A/N: takes place mid season 2 :)
Chapter 4: Prayed You Would Change
It's no big surprise you turned out this way.
When they closed their eyes and prayed you would change.
And they cut your hair and sent you away.
Mickey was startled awake from his nap by the sound of a folder hitting his mattress close to his head, and a backpack being dropped on the floor. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes, and glared at the intruder who interrupted his REM cycle.
"The fuck, Gallagher," Mickey groaned as he turned back over and closed his eyes once again, trying to drift back off into unconsciousness.
"Move over," Ian said as he climbed onto the cramped bed, pulling out a cigarette once he was settled. Mickey grabbed it from Ian's lips where the redhead had lit it, and stuck it between his own, smirking at the other boy while he inhaled. Ian rolled his eyes, before continuing to speak. "They hate me," he mubled, looking down at the folder that was laying between them.
"Who, and what the fuck for?" Mickey asked before passing the cig back to the boy beside him.
"Lip and Fiona, mostly, but I can tell Debbie and Carl do, too," he said quietly, keeping his head down as he took a slow drag from the cigarette.
"Still doesn't explain the 'why' part of my question, firecrotch," Mickey said, reaching back for the smoke and taking a puff.
"West Point," was all the redhead gave for a reply, his eyes moving back to the folder sitting innocently between the two boys.
Mickey followed his gaze, and rolled his when he saw the West Point folder. "They don't fuckin' hate you, man. Just don't want you gettin' blown to bits in some fuckin' towelhead infested 'Stan, is all." He looked back at Gallagher, waiting for the boy to raise his ginger head, and meet his eyes.
When he finally did, Mickey could clearly read the pain written in the younger boy's expression. "It's my dream to be an officer; to serve my country. Why can't they understand that? I've worked so hard at ROTC, you'd think they would understand where that was going to lead," he shook his head in frustration, and then continued, "I know they don't hate me," he said quietly, "but I also know they wish I wanted to get out of southside some other way. They'd probably pray for me to change my mind if we did shit like that." He took another inhale off the cigarette that Mickey offered him.
And, fuck, if Mickey didn't pray silently for that very thing. He knew it was firecrotch's dream to serve his country, but was it so horrible that Mickey didn't want the guy, who he was starting to realize he was growing attached to, to die in a fucking desert overseas? Mickey sure as fuck didn't think so. Haircuts pretty hot though Mickey thought to himself as he watched Ian blow smoke from the last of the cigarette out of his mouth. Mickey smiled at him when their eyes met, enjoying the twinkle in the green orbs staring back at him. No, he thought, it wasn't bad at all.