By: stubliminalmessaging
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It started with Ian falling wrong off one of the drill obstacles at ROTC and landing on his leg wrong. A half a dozen cadets rushed to his aid and helped him up, though he told them he was good and that he would just walk it off. His commanding officer took one look at his leg and had the other boys help Ian to the car so he could drive him to the hospital.
It occurred to him to call some stranger danger, but he was in a lot of pain and it made hi reluctant to protest. He hoped he managed to find the one not-so-corrupt adult in the South Side when he got in the cat with the man. He told the other boys that their session was complete and that they should go home before he got in the car and drove Ian to the emergency room.
Once Ian had been admitted to emerg and had waited the first half hour or so, things got a lot less urgent. His C.O. calmed down and realized that he wasn't on the brink of death, and after a lot of urging from Ian and a phone call to Fiona's cell, he left Ian to wait until he was called in to see a doctor.
The ER was surprisingly empty but Ian just chalked it up to being a week night, not that that stops crime and violence in this part of town. Ian was just contemplating sneaking out and (very carefully) taking the bus home so that V could try and do something about it when someone nudged his shoulder.
"Ay, you got a smoke?" asked the dark-haired kid who'd nudged at his shoulder and broke him out of his thoughts.
"Uh – yeah, I think so," Ian replied, sitting back and reaching into his school bag on the chair next to him. He found his pack and shook out his last smoke, offering it to the guy. He took it and placed it between his lips and looked at Ian expectantly, eyebrows arching up when Ian didn't move.
"You comin'?"
"What?" Ian asked. "No, I gave it to you."
"Ain't it your last one?" Mickey asked, eyeing the empty crumpled package in Ian's hands. He shrugged and shoved the carton back into his bag.
"I can't get up," Ian told him. "My leg's broken. Take it, I'll get some more later."
"Nah, we can share. I'll help you get outside," the guy offered Ian his hand to haul him to his good leg. It would have been easier with two hands but the guy seemed to stubbornly insist on keeping his right hand tucked in against his side. Ian supposed that perhaps he was in the hospital because of some arm or hand injury.
The guy let Ian lean on him and helped him limp his way out the automated hospital doors. He helped Ian over to a bench outside and let him down on it. He leaned against a pillar next to the bench and got out his lighter, lighting Ian's last smoke one-handed.
"I'm Ian," Ian said when the guy offered him the smoke. He took it and sucked on the filter as he looked the guy over. He held out his right hand in offering.
"Mickey," the guy supplied, though he eyed Ian's offered hand warily. He settled on waving Ian's hand off, finally moving his right hand from where he had it pressed into his side. Immediately Ian saw the dark stain blossoming from Mickey's ribs where he'd been covering it. His suspicions were confirmed when he saw the blood staining Mickey's palm. He saw Ian looking and he swore, then he cringed and curled in on himself a bit.
"What the fuck happened, man?" Ian asked and Mickey chewed on the inside of his cheek and smoked silently. Ian tried to take it off him but he growled and turned away, swatting at Ian's grabby hand.
"Seriously, what happened? I won't tell anyone, just don't want you bleeding out on me," Ian tried again.
"Tell anyone and I'll cut your fuckin' tongue out," Mickey promised, sizing Ian up. "Ain't fuckin' joking. I'll fucking kill you easy as breathing, man."
"Yeah, whatever. I'll take it to the grave or whatever," Ian said, anxious and eager to know what had happened to Mickey.
He squeezed the wound on his side and said: "I got shot."
"No shit. I fucking know you got shot," Ian said, rolling his eyes. "Do the emerg staff know? You'd think you'd be bumped up the list if they knew you were bleeding out with a bullet in your guts."
"Two things. One: there's no bullet in me. It went through, and before you start freaking out like a fuckin' pussy. It don't hurt that bad so I'm pretty sure it missed all the important shit. Two: I told the nurse I got a tattoo last weekend and it got really infected. So it don't make a difference how fast they process me."
"What exactly are you planning on telling the doctor when he looks you over and sees you got shot?" Ian asked, finally taking the mostly-gone smoke off Mickey.
"Gonna tell him I'll fuck him up if he don't patch me up and send me home with some good painkillers and no fuss or if he calls the cops," Mickey replied, smirking. "Doctors are pussy little nerds. Shouldn't be a problem."
Ian smiled at that. This was guy cute and cocky and Ian felt himself get more attached every second he spent talking to him and he found himself wanting to spend more time with him. Before he could decide against it, he asked; "What are you doing after this?"
Mickey didn't answer him for a minute, so Ian stammered to correct his question. "I-I mean like, if you wanna hang out or whatever. We could play video games and get high and stuff," Ian babbled, wracking his brain for what straight guys did for fun together. "A-and watch football and shoot guns."
Ian immediately felt seven hundred times gayer than he usually did when Mickey sideeyed him. Just as Ian contemplated fleeing back inside Mickey shrugged and plucked the smoke from Ian's fingers, finishing it off and tossing the butt into one of the flower beds outside the hospital.
"I'll go get this shit over with and you get yours taken care of you can wait here for me. Shouldn't take more than an hour, right?" Mickey led the way back into the emergency room and Ian followed after him like a puppy who had just picked his human.