Chapter Text
1)
Mickey Milkovich had always been told that Milkoviches didn’t wag. It was humiliating, disgusting, and feminizing to wag your tail.
All of these lies had been fed to him by Terry, and yet, despite knowing how horrible Terry was, Mickey couldn’t help himself. He trained his tail to stop wagging when he was six years old, taping it to his leg and fighting the whimpers and whines that came out of him whenever his thick black fur caught the tape. But he’d done it. He’d stopped wagging.
And then he met Ian.
The Gallagher flock was well-known throughout South Side, mostly for the parent’s reputation. Frank the alcoholic, Monica the crazy bitch, and their six fucked up kids. Each one had a rumor. Fiona wasn’t planned, she’d been spontaneous and forced the couple to wed early. Lip was an orgy baby, but at least he was still Franks. Ian was a bastard child, born of some kind of affair with a redhead. Debbie had been born addicted to drugs due to the amount Monica had consumed while pregnant. Carl was fucking nuts and everyone was too scared to do something about it. Liam was, well, everyone was certain someone lied about Liam.
But of the flock, of all six messed up Gallaghers to choose from, Mickey was obsessed with Ian.
Ian sniffled, wiping his nose again on the back of his sleeve. Winter was out in full force and the flu was running rampant around Ms. Smith’s fourth grade classroom, and Ian had caught it. He had been miserable all day, leaned over his desk and kicking his feet slowly. Every so often, Mickey would catch a breath of the sheer sick smell radiating from behind him. Cough drops, Vick’s, and illness. A lovely concoction of scents that made Mickey want to vomit. Although as they were working their way through a math lesson, Mickey realized he wasn’t going to be the first to hurl.
“Ms. Smith,” Ian groaned quietly as Ms. Smith passed by his desk. “I don’ feel good.”
Ms. Smith sighed, turning to Ian. “You do look a little pale, honey. Why don’t you head to the nurse? Mickey, can you take Ian up to the nurse?”
Mickey rolled his eyes, but he stood, looking back at Ian. The winged child was slumped over his desk, freckled face overly pale, bordering green at the edges. Mickey could hear the crackle of his lungs and the thick, stuffed up sound of his breathing as he drew closer, standing in front of Ian’s desk.
“C’mon Red,” Mickey said, gesturing Ian up. He stood, shambling over to Mickey and lurching violently. Mickey had barely a second to grab the trash can before Ian leaned over and threw up.
Ian whined. “I’m sorry,” he cried softly, leaning against Mickey. “Won’ happen again.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Mickey grumbled, slinging an arm over Ian’s shoulders. He had plenty of experience dragging people who had recently vomited around, and Ian was significantly lighter than any of the other Milkoviches. Mickey made sure not to jostle Ian too much, pulling him out of the classroom and starting down the hall. It was a slow journey, but they were making progress.
“Thanks,” Ian said softly, leaning against Mickey’s body and jolting. Mickey stopped, and when Ian managed to overcome the nausea, they continued.
“For what?” Mickey asked after a minute. “You said thanks.”
Ian held his breath as they passed the cafeteria. Once they were past the smell of poorly-cooked frozen food, Ian answered. “Didn’t haveta take me down,” he pointed out. “Coulda asked someone else.”
Mickey rolled his eyes. “Ms. Smith told me to do it,” he said, pausing as Ian gagged again. “Plus, I’d do anything to get out of that math shit we were doing.”
“Long division?” Ian asked, smiling slightly. His wings were sagging behind him, making it a bit harder for Mickey to support him. “‘S not that hard.”
“Says you,” Mickey grumbled, but as he adjusted Ian around his arm and Ian leaned back into his warmth, he felt a weird sensation pool in his stomach. Before he knew it, his tail was wagging behind him, just gentle little wags, but his excitement was visible nonetheless.
“Alright Gallagher,” Mickey said once they reached the nurse’s office. “Nurse sweet nurse.”
Ian smiled softly, leaning into Mickey’s neck. He smelled like mint, something sharp and clean and powerful, with an undercurrent of cigarettes and booze. “Thanks,” he mumbled, and Mickey’s tail was going absolutely nuts as he pushed the door open and helped Ian into the nurse’s arms. The nurse cooed softly as she lifted Ian right off the floor, holding him as he shivered. When had he started to shake? Mickey silently cussed himself out for not noticing it before.
“Thank you Mr. Milkovich for bringing him,” the nurse said, setting Ian down on one of the stupidly uncomfortable cots and handing him a cup of ice to chew on. “Are his belongings still in the classroom?”
Mickey nodded. “Yeah. Dunno why we didn’t bring ‘em,” he pointed out as an afterthought.
“Would you mind going and getting them?” The nurse asked, writing something on a post-it note. “Here’s a hall pass.”
“Yeah,” Mickey said, accepting the note and tucking it in his pocket. He glanced back one more time at Ian, who was on his side on the cot, already sleeping, and left, his tail wagging the entire way back to the classroom.
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2)
There were few places in the entirety of South Side that Mickey actually enjoyed going to.
The Kash and Grab was one of them.
He liked the way it was quiet, calm and peaceful and never stained with any of the South Side drama, although Mickey could smell the secrets hung in the air whenever he walked in and the owner looked a little flushed. He didn’t let anyone know he knew, simply taking the information that Kash and Ian were fucking around on the shelves and pocketing it for later.
Today was not later.
Mickey pushed the door open, fully expecting to see that familiar head of red hair through the windows of the fridge or behind a shelf, but today was different. It was summer, deep in it as well, so the entire store was a goddamn furnace, but at least it wasn’t boiling. Standing against the counter, a box propped on his hip, was Ian, wearing only a pair of cargo shorts and a nicely-worn tank top, his wings draped over his shoulder and back. How he wasn’t melting at that point was a mystery. But what made Mickey literally stop in his tracks, his tail wagging up a storm and his face slack, was that Ian was laughing.
Mickey’s short-circuited brain provided him one thought and one thought only. God he was so fucking pretty.
His rational brain quickly rebooted and provided him with a second thought. What the fuck? You’re not gay!
“Hello,” Ian said slowly, and Mickey snapped out of his trance, forcing his tail still. “You good?”
Mickey nodded. “I’m fine,” he said, probably a bit too sharply, because Ian’s wings fluffed a bit, as if he was startled. “Y’all got any half-decent beer in this shithole?”
Ian jerked his thumb back towards the beer, and Mickey brushed past him, trying to keep himself under control as Ian went back to chattering with the owner, launching back into a story that Mickey definitely didn’t swivel his ears around to hear better, no sir.
Ian’s laugh filled the shop again, and Mickey’s ears perked, tail waving as the sound went straight to his brain. He could probably equate Ian’s happiness to something gross and poetic, but Mickey wasn’t all too into poetry. Instead of dwelling, he tuned into the conversation happening up front.
“And then-“ Ian said happily between laughs. “And then Lip-“ he braced himself against the counter, his box abandoned. “Lip went crashing down off the bed, completely pantsless. Damn near concussed himself! Fiona was so pissed. But Lip’s in molt right now and she’s had to put up with his bitching day in and day out. ‘S bad enough, really, that V can’t help us preen this season. She’s really good at it.”
Mickey smiled as he bent down to grab a case of beer. His tail was still going, although it wasn’t nearly as eager as it had been earlier as Mickey straightened, pulled the smile off his lips, and went to the counter.
Ian paused as Mickey approached. “You have to pay for that,” he said firmly, lifting his box back up.
“I know how the world works Gallagher,” Mickey said back, rolling his eyes. He rummaged through his pocket, pulled out a ten dollar bill, and slapped it on the counter. As he pulled away, he looked at Ian. The box propped on his hip combined with the tug of the apron strings made his waist look much smaller than it probably was. Mickey smirked, grabbing a pack of gum out of the box. And just like that, he saluted and walked away, tail wagging slightly in the summer sun as he thought of Ian Gallagher’s pretty golden laugh.
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3)
“Ian Gallagher!”
Mickey could hear the panicked redhead scrambling in the back, the scent of his fear staining the air in a way that made Mickey both proud and upset. He had scared Ian. But on the other hand, he had, y’know, scared Ian. The whole point of this venture was to scare him, maybe beat him up a bit. Not kill him.
Probably. Probably not kill him. Mickey couldn’t guarantee anything. Ian had tried to rape his little sister. He might not survive the onslaught from the Milkovich boys.
Ian came bursting out of the back room, his fear growing stronger as the door opened and he shoved into a different room, Mickey vaulting a few boxes while Kash shouted at him to stop, but none of the Milkovich brothers stopped, banging on the door and laughing as the scent of Ian’s terror seeped into the room.
“He’s probably gone,” Kash tried, and Mickey turned. “There’s a door outside back in there. He’s probably halfway down the block by now.”
“Go find him,” Mickey snapped at his brothers, watching as they both rushed out the front door. Mickey followed, slower, and grabbed a package off the countertop as he passed it. He could still smell Ian behind the door, and he could smell the lie on Kash’s lips, but he wanted the chase, wanted Ian to run from him. Mickey sunk his sharp canines into the plastic of the thing he’d grabbed and tore it away, grinning in a wicked way as he left the small store, munching on the chocolate pastry he’d stolen.
The next day, Mickey caught a glimpse of fiery red hair walking down the street, towards the Kash and Grab. “Gallagher!”
Ian turned quickly, eyes widening as he saw Mickey, and then he bolted.
Mickey laughed, following after Ian, chasing the path of fear the second Gallagher son was laying out for him. His tail wagged slightly as he ran, the thrill of the chase thrumming in his bones. The winter air burned in his lungs, but as his breath came out in foggy puffs, he could’ve sworn the freezing air was fueling him to run.
“You’re a dead man, Ian Gallagher!” Mickey crowed happily, turning sharply as Ian ran around a corner, in towards an alleyway. For a split second, Mickey wondered why the hell Ian would corner himself until he heard the flutter of wings and rounded the corner to see Ian taking off in a flurry of copper. He didn’t get far, making it only to the roof of the building and perching there, breathing heavy.
“Coward!” Mickey yelled, pacing around the alleyway. His tail kept wagging, the excitement still pulsing in his flicking ears. “Get your feathered ass down here and fight me for real!”
Ian recoiled from the roof’s edge, and minutes later, Mickey could see Ian taking off, flying through the air and escaping Mickey the only way he could.
As Mickey watched the way Ian flew, he wondered why he never realized that Ian looked like an angel in the air. Perfect and ethereal. Powerful, yet fragile. Sunlight through orange wings, a dancing fire.
And then Mickey walked away, fuming and wondering why he kept obsessing over Ian Gallagher and his unfairly beautiful everything.
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4)
Visiting day was not a day Mickey typically looked forward to.
Every other Wednesday, he’d sit alone in his cell, basically just twiddling his thumbs and chasing his tail in pure boredom. He was still injured, so exercising was off the list of ways to kill time. Unless Mandy decided to swing by, he was very alone and very bored.
Until he got a very familiar name on the roster one day.
“Milkovich!”
Mickey turned, seeing one of the guards standing there, waiting for him. “Yeah?”
The guard jabbed a thumb towards the door. “You’ve got a visitor.”
“Tell my sister I’m not in the goddamn mood right now.”
“It ain’t your sister.”
That got Mickey to perk up, ears raised and tail alert. “Who the hell is it?”
“Some redhead.”
Mickey was moving before he ever registered it, following the guard out the door and down the hall. Sure enough, when Mickey was escorted into the room and set his crutches by his seat, Ian was on the other side of the glass, bundled in a thick winter coat only made thicker by the fact that he’d packed his wings underneath it.
“Hey.”
“Hey.”
Mickey stared for a minute before he spoke again, trying to kill the weird silence through the line. “Thanks for putting money in my commissary. I was runnin’ low on smokes.”
Ian smiled, small and crooked. Mickey wondered how all the shit with his mom shook out. The poor kid looked exhausted, a weight behind his eyes no fifteen-year-old should ever have to carry. “It wasn’t me,” Ian admitted. “It was Kash. I told him you might still press charges, so.” The end of the sentence hung heavy in the air, a million unsaid words that would never come to life.
“Thanks,” Mickey said, and he meant it. “How’re your wings?”
“My what?”
Mickey rolled his eyes. “Your wings, dumbass. Read somewhere that stress can make your feathers fall out, and you seemed pretty damn worked up these past few weeks.”
Ian’s face cleared, and he shrugged his jacket off, revealing patchy, uneven feathers. “I can’t even fly,” he said softly, almost regretfully. “But these aren’t even that bad. Fi’s are nearly bare.”
“Yeah, I’ll bet.”
“So, how long?” And there it was, the question Mickey wanted to avoid. Although the way Ian said it, it could mean anything. How long is your sentence? How long until you’re out?
How long until I can see you again?
Mickey shrugged, sighing. “Dunno. Supposed to be a year, right? Maybe only a couple’a months if I don’t do anything stupid.”
Ian’s face furrowed in confusion. “Like what?”
“Like stab that fat fuckin’ Mick who keeps tryin’ to steal my Jello!” Mickey yelled, half hoping for some action and half hoping to lighten the somber mood between himself and Ian.
He got both responses he wanted.
After a brief yell at the Jello thief, Mickey turned back to see Ian fighting laughter, his lips curled into a happy smile. The sight alone was enough to make Mickey wag his tail, but knowing that he had been the one to make Ian laugh? He was wagging so hard it hurt.
“God, I miss you,” Ian said softly as soon as he composed himself.
Mickey, for all he was, fought the urge to say it back. Fought the urge to admit that maybe he’d fallen for the stupid redhead. Instead, he opened his mouth and said something in true Milkovich fashion. “Say that again and I’ll rip your tongue out of your head.”
His harsh words didn’t dispel Ian, who simply grinned and stared with those loving eyes, causing Mickey’s ears to perk and his tail to wag so hard he honest to god thought he might sprain it.
Ian’s hand shifted, his fingertips brushing the glass.
Mickey’s ears swiveled as his eyes rolled. “Take your hand off the glass.”
“Oh,” Ian breathed, pulling his hand away.
That night, Mickey lay in bed, comforted by the thought of Ian’s visit and that one day, he’d be home free, able to see Ian as much as he goddamn wanted.
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5)
You’d think Mickey would be concerned that when he was released from juvie, the only thing the guard said to him was, “I ain’t giving you the speech. You know all this shit already Milkovich.”
And sure, Mickey had heard the release day spiel before, but still, it would’ve been nice to hear it again. For old time’s sake, y’know? Remind him of all the probation hoops he had to jump through, all the things he wasn’t allowed to do that he’d probably do anyway.
Instead of being insulted or some shit, Mickey only grinned, ears playfully perked. “Yes I do,” he said proudly, accepting the bundle that held his clothes. The ones in the detention center smelled like shit, all clean and soapy in the worst way possible. Well, technically Mickey’s right now smelled like cigarettes and sweat. But he wanted the signature Milkovich household smell, which was still just cigarettes and sweat, same as his center clothes. But under the filth, when Mickey raised his tank top to his face, he smelled Mandy’s soap, some sort of soft aloe scent that was probably lotion, and something distinctly not his, but familiar all the same. Mint, menthol, something that made Mickey perk up, tail wagging gently at the mere scent of Ian Gallagher.
So it was perfectly understandable that when he got out, breathing fresh air for the first time in months, and saw Ian standing beside his sister, his tail went nuts.
“The hell you doing here?” He aimed his question at Ian, who looked unfairly good. Summer looked good on him, enhanced his freckled skin, and he always wore shirts that showed off his wings. Although something was different. “And what the fuck did you do to your hair?”
Ian smiled, running a hand over his shorn hair. Mickey’s heart nearly stopped beating when he realized Ian’s hair curled when it was short. “Summer’s too hot for long hair. Mandy did it for me.”
“So I have you to thank for getting rid of that ugly red mop,” Mickey said with a playful growl, tossing an arm over his sister and rubbing the top of her head with his knuckles.
“Hey, off!” Mandy said, shoving Mickey off of her, but she was smiling all the same, her tail swishing steadily. “And Ian’s only here because he thought I needed some protection.”
Mickey laughed at that, glancing at Ian as he hugged Mandy for real. “Damn. You may think you know my sister, but you don’t know her until you’ve fought her. She’s the one protecting your feathery ass.”
Mandy wrinkled her nose as she pulled away from the hug. “Gross, you smell.”
“Oh yeah, like what?”
Mandy sniffed the air. “Barbecue sauce. What did you eat for lunch?”
Mickey smiled, grabbing Mandy and wrestling with her. “Oh yeah?”
“Ow! Hey, what’d Dad tell you?”
“Fuck the police?”
“No titty twisters now that I’m a c-cup!”
Mickey scoffed, shoving off Mandy before she hurt him. “You’re only a C in your dreams.” He caught a glimpse of Ian, who was smiling at the sweet sibling rivalry happening just outside juvie. Mickey wondered if he ever fought with his siblings like this. Maybe it was just a wolf hybrid thing, but Mickey and Mandy loved to wrestle.
“Hey!” Mickey yelled, turning and looking at the guards. “Fuck you, fuck you, and especially fuck you!” He pointed to each visible guard in turn, saving his final shout for the worst of the guards, the one who flicked his ears whenever he misbehaved. Behind him, he could hear Ian sighing, and Mandy’s mumbled “Oh god.”
“Okay,” Ian said, putting an arm over Mickey’s shoulders. His skin was warm, electric where bare arm met bare shoulder. “Okay, let’s get you out of here before they decide to throw you back in.”
Mickey grinned, tail wagging so hard he worried he might accidentally smack Ian’s thighs with it as he allowed himself to be led away from the detention center, towards bright sunlight and a perfect South Side summer day with Ian and Mandy.
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+1)
“Please?”
Mickey groaned again. “No!”
“Please?”
“How many languages do I have to say no in before you get the message, pipsqueak?”
Debbie rolled her eyes, holding a few colorful toys. “Ian said you’d help me with the kids today.”
“I ain’t Ian, and I say no,” Mickey said. “I hate kids. The fuck would he want me helping for?”
“You can have ten percent of today’s profits.”
That got Mickey up. It was day three of Ian’s molt, and although Mickey had helped him preen literally two days ago and had thoroughly handled Ian’s morning desire for a sex marathon, Ian was still a grouchy mess, laying on his bed while daycare happened just below him. And apparently Mickey was now involved in this whole daycare shit. “What kind of profits are we talking about?”
Debbie raised an eyebrow. “I can usually pull a couple hundred a day.”
Mickey was impressed. “Make it fifteen percent and you’ve got a deal.”
So, when the little kids rolled around, Mickey was among them, watching and making sure no one got hurt. One of the kids was a puppy, with a cute wagging tail and floppy blonde ears, and she gravitated to Mickey, climbing up into his arms and staying stubbornly tucked into his hoodie as he tried to herd the kids to the coffee table so they could all color together.
“I see Cat found you,” Debbie said as she passed.
Mickey glanced at the child in his arms. “What’s her name?”
“Cat,” Debbie said again. “It’s short for Catherine. The nickname was some kind of a joke, I think.”
“Yeah, a fucking mean one,” Mickey said under his breath, looking down at Cat, who was watching him with wide brown eyes. “You wanna go meet someone special, pup?”
Cat nodded, cheering as Mickey carried her up the stairs and into Ian’s room.
“Told you, I’m not in the mood,” Ian groaned as the door swung open. “Give me another hour, then you can have me again.”
“I have a delivery for one Mr. Cranky Ass,” Mickey said with a grin, and when Ian rolled over, he sighed deeply. “C’mon, look at her sweet innocent face!”
Ian rolled his eyes and shifted on the bed so Mickey could deposit Cat beside him.
Cat gasped, watching Ian shift his wings closer to his body. “You’re so fluffy!” She giggled, reaching out and patting Ian’s wings.
“Not as fluffy as Mickey,” Ian said, grabbing Mickey’s wrist and pulling him close. “Go on, you can pet him. He won’t bite.”
Mickey raised an eyebrow, but let Cat scratch behind his ears, his tail thumping wildly on the mattress beneath him. Ian smiled, watching Mickey melt away into a puddle of bliss.
“Cat!” Debbie yelled. “C’mon, it’s time to go outside!”
Cat raced off, leaving Ian and Mickey alone in Ian’s bedroom.
“Round two?” Ian asked, peering up at Mickey.
“After this morning, it’s gonna be more like round seven,” Mickey scoffed. “And no. I think you need to see the goddamn sun today Gallagher. C’mon, up and at ‘em.”
Ian groaned as Mickey dragged him out the window so they were both sitting on the roof, Ian’s patchy wings spread wide behind him. Mickey wanted to fret about sunburn, but Ian didn’t let him, putting one of his wings around Mickey’s body and shutting him up.
“Sun feels nice,” Ian admitted after a few minutes of watching the kids play in the pool.
“Told you,” Mickey said, smiling. “Sometimes all you need is sunlight.”
Ian nodded. “I have a question.”
“Shoot.”
“Do your ears and tail burn? Like, y’know, I know your skin can burn, but does your fur protect you?”
Mickey nodded. “Yeah, can’t really burn my tail. Ears though, they burn.” He flicked his ears as if to prove his point. “Got ‘em bad once when I was little and my older brother had to shave the fur off just so he could get some aloe on them.”
Ian laughed, probably at the ridiculous image of Mickey with fur-less ears. “Y’know what?” He said with a crooked smile. “Can’t be worse than the time Carl got gum all stuck up in my feathers and hair. You can cut hair, can’t exactly cut my feathers. Fiona went through two jars of peanut butter just trying to unstick me.”
“You can’t cut feathers?”
“No,” Ian said firmly. “No, you can’t. Well,” he added slowly, picking at his fingernails. “You can, technically. Some of my feathers are blood feathers, and cutting those is like,” he struggled for a second before grabbing Mickey’s hand and thumbing over one of his fingernails. “It’d be like if someone cut your nails all the way down.”
Mickey winced. Mandy had caught his nails at the quick once, and Mickey had nearly cried, watching blood spill from his nail. “So what about non-blood feathers.”
“Cut those and I can’t fly anymore,” Ian said sourly, staring out across the yard, still holding Mickey’s hand. “Clipping a bird’s wings is the only way to keep them from flying. It’s a disgusting practice. Depressing too. We’re built to fly. It’s what some of us live for.” Ian wiped his face with his hand, and Mickey nudged closer to him. “Monica used to threaten to clip us all the time when she was in one of her moods. Whenever we’d do something really really bad, that was her threat. She’d stop us from flying ever again.”
“I’m gonna fucking kill her,” Mickey decided firmly. “She didn’t do that while she was here in the winter, did she?”
Ian shook his head. “Not to me, she didn’t.”
Mickey nodded. “Ain’t no one gonna hurt you while I’m around,” he promised. “No one.”
Ian smiled. “Thank you,” he mumbled.
“Yeah, well,” Mickey said. “We protect our own.”
“Ian! Mickey! Come get in the pool!” Debbie yelled, interrupting their rooftop bonding time.
Ian laughed, glancing at Mickey’s sun-reddened skin. “Think we should?”
Mickey smiled, eyeing the pool beneath them. “Cannonball bitch!” He yelled, launching himself off the roof and into the pool. Ian followed quickly, feeling water soak his feathers as he dove after Mickey.
They rose at the same time, both soaked and laughing, Mickey’s tail kicking up waves as he wagged.
“I love it when you do that,” Ian said, climbing out of the pool and shaking off. Water went everywhere, cascading off his wings and raining down on Mickey.
“Do what?” Mickey hauled himself out after Ian so the kids could rush the water again. “Jump off your roof?”
“Wag your tail,” Ian said, laughing as Mickey shook water out of his ears. “Means you’re happy, right?”
Mickey nodded, then shrugged. “Means I’m a bit more than happy.”
Ian grinned, watching Mickey shake again, pawing at one of his ears to dislodge the water. “It tells me you’re safe,” Ian said. “That you like being where you are. Like when I let you preen me.”
“Yeah,” Mickey said. “Means I’m at ease. Nothin’s bothering me. I’m happy.”
“‘S that why your tail always wags when you see me happy?” Ian asked with a sly smile.
Mickey turned red, giving Ian a shove. “Yeah yeah, you make me happy you sappy bastard. Now, I seem to recall something about round seven?”
Ian’s smile grew. “Bedroom, now.”
Needless to say, Mickey’s tail was wagging hard for the rest of the day.