A/N: Inspired by Fairytale of New York by ReidoxReader

The Christmas Nativity 1984. Nothing ever goes nicely for our poor Mickey.


"Stop scratching."

"It's itchy." Mickey pokes at the tea towel on his head with a vehemence.

"Everyone's going to think you've got nits." His mum tells him.

He stops after that.

Most of his class already think he's a bit scruffy, he doesn't want nitty adding to it.

He lets her pull his costume straight even though she ties the rope around his waist far too tight.

Shepherd number 3 isn't even a proper part.

It's not Joseph.

Or a king.

Or anything good.

Just a tea towel and a toy sheep.

But his mum's took the night off work for it, so that makes it something anyway.

"Go on, there's your teacher. "

He troops off dutifully, joining the opening off-key rendition of a sprightly Christmas carol.

Rita watches him pleased as punch. Her Mickey might not be the most eloquent lad, but his heart's in everything he does. She waves and receives a rare beam from her almost too big boy.

And then his dad spoils it all.

He freezes on the stage as he sees his old man, swaying as he stands, the aftereffects of several hours down the local.

"Come on!" his voice bellows in the ever-stretching silence.

Stephanie Meeks jabs him in the back and whispers his line.

Mickey stumbles forward.

He knows his line. He knows it. He knows it.

Look!

" Spit it out!" the jeering continues

The words are stuck in his throat, and he can't push them out over the lump building.

It's.

"I knew you wouldn't be able to do it. I told you, didn't I?"

An.

Mickey's shrinking in on himself, his father's bumbling shadow looming bigger, crashing into the parents next to him, he swats his mum away like she's nothing more than a fly.

Angel.

His dad's right in front of him now jabbing an angry finger in his face.

Mickey swallows thickly.

"Stupid, little-"

The hall is getting blurry as Mickey blinks rapidly, blinking through the tears.

"Mr Webb there's really no need for any of this-"

One of the teachers tries to pull his father back to his seat.

The other parents shuffle uncomfortably in their seats.

Mickey wishes they'd all just leave.

"You're all too bloody soft on him. He's nine!"

Or maybe he'd prefer the ground to swallow him up whole and let him stay there.

Mickey inhales shakily.

"Too bloody thick to remember one line."

He's yanking Mickey off the stage.

He slips on the stage steps, almost tripping on the hem of his costume, running to keep up as his dad strides across the school hall.

"Waste of bloody time."

A sharp shove and he's out in the cold, trying his best to keep it together. His dad towers above him.

Rita appears seconds later, cheeks pink with humiliation.

"How dare you show him up like that?"

"Show him up? He's the embarrassment!"

Mickey cowers from the spittle flying from his father's mouth.

"Mickey, come here love."

"The pair of you are fucking useless!"

And he stomps off into the night back to whatever boozer he crawled out of.

"Sorry mum,"

The words are soft and wobbly.

Rita pulls her little boy close, presses a lipstick kiss against his cheek.

"You were wonderful darling."

And the threadbare dam of bravery cracks as he finally succumbs to the tears.