn't try, he just couldn't. He wanted to love and embrace himself more than anything, but his mental illness didn't make it easy. Instead, it drove him to hate himself more and more, sometimes even during the manic episodes; that's why he always was pushing himself to do so much--so that he could feel like he was a better person.
"Give it back to me!" Ian screamed, only in an upright position because Mickey was holding him in one. "Give that back, you fucking asshole!"
Mickey took a deep breath, easing Ian into a sitting position on the floor. Once Lip hid the razor, the ex-con realized that the genius was actually fucking useless. He just kept staring at all the blood, eyes wide. It was like he was frozen.
The towel rack was completely empty. Therefore, the Milkovich grabbed some of the shirts from the floor that looked semi-clean. He knew that using dirty laundry wasn't the most sanitary option, but keeping Ian from bleeding out was more important to him than whether or not the wounds would become infected. That was a concern for later.
"Lip!" Mickey shouted, looking up at the over man. "Jesus Christ, Lip! If you aren't going to help me with this, then just go fucking get V!"
There was a moment where the older man was still rooted to the ground before he turned and sprinted down the stairs. From there, he pushed on out of the house, down the street, and into Veronica and Kev's. He didn't even bother knocking, he just came in screaming her name. "V! Veronica, help! It's Lip, please, whatever you're doing is not as important as this; please come help!"
Going up the spiral staircase, he was met with a naked Veronica who was pulling on a robe. The laptop had been knocked off it's table in the hurry and was filming the entire conversation. Lip vaguely registered how horrified and blotchy his face looked.
"What is it?" Veronica had been initially mad that she had been interrupted until she saw Lip's face. He wouldn't have gone to get her unless something horrible had happened-- and he certainly would have been calmer if he was coming over for something as small as a sprained ankle. As it was, he was hunched over a little, panting and sobbing.
"What's happened?" She asked again, but she could tell the man couldn't get the words out properly yet. Instead, he started to lead her down the stairs and towards his home.
About halfway there, Lip finally found words. "Ian. Ian… hurt."
While the sentence was not exactly well constructed, it was all that he could manage. After all, they were both running down the street now, and running and talking wasn't exactly the easiest thing to do.
Veronica, who was still only in her silk robe, wanted to ask him how Ian was hurt and also how badly, but she bit her tongue. That answer probably wouldn't come out until she was already there to see it for herself.
Once in the Gallagher house, Lip led her up the stairs and into the bathroom, where Ian laid on the floor. Mickey was, somehow, completely calm. He kept layering the wounds with more and more articles of clothing from the floor, pushing down on them in hopes to make the bleeding either slow or stop. Ian had previously tried to fight him off, but now was either resigned to what was happening or too exhausted to care.
"Move," Veronica mumbled to Lip, dropping to her knees next to Ian. After a moment of carefully looking him over and checking his responses, she turned back to him. "Bring me a pair of Fi's sweatpants and a shirt, now. Then, go and take Liam to Shelia's. We need to figure out what the fuck to do, and that child does not need any more nightmares."
All Lip could do was nod, feeling helpless and numb. Everything was falling to shit-- everything. He managed to grab the clothes for Veronica, and then headed down to fulfill her request regarding Liam. If he were honest, he was glad to let someone else take responsibility for the time being. He didn't know how much more he could take.
Veronica had no qualms pulling on the shirt and pants in front of Mickey and Ian, especially given the situation. She didn't feel like she could handle helping while mostly naked, and it looked like Mickey had things covered for the moment. When she was fully clothes, she stooped back down, inspecting the makeshift bandages that the man had created. They seemed to be working well, as the blood had yet to soak through the top layer. That suggested that the bleeding had either stopped or was slowing significantly.
"How much blood do you think he's lost?" Mickey asked, not letting up on the pressure he was putting on the cuts.
"Enough, that's for sure." Veronica shook her head, leaving only to retrieve some tape. She quickly and silently secured the clothes to Ian's arms with it and bit her lip. That would keep them pressed tight until they figured out the next step.
At Sheila's house, Lip barely explained why he was dropping off Liam, only that it was an emergency. Thankfully, she didn't ask too many questions and was just pleased to be able to watch the child for a little while. As the man was leaving, she yelled, "Oh, be safe!"
From there, Lip practically limped home. He couldn't run anymore; he was just too exhausted. He wanted to be able to help his brother, but he wasn't even sure if he had the ability to do that. Ian needed more than he could provide, and he was afraid he was just going to make it worse. He was absolutely certain that it was his fault that the younger man had done this. If Lip hadn't pushed so hard to try and get into the bedroom and the bathroom, then maybe Ian wouldn't have felt cornered enough that he felt he needed to do this. Guilt and fear sloshed in his stomach, and the man leaned over next to the edge of Shelia's fence and threw up. Then, as if nothing had happened, he stood back up and continued his journey home.
When Lip finally made it back up the stairs at home, he found Veronica and Mickey sitting on the floor next to Ian. The redhead looked half-conscious, but he was very much listening to the discussion going on between the two people beside him.
"There, Lip's here now. Let's ask him what he thinks, Ian," Veronica said, her tone a little pointed. The older man took that to mean that he was supposed to side with her on something.
"What's going on?" He asked-- although, really, what wasn't?
V frowned, glancing at Ian. "Mickey and I think he needs to go to the hospital. He lost a fair amount of blood, and look how pale he is! He's going to need stitches on at least some of those cuts, and I am not going to attempt that. I will do a lot of things for y'all, but I'm not about to do that."
She shuddered a little, further emphasizing her point.
Mickey, surprisingly, was nodding along. Who'd have thought that he'd be pro-hospital? The man never went for anything short of death-- not even when he got shot the second time, for fuck's sake!
Ian, from the floor, groaned. "Fuckin' hate hospitals. I can just go to the clinic in the morning. It'll be fine. The bleeding stopped and I can just go then. Really, I'm fine."
"Oh, yeah, you're the picture of perfect fuckin' health, Gallagher," Mickey snorted.
Then, as if waiting for an answer, all three of them looked up at Lip. He froze. On the one hand, he could see what Mickey and V were saying: this needed immediate attention. On the other, Ian didn't need more debt from medical bills. He already had the initial inpatient bill as well as all that he owed for medicine. However, the clinic was probably going to send him to the hospital in the morning, anyway, so why not just skip the wait? They needed to get Ian help now.
"Hospital," Lip said definitely. Ian protested incoherently.
Veronica hopped up, heading down the stairs. She was taking them two at a time.
"She's going to get some shoes and the keys to Kev's car. He's still at home, by the sound of it," Mickey filled him in.
Come to think of it, Lip was pretty sure he saw a lump in their bed.
While they waited on V to come around with the car, Lip and Mickey moved to pick up Ian and move him to the couch. He was more awake than he looked, especially when he started being carried. Still, he didn't fight them this time. Before he knew it, he was being loaded into Kev's truck. V and Mickey flanked either side of him, his brother squeezed in between Milkovich and the door.
They had to have broken several minor traffic laws and a couple of major ones on the way to the hospital. However, they arrived in half the time that it usually took, and Veronica pulled up to the doors of the ER. Lip and Mickey half-carried, half-walked Ian inside.
The moment they came to the checkin counter, a nurse came around with a wheelchair, letting the boys ease the younger man into it. There was a long moment full of gathering information. When asked his relation to the patient, Mickey answered that he was his husband.
So it was determined that Ian would be accompanied by Mickey into the room they gave him in the ER. This hospital was marginally nicer than the other ones in the area; instead of a huge, open bay, their patients got individual rooms while they were being treated--or were waiting to be treated.
Back in the waiting room, Lip and Veronica sat in the waiting room together. Although he would later deny it, the man spent a good portion of their time there sobbing into her chest.
