You Make Me Better

Summary: Ian's Bipolar Disorder got worse before it got better. Sometimes it was all Mickey could do to force the pills down his boyfriend's throat. Over time, Ian was finally able to stabilize. But without Mickey there to help him, he would have been dead a long time ago.

Disclaimer: I don't own Shameless.

Written for the Gallavich Week Day 2 prompt: Come what may (After 4x12 / future fics). I promised you all a fic about Ian's recovery, and I didn't forget! I hope you guys like it!

Those first few weeks after Ian was diagnosed were the hardest for Mickey to handle. Each day he would wake up in bed next to the redhead, hoping it had all been a dream and that he would see the younger boy's sleepy, radiant smile like he used to. Instead, his hopes went unanswered and Ian continued to lie next to him with drooping, deadened eyes.

It broke his heart every time, but Mickey never complained.

The older boy made it his duty to take care of Ian. He bathed him and fed him, barely ever leaving his side. Between him and the baby, Mickey was constantly busy. It didn't help that Ian was very uncooperative whenever he tried to help him. The taller boy cried and slumped down to the floor, never wanting to do anything but sleep. He hated being such a burden, and Mickey's kindness only made him feel even more helpless.

Still, Mickey never gave up on him.

Fiona kept insisting that Ian needed to go to a hospital, but Mickey wouldn't allow it. Sometimes it was all he could do to force pills down Ian's throat, and it was exhausting for the both of them, but at least Ian was where he could see him and not in some fucking nuthouse.

Instead of going to a certified doctor, Mickey got the pills that Ian needed from Veronica. She warned him that Bipolar Disorder was tricky and less predictable than the type of shit that she was used to selling drugs for in the ghetto, but he didn't care. He had grown increasingly paranoid and protective of Ian, and Veronica was one of the few people that he actually trusted.

More than anyone, Veronica understood the healing power of love. She and Kevin were always the first to defend Mickey's choice to keep Ian where he was. They both knew that one half could never be happy without the other, and sending Ian far away from the person he needed the most was not good for either one of them.

Fiona remained unconvinced. She hadn't even known about Ian and Mickey's relationship until recently, so her lack of confidence in their love was probably understandable. Nevertheless, Veronica rolled her eyes and snapped at her best friend for being so blind.

Even though Fiona continued to have her doubts, Debbie was another person who was on Mickey's side. The younger girl started coming over to the Milkovich house more often to help with Ian and the baby. She hung out with Mandy a lot and even became friends with Svetlana. Most of the time, she would bring over some of Ian's favorite food that Sheila had made or a movie that usually made Ian smile, and they would all try to cheer him up. Sometimes, when Veronica was too busy with her twins, it was also Debbie's job to bring over Ian's medicine.

"How's he doing?" she asked softly. They both stood in the doorway of Ian and Mickey's bedroom, staring at Ian's crumpled silhouette.

Mickey looked away and shrugged. "He's still always fucking sleeping," he grumbled. "The stubborn little shit fuckin' hates it when I wake him up for his meds."

"Can I try today?" Debbie asked hesitantly.

"Be my fuckin' guest," Mickey huffed, motioning inside the door.

They both walked in the room and climbed onto the bed next to the motionless boy. Ian closed his eyes tightly, willing them to go away.

"Hey, Ian," Debbie greeted him with fake cheerfulness. "You doing okay?"

No one answered her. Of course he wasn't fucking okay.

"It's time for your medicine," Debbie tried again.

Once again, there was no reply. Debbie sighed. Mickey chewed on his thumb nail.

"Ian… please don't shut us out like mom did," she pleaded. "Let us help you."

Ian turned away from both of them. He didn't want to hear it.

A few months passed, and Ian got worse before he got better. Much to Mickey's relief, Ian managed to work himself back into a manic state, but unfortunately his moods never seemed to last very long. He was always at one extreme or the other: so sluggish and sad that he wanted to die or so hurried and energetic that he could barely form coherent thoughts. It was impossible to predict what he was going to feel like day after day.

Mickey preferred it when Ian was manic. It was good to see him eating and talking again, and even though Mickey felt like he was being left behind, at least Ian was going somewhere. Unfortunately, it was even harder to get Ian to take his pills when he was like that. The idiot felt too good and invincible to believe that his illness was a problem, and he preferred to self-medicate with party favors and alcohol instead. Mickey lost count of how many times he had to yell at Ian to take better care of himself.

If it had been anyone other than him, Mickey would have given up a long time ago.

Still, Ian didn't truly hit rock bottom until one day when there was a knock on the door. Two men in army uniform stormed into the Milkovich house and demanded to see Ian Gallagher. Some shithead from the neighborhood had apparently tipped them off as to where "Gallagher and his fag boyfriend shared an AIDS den together." Word about them had traveled fast and not everyone was as accepting as the patrons of the Alibi Room. Mickey vowed that he would find whichever piece of shit called the army and kick their fucking teeth in.

The men from the military barged in just as Ian was crashing from one of his high points. When they interrogated him, Ian burst out crying and huddled in Mickey's arms, mumbling about crushed dreams and past mistakes. As soon as the Military Police became aware of just how bad Ian's illness really was, they dropped all the charges. His only penalty was that he was never allowed to apply to be in the military ever again.

Ian was sad for a long time after that. All of the training and studying that he'd devoted his teenage years to were for nothing. His purpose in life was gone. Ian felt worse than numb. He just wanted to sleep forever and never wake up. Just the thought of his dead dream filled him with despair, and Mickey had to practically suffocate him to make him swallow his food during every meal.

Mickey didn't realize just how bad it had gotten until one morning when he'd caught Ian staring contemplatively at his arm with a knife in his hand. The older boy's eyes widened at the sight, not wanting to believe what he saw. He cautiously approached Ian and took the knife away from him slowly. Ian didn't even bother to put up a fight; he just slumped over, filled with guilt and shame.

Ian had expected the other boy to yell at him, but honestly, Mickey didn't feel angry at all. All he cared about was Ian's safety. He was just relieved that he'd caught Ian in time. For the rest of the night, they held onto each other tightly and cried together. Mickey vowed that he would never let anything like that happen to Ian ever again.

During the horrible weeks afterward, Mickey hid everything sharp or dangerous in the house. He spent every night sleepless with worry as Ian begged to die and whispered suicidal thoughts under his breath.

To everyone's huge relief, Ian didn't stay in a bad place for very long. Nevertheless, Mickey never came down from high alert. Just the thought of Ian trying to kill himself was too much for him to handle, and he became obsessed with staying awake, doing everything in his power to never let Ian out of his sight. The amount of sleep that he got was so low that eventually Mandy had to sneak sleeping pills into his food to get him unconscious for the first time in days.

After that, Mickey realized how reckless he'd been, and he begrudgingly agreed to let Mandy watch over Ian sometimes so he could rest.

Over time, they both started to get better. Veronica finally found a dosage that worked well for Ian, and he began to act more like his old self than ever. It was hard for him to truly stabilize his condition, but at least he became well enough to realize the severity of his situation.

Finally, he and Mickey had to have the talk.

"I need to go to a real doctor," he admitted one Sunday morning with a sigh.

Mickey's head snapped up from his breakfast in alarm. He hadn't been expecting Ian to suggest that at all.

"I'm not gonna let them take me away," Ian promised quickly before Mickey could protest. "It's just… Debbie's right. I'm just like my mother, and I can't refuse treatment like she did."

"What the fuck is wrong with what we've been doing?" Mickey growled. "Veronica's shit has got you this far, and lately you've been doin' alright."

Ian shook his head. "It's not enough," he insisted. "V can only help me so much. I need real Bipolar meds, maybe even therapy."

"Gallaghers don't do therapy," Mickey grumbled, repeating a phrase that he'd once heard Fiona say.

"I'll do whatever it takes to get back to normal," Ian replied. "You've taken care of me long enough."

Mickey hesitated. He wanted Ian to get better more than anything.

"Alright," he finally sighed, "but if they even suggest sendin' ya to the funny farm I'm draggin' you back home."

Ian's new meds turned out to be exactly what he needed. He went months without having a depressive episode, and he was even able to think clearly again. Finally, things began to go back to normal, and Ian returned to being like the sweet, brazen teenager that Mickey had fallen in love with in the first place.

The brunette was more than a little hesitant to let Ian have his independence back at first. He agreed that Ian should get a job during the day that didn't require dancing around a bunch of drug addicts and old pervs, but he hated that it meant that they would spend time apart from each other again. Mickey was still traumatized with the fear of Ian hurting himself, and he worried that Ian would get worse without him.

For the entire first week after Ian starting leaving for work, he paid Carl to spy on him. Every time, Carl reported back saying that everything was fine.

Mickey finally started being able to breathe again.

Ian got his job back at the Kash and Grab, just like in the old days, but this time around, Linda agreed to pay him even more than before. The assholes who worked there after Ian had left made her appreciate just how valuable a semi-honest kid like Ian was in their town. She asked him to take over the place full-time for a while, and he gladly accepted.

Mickey also went back to being a full-time pimp. During the bad days of Ian's illness, Kevin had almost completely taken over the business for him. After all the things that Kev and V had done for Mickey and his boyfriend, the two business partners actually managed to become friends. Together they even managed to scrounge up enough money to improve the working conditions for the girls and boost sales altogether.

Everything was finally working out for a change.

Even Ian and Mickey's feelings for each other burned bigger and brighter than ever before. Sometimes it was tough for Ian to get hard on his new pills, but that barely hindered them from having sex whenever and wherever they could.

Especially while Ian had been feeling depressed, they had gone long stretches of time without fucking in the last year. They vowed to make up for lost time, and Ian spent hours after hours pounding all of his past stress and frustration into Mickey's small, tight body.

It didn't matter what Ian threw at him, Mickey could take it all. He'd always been good at absorbing Ian's pain when it mattered the most.

Slowly, all of the nightmares of their past faded into a distant dream.

Ian's condition stabilized better than anyone could have imagined. He got into the habit of taking pills at a certain time every day. He stopped drinking and taking drugs. His illness still gave him problems sometimes, there's no denying it, but it stopped affecting his daily life.

For all intents and purposes, Ian had almost completely recovered.

Mickey also began to get better. He'd spent his whole life in fear of something, whether it was his own father or Ian's illness. He'd never been truly happy for very long. Now that his father was in prison and Ian had gotten better, the terror and anxiety that he'd been faced with his whole life slowly began to disappear.

It was okay now. They were both okay.

The two boys lay in bed one morning, their bodies flushed and spent after fucking for the third time that day. Mickey's head lay on Ian's chest, and Ian ran his fingers through his short, brown hair. The taller boy leaned down to kiss Mickey's head, an action that they had both grown fond of.

"You know, I don't think I ever thanked you for taking such good care of me," Ian murmured.

Mickey scoffed. "Fuck off."

"No, I mean it," Ian admitted quietly. "Sometimes I think that I only got better because of you."

Mickey looked away and he was silent for a long time, so Ian figured that he wasn't going to say anything back. Then he heard Mickey mutter something too faint for him to hear.

"What'd you say?" Ian asked.

Mickey sighed. "I said: you're the one that fixed me first."

A wide grin spread across Ian's face, and he leaned down to press their lips together hard.

Mickey pulled away and took a deep breath. "I love you," he confessed.

Ian's eyes widened and shone with joy. He could barely process what he'd just heard.

"I love you too, Mick," he breathed in awe. Without hesitation, he wrapped his arms tighter around the other boy and never intended to let go.