~450 word drabble after seeing Shameless 4x10 tonight, kind of an inner thought/character study on Mickey and the situation with Ian.
He did it because he had to.
Since childhood Mickey held the firm belief that ‘family’ was just some loose term for a group of strangers that didn’t have a choice but to live together. That didn’t mean that he wasn’t loyal to them; he beat up the guys that made fun of his sister and helped his brothers make drug runs, among other things — he even helped his dad hide a body once.
But he never actually cared about them. He never felt the need to go home or the tinge of sadness when he thought about his situation. They did their own thing and tried to keep some semblance of peace.
When he realized Ian was doing drugs, he didn’t know how to handle the situation. He had never previously dealt with caring about someone to the level that he did with Ian.
When he was sitting passed out next to Ian in the ridiculous Hummer that had pulled up, he didn’t let go of Ian’s hand but he didn’t look at the boy once, not until they pulled up to the Milkovich house.
His hands shook when he undid Ian’s belt and he swallowed roughly but the lump didn’t go down.
His heart raced the entire time he was in the club, and the entirety of their public kiss was nothing but a hazy blur masked by alcohol and disbelief, mostly at himself.
He did these things because he knew Ian was hurting. Despite his Russian wife at home, his terrorizing father, and fucked up life in general — Mickey somehow knew he had to push past that and hold out for Ian.
Even though he was a different person, he wasn’t. He was the thing Mickey needed to understand his life, without him it didn’t make any fucking sense.
Mickey didn’t understand why his mind was doing this to him, why he couldn’t forget the rough touch of Ian’s hands and the soft look in his eyes. It undid something in Mickey.
He didn’t push Ian to talk about anything because he didn’t know if it would scare him off. Ian would shut down or leave again and Mickey knew he wouldn’t be able to handle it again.
So he gripped any part of Ian that he could while they slept and made sure not to piss off his siblings when they were all together. He kissed Ian as often as he could if just to prove that he wasn’t a bitch, that he actually cared.
He did and he was figuring out how to show it, all while feeling as if Ian was still slipping away faster and faster each day.
He held on though, because he had to.
Okay so again, on anon with teenwolftoday, I had a bit of a revelation. (My Tumblr app won’t let me send things off of anon? Does anyone else have this problem? Anyway…)
We know there was a heavy emphasis on the riddle, “Everyone has one, but no one can lose it.” The answer given is ‘shadow’, as we know. And that made sense in the context.
However, there is another solution to this riddle.
The other answer is 'name'. Now any other time, I’d totally dismiss this as them choosing the response that best suits their needs. But which character are we dealing with here? What is the mystery that hangs around Stiles Stilinski? The thing that…hell we don’t even know if Stiles himself can pronounce? The thing that they purposefully showed his doctor withholding while they were in the very room that Stiles would soon be fully possessed? In the very room that he would soon be asked this riddle?
But what could this mean? My theory is this: Stiles’ name will play an integral role in him being released from the influence of the nogitsune.
The first clue was Holland’s quote (which I first thought would mean we were due to be seeing some Mama Stilinski) stating that Stiles saying, “Thanks mom,” was hugely foreshadowing. Now of course there’s also the possibility that she was talking about his saying it to Melissa specifically, but that’s just an entire other story.
Because who, specifically, did the Sheriff say that name came from? His wife’s side of the family. Stiles’ mom.
What power is there in a name though? Ah that’s what’s interesting.
See there is a belief in Japanese mythos called “Kotodama”, that states mystical powers dwell in words and names. In essence, this belief assumes that a name can be used in ritual to affect everything around us. The environment we live in, the people in our lives, our bodies, our minds…
And our souls.
Derek can feel his blood roaring under his skin as he flicks through different-colored files to find one specific word. He sorts through stacks of paper and even tries looking it up on the internet but it’s not there, it’s not anywhere. He’s at the police station with a STILES STILINSKI file in his hand, the first name blacked out in sharpie and he’s about to tear the whole building apart if he doesn’t figure this out.
His phone beeps and it’s a message from Lydia.
He’s nervous and he hasn’t been nervous since Gerard had been around. His phone beeps again and this time it’s Scott calling. Derek shuts the phone off completely. He needed ten minutes of uninterrupted silence but he was Derek so that wasn’t happening. A man in a police uniform entered the room and looked at him with hope.
"Anything, Hale?" He asked. The precinct wasn’t thrilled about having Derek there but after Stiles ran off, followed by the Sheriff’s disappearance, they were looking for help from anyone that offered.
Derek stared at the files and didn’t look up when he replied. “No, Stilinski never mentioned it?”
The man, Barrow says the name tag, shakes his head. “Only ever called him Stiles, didn’t tell anyone…and now that the Sheriff’s gone…” He didn’t continue, merely cleared his throat and slipped out of the office.
Derek tried focusing on the mountain of paperwork in front of him and got so engrossed in one of the medical reports regarding Stiles’ mother that he didn’t pay much attention when the door opened again. He didn’t look up, merely waited for his new guest to state their business.
"How can no one know this kids name?" Derek snapped, still skimming over details.
"Derek, Derek, Derek, didn’t anyone ever tell you what curiosity did to the cat?" A cold, calculated voice hissed.
He was on his feet before he even met Stiles’ eyes. Only it wasn’t Stiles. His back was straighter, shoulders higher, eyes blazed with knowledge and threats. He was smiling but it was only half his mouth turned up in a curt, evil grin. His hair was less tidy and his nails weren’t bitten down like they usually appeared — it definitely wasn’t Stiles. Derek could see the tinge of red his aura had taken on. What used to be white and gold wisps of air and light surrounding Stiles was now murky and cloaked with another’s presence, something darker and with evil intent.
"You need to leave." Derek replied smoothly. He knew the power of the nogitsune and didn’t want to give it any reason to become enraged.
"You can’t find it, can you?" Stiles — not Stiles, not Stiles barked out a sharp laugh. “You’ll never find it, Derek. He’ll never be free.” Even though Derek had been trying to resist, the confidence in the demon’s voice weakened his resistance.
He rounded the desk, coming closer and closer to the thing in front of him. The amber eyes stared back, almost widening in surprise at Derek’s advances. Good, Derek thought. He’d wanted a reaction.
"He’ll be mine until I’m done with him, Derek." The demon spat out of Stiles’ mouth. "Until I decide I’ve used him enough."
Derek had a hand outstretched, and shoved him back into the wall with one push. Stiles collided with it and the half-grin he’d been sporting formed into a full-on smirk.
"And when I’m all done with him, Derek, wanna know what I’m gonna do with him?" His eyes were glowing now, glowing.
"Shut up." Derek said gruffly and grabbed his neck, claws exposed and digging into soft flesh.
The demon forced out a laugh, wheezed and gruff. “I’m gonna make him mine, Derek. I’m gonna do what you never had the guts to do. I’m gonna love him and take him over and over and tell him that no one else will ever love him like I will.”
The demon narrowed his eyes and leaned forward more into Derek’s hold, testing him almost. Derek tightened his grip and the demon let out a restricted gasp.
"Then I’m gonna slit his pretty throat and dump him in a ditch." Stiles whispered.
SLAM, Derek shoved him into the wall. Stiles coughed and grabbed for Derek’s hand.
And Derek could see the demon slip for a second, could see the gold and white colors and the good in Stiles come out and then he was shouting.
"Derek, Derek he’s holding me by my — " Stiles’ body seized up and the demon was back. "Ah, ah, ah, I don’t think so." The demon had Stiles smile so wide that it was almost twisted and ugly.
"What’s his name, Derek?" The demon laughed, and it grew louder and louder as he continued. "What’s. His. Name?" The demon roared with Stiles’ voice.
Derek let him go and jerked back. The demon laughed so hard that he doubled over, hands braced on his knees. When the laughter finally tapered off he stood upright and adjusted his shirt, slowly and casually like he had all the time in the world.
"No more games, Derek." He licked his lips and held his hands out. "It’s time to wake up."
The demon clapped his hands together, only it sounded louder than thunder and Derek jerked awake in the office chair he’d passed out in. He was breathing heavy, panting almost and felt like he was on the verge of a panic attack.
Had he really been asleep?
I got way too into the Gallavich. This is as if they’ve never kissed before.
Ian moved around the party with drunken ease, dodging between two burly jocks high-fiving, narrowly avoiding crashing into a girl who was more flailing than dancing, and just barely missing the smashed glass on the floor right before the entrance to the kitchen with his socked feet. He poked his head into the adjoined room, came to the conclusion Mickey wasn’t there, and turned back. He had checked everywhere and couldn’t find the kid and it was starting to get on his nerves. Figuring there was only one last possible option, he moved through the living room and left through the front door.
He had been correct in his assumptions. Mickey was sitting on the porch, a nearly-finished cigarette dangling from his lip, a beer bottle held with both hands while his arms rested on his knees. He was staring at the bottle and showed no sign of disturbance as Ian walked out, the screen door swinging shut with a click behind him.
"Mick?" Ian said softly, sitting down beside him and taking a sip from his own drink, rum mixed with cherry Coke.
"Just needed some air. It’s getting stuffy as shit in there." Mickey replied without looking at Ian.
"It’s almost midnight." Ian pointed out. "You sure that’s not why you stepped out?"
"What’re you going on about, Gallagher?" Mickey spat brusquely.
Ian shrugged. “I thought maybe you did it because you wanted to kiss me on New Years.” He shrugged again, looking back up at the expanse of stars.
Mickey snorted, flicking his cigarette into the snow and then rummaging through his pocket until he produced a crumpled pack. He placed a new cigarette in his mouth and lit it fast.
"Why you always gotta be on me about that shit anyways?" Mickey grumbled miserably.
Ian took a large swig of his drink and swallowed thickly before answering. “I guess I just assumed eventually you’d want to kiss me. To know what it was like. I know I’ve thought about kissing you before, all the time really.” He admitted, reaching over and snatching Mickey’s cigarette.
Mickey glared but let him puff on it. “God you are such a fag.”
Ian shoved the cigarette back in Mickey’s face. Once he took it Ian stood up. “Sorry for disturbing you.” He started walking back into the house.
"Hey, hey, fuck, okay just fucking stay, jesus." Mickey said, reaching back and grabbing ahold of Ian’s ankle. "God you’re a fucking pain in the ass."
Ian sat back down sourly. “Why do you even bother with me?” He was more drunk than he thought, saying things he never wanted to hear out loud. It was terrifying but exhilarating and his heart raced. He felt it beating in the tips of his thumbs, where he held his red solo cup so tight it was crushing a little.
Mickey didn’t answer for a couple of moments, then let out a sigh and long groan, scratching his forehead then raking his hand back through his short hair.
Inside, Mickey heard the countdown to New Years begin.
"Well?" Ian barked sharply.
"Cause I fucking love you, you prick." Mickey was frowning but Ian could tell he wasn’t lying or just saying it to be funny.
"You’re such a bastard." Ian shook his head and leaned in, catching Mickey by surprise with a kiss.
2…1! Happy New Year!
Mickey dropped his beer with a thunk but didn’t drop the cigarette. With his free hand he reached over and touched Ian’s face with his chilled fingers, not pulling away but not pushing forward either.
Ian deepened the kiss for only a few seconds before leaning back. When Mickey moved forward a little to follow him Ian grinned meniacally. Mickey breathed out, his breath coming in puffs. Ian noted that his cigarette was burning down to the filter but didn’t say anything, too afraid to break the silence he had caused.
Mickey finally looked away, flicked his cigarette, and watched the ash fall and mix with the snow on the steps.
"God you’re not gonna be worth the trouble, are ya?" Mickey mumbled.
Ian just laughed.
I found this while going through my computer files.
Dedicated to absinthfairy.
TRIGGER WARNING: SUICIDE. NOT ROMANTIC BUT THEY CHAT AND STUFF. I’M AWARE I’M GOING TO HELL.
Please pick only one type of posts!