A/N: Hey, guys! As with the last two chapters, this one discusses some self-harm. If you are triggered by this, please keep yourself safe and don't read. I don't want to make anyone worse by sharing this. Also, I want to remind you guys that the timeline here will probably be a little wonky, but it's AU I guess, so. Anyway, I almost didn't get this chapter up by today; I had a fantastic date with a very wholesome guy on Friday (which also kind of rolled into noon on Saturday) and then I had work. However, I sat myself down and made myself write this because fuck if I'm going to post late-especially when I was the one determining the posting date. So, I am excited to post this chapter because I've had it planned out for weeks for you guys; I could not squeeze all of the content that I had planned into this chapter, but I realized this part needed to be its own. Don't fret, though: you'll get to see the plans acted out in the coming chapters! I know this fic has sort of turned into mainly a Gallavich story, but I swear that we'll get more of Lip-especially with Mandy. Also, Wholesome Guy might be reading this? Probably not, but either way, yikes! Anyway, I really hope that you guys enjoy and that you all stay safe until next week!

Back in the ER, the shirt-bandages were carefully removed by a kind doctor who initially didn't bother to question them about their relationship. Instead, she was more interested in figuring out which cuts were the worst and which needed stitches.

"Hold still, Mr. Gallagher," Doctor Grunwald said, inspecting the left arm. It was the one that had been sliced up the vein as well as across. The bleeding had begun to start up again, and she frowned, turning the arm to get a better view of the damage.

Ian sucked in a sharp, pained breath.

Mickey's ears pricked at the subtle noise and he looked up at the doctor. He balled up his fists, clenched his jaw, and glared at her. "You're hurting him!"

"Sir, I need you to allow me to do my job, okay? Otherwise, your friend here-"

"Husband."

"Right. Your husband here might lose much more blood and that won't be a good thing for him, okay?"

After that, Mickey didn't say anything but instead silently moved to hold Ian's right hand. However, he winced worse than his lover did whenever the other man let out a pained noise. He knew that Ian had a high threshold for pain; if he was letting himself whimper or hiss as a direct result of what the doctor was doing, that meant it must have been pretty damn painful.

The numbness that Ian had been feeling in regards to his arms was wearing off. While it didn't really hurt when left alone, he could definitely feel it when Grunwald touched it.

The doctor took a few more moments to inspect and clean his left arm before she turned to the men. "He's going to need stitches across the straight cuts, but we can't do anything about the ones going up and down; they can't be stitched, so we'll have to just wrap them as tightly as possible."

Ian didn't react, but Mickey nodded. The doctor got a couple of nurses in and after unwrapping and disinfecting that arm, too, they began to stitch up the cuts.

This seemed to have more of an effect on the redhead, causing him to go white and squirm in pain. Mickey did his best to be comforting, but there was only so much he could figure out to say; it wasn't as if there had been a ton of comfort in his life. He had mostly been slapped on the back and told to suck it up. Even when Kash had shot him, that was his father's reaction. He'd been told that he should stop whining and let Mandy and Izzy remove the bullet and patch him up. It was only a leg, after all. Later, in juvie, the medical professional there had given it proper treatment- or, at least better treatment.

"It's okay, Ian," the thug mumbled, trying to keep his voice and hands from shaking. "It'll-it'll be over soon."

He couldn't help but think of the two times that Ian had helped him when he'd been shot. Sure, Mickey'd done his fair share of caring for his lover, but he couldn't help but feel like he was indebted for these two times. It wasn't usually a bad feeling with Ian, but today it felt like one. The weight of his debt and what could happen to Ian settled down in his stomach like a brick. His chest was a little tight, too, but he ignored that the best he could.

So it continued: Mickey holding Ian's hand while he was being stitched up and then finally bandaged and Ian listening to Mickey go on and on about how it was almost over. The redhead absolutely refused to cry from the pain-he'd made a pact with himself in the second grade that he would no longer be a baby that wailed every time he got a scraped knee or worse. He couldn't remember a time since when he had gone back on this promise.

When the nurses and doctor were finished, they left a blue, plasticy gown with no tie in the back. Instead, it had one armhole on the right side and two on the left. Ian had to strip and then the struggle with the gown began.

It took several minutes for the two men to figure out how to put this on; finally, it was realized that the right arm went through the single armhole, while the left went through the two armholes. It was harder than it sounded.

When one of the nurses returned, they informed the couple that they'd have to move Ian to a different room. Mickey wondered if that was a codeword for one the psych ward, but apparently, it was still in the ER.

Making sure that Ian was comfortably on the hospital bed (or as comfortable as he possibly could be, at least), he was rolled into a room with a nurse sitting outside the door. Another nurse came in with something that looked like a small, white house-arrest bracelet.

"I need to attach this to his arm. That way, in case he decides to try and run off, it'll beep and we can stop him," she said gently.

Mickey shot a glare at her. "Does it look like he's going to fuckin' get up and walk away? Fuck you."

"We have to do this," the nurse explained carefully. When Ian held up his better arm, the nurse fixed it on. "Don't move, dear," she murmured, and when it was other, she left him to go and get some food and water. When the tray came back, the Gallagher didn't even touch it. Neither did Mickey, although he was probably starving. He just couldn't eat, considering the circumstances.

The two were quiet for a long moment before Ian made room for his lover on the bed. "Stay with me until I fall asleep?"

Mickey merely nodded and did just that, the other man's head pushed to his chest. Only when Ian was softly snoring did he let himself begin to silently cry.