A/N: don't get thoroughly excited, it's pretty short and actually a little old, written like a month ago on my tumblr. anyway. this could be construed as ooc but imo this is exactly how mickey would react in this type of situation.

It's cold enough for Mickey to see his breath, even wrapped around Ian so tightly he can't remember where his body ends or begins. Ian's eyes are wide open but Mickey doesn't even really want to look at him, doesn't want to see it, so he closes his and breathes.

They don't kick him out when they catch him getting blown by a guy, and Mickey didn't expect them to. They give him a headstart, four blocks worth, to run and he keeps running until Ian catches up and they spend the night in a shitty motel three miles away. There's a reason Mickey was always running with his feet glued to the ground.

"Dad'll find me," Mickey mumbles, so quiet he expects Ian not to hear him.

He can feel a hand on his thigh, touching the scar from forever ago, cold fingertips brushing along the marred skin. "They'll give up eventually."

They won't, but Mickey doesn't feel like saying that, doesn't want to have this argument. It's too cold without any goddamn heat in this shitty place, and the blankets let in drafts from burned cigarette holes. Ian wriggles closer; he can see every freckle, could count them all if he wanted.

Mickey doesn't say it — he doesn't say he's scared. But he's trembling, shivering, not all from the cold, and Ian's arms come up around his shoulders and he makes a weird, shuddering sigh noise.

Mickey breathes in through his nose, grasping at Ian's arms, not pushing him away at all. Ian says nothing except for his name, soft and stuttered and permeating clouds of steam in the air in front of him.

Dad'll find him. He knows it. Dad doesn't give up when he wants someone dead, and Dad wants every last faggot on this planet blown to pieces, and Mickey looks way too much like his mom, anyway. Bad memories and all that. He's a walking target. He knows that, too.

So when he cries, and he lets the floodgates go, and he doesn't stop for hours, with wetness pooling on Ian's arms where he hasn't let go, he doesn't even fucking care. He doesn't want to be dead, when he still hasn't done most of the shit he wants to do. He doesn't want Dad to be the one to finally do him in. It was gonna happen, eventually, but he doesn't want it to be Dad.

He doesn't sob, doesn't whimper, just cries, cries because he's scared of Dad and he's afraid of dying and the way his brothers will look at him now. Ian doesn't talk. Just lets him cry.

Mickey digs his fingertips into Ian's skin and falls in love with never having to say he's sorry.