Chapter Text
Mickey wasn’t going to deny he loved having power. He wouldn’t deny himself the excitement he got, the waves of electricity coursing through his veins as he was able to do whatever he wanted without ever being reprimanded. And he liked controlling the mass. He liked how just a crimson sheet with a golden symbol of skull and crossbones with “M4” just underneath could shift the mood of the entire school from cheery to eerie. He almost dared to say it was a gift, this amount of control, he had.
He stood out where he was among his fellow classmates, waiting for the boy to open his locker, for the halls to go deathly silent, and to watch the colour leave from the boy’s face. It was all so refreshing, and he smiled as he got that feeling again.
His name was Jimmy or Johnny or Louis. He had shaggy hair, and he was a bit on the scrawny side. He watched the people around him in dread and confusion. Maybe he knew what he would find in his locker; this wasn’t his first time being the school target.
He put his hand on his locker before stopping, turning to scan the crowd that had populated. Once his eyes fell on Mickey, he stepped forward. Oh, Mickey enjoyed it more when they tried to fight back; all the more electricity, all the more exhilarating.
Mickey eased his way through the people, never taking his eyes off his prey. “You already know, don’t you?”
He could see Jimmy or Johnny or Louis tremble before him, like the antelope Mickey, the lion, was sure to pounce.
“I know,” his voice shook, “but I don’t know.”
“Maybe you should try and understand less; you don’t wanna use all that energy when you should be running.”
He saw something snap in his prey as he ran forward to shove Mickey back with enough force to make him fall to the ground. But Mickey was on his feet in an instant, already watching the mass run after his kill. He couldn’t get enough of how easily they followed. He wouldn’t deny himself how much power he felt.
Ian hated having to ride up here on his bike. Amongst the fancy cars and buildings, nothing screamed “poor” like an outdated bike weighed down by mounds of dry cleaning.
But he tried to focus on the sights before him as his thighs burned from the rather long drive. There was a peculiar fountain that looked like it could be a national landmark with its rusted metal statue of a horse on its hind hooves. That fountain would be off soon, retiring for the winter and only splayed as something called “art”. He rode on a stone path now, leading up to his destination. He was used to seeing the preppy uniforms; the khaki bottoms and the hand stitched navy blue blazers- but he still couldn’t feel at ease.
It didn’t matter. He could be out quickly enough, if he tried.
Once he got to the opening right in front of Lakeshore High, he was met by clumps of children all over that was off about what Ian was usually met with. Two girls ran by, their khaki skirts barely flailing as they ran past, and Ian guessed they’d be a great guide to understand what could possibly going on.
The biggest group gathered around to the side of the gigantic building, looking up with their phones and cameras up in salute. Ian followed the general direction and almost gripped on his breaks too hard.
There was a boy in a grey track suit, standing on the edge of a balcony. Ian squinted his eyes, trying to get a clear view of the boy’s face, maybe read as best he could on what could possibly be going through his mind. Failing in his intentions, he dropped his bike, ready to run up as soon as possible. Ian would look later on in his decision to bring the clothes with him, but as of now, he was climbing flight after flight of stairs, heading to the floor where all this commotion was taking place.
He barreled through the glass doors, his heart racing from both the run and the boy standing so shaken on the ledge. He wove his way through the crowd, which was very eager. With all the excitement that filled the air, all Ian felt was death. He certainly didn’t want to feel this.
His voice caught in his throat. What could he say? What could he possibly do? He looked to the clothes in his hands, trying to find the answer somewhere in his duties.
The picture by the name caught his eye, and he spoke in an instant. “Edward Mason?”
It fell silent as the boy looked back. It was him, for sure. His hair was matted to his sweaty forehead and his eyes were purple from bruising and bloodshot from crying.
Ian held the hung clothes in his hands. “I’m here to drop off you’re dry cleaning!” He spoke so confidently, as if that freshly ironed blazer held all of the world’s problems in its delicate stitching. He watched the lack of expression on Edward’s face with a smile. “That’ll be $12.50.” There were snickers behind him that he didn’t realize at the time.
Edward shook his head slowly. “Just don’t…don’t worry about it.” Every word seemed to drain him just a bit more.
“Nah, but I have to worry about it, man. I need to get paid and you need to get your uniform.” He was jumping now, trying his hardest not to show the fear coursing through him.
He breathed out a laugh. “School doesn’t matter.”
“Actually, high school is-“
“This isn’t high school. This is hell,” Edward corrected, turning back and looking down.
Ian finally looked behind him and scanned the growing crowd, still feigning confusion. And he finally let himself ask what he dreaded. “Are…are you-“
“This is what they wanted. M4 may have started it, but the whole school agreed. They’re ready to end this and so am I.”
“M4? What’s that?”
Edward gave a look of bewilderment back to Ian before shaking it off. It didn’t matter if Ian didn’t understand. Nothing mattered to Edward Mason right now.
And that flashbulb memory went by in Ian Gallagher’s head one frame at a time; as he caught the twitch in Edward’s foot; as the plastic covered uniform fell from his slack grip; as Edward stepped forward; and as Ian ran to the ledge just in time to grab by the collar of Edwards grey hoodie. He won’t allow himself to remember anything but the fact that he saved Edward Mason at that moment.
4 Days Later
Naomi Mather was soon to be Naomi Milkovich within a few short months. There were so many reasons why she didn’t care about this event that was going to happen. One: she had a school to run as the head administrator. Two: it was a business agreement and nothing else. Three: with the upheaval that her soon-to-be-step-son had caused, she couldn’t possibly think about anything else.
Amongst the many papers sitting on her desk, there was a picture of the red head hanging on with a strong arm to the helpless and completely pathetic boy that seemed to have lost consciousness over the balcony of the high school-her high school.
And in the background, she could hear the familiar blaring stories on the news about the uproar these two boys had caused with their viral video on the internet. She barely remembers a time when she wasn’t surrounded by technology like computers and cell phones and such, but she prays for that time, regardless.
She’s stopped mid-writing to turn off the television as another slander has been brought down on her and her family’s prestigious establishment. It’s one thing to see reviews by people who couldn’t possibly matter, but when it was on the news, it was serious business. So she turns off the television and fully gives the situation her attention, staring at the red head.
“This boy has started quite the ruckus,” she mumbles in the harsh politeness she’s grown up with. Her employee stands before her desk, hands folded in front of him as he waits for instructions in some way, shape, or form.
“You can’t blame him for the power of social media,” he states clearly. They’ve worked together for so long, she considers him a close enough friend- which is saying much.
“Yeah, but I’m not allowed to blame the actual person responsible for this, am I?” She sighs before turning to the picture that’s been hung on the wall to her right, of her new family. At first glance, they’re clean, the epitome of perfection if she’s ever seen it. But she eyes him, the blond runt that somehow seems to manage to make the most chaos. Mickey was a major con in her decision to go along with the business agreement, but she kept hearing in her ear how he was a senior and would be out of her hair for the majority, as far as everyone was concerned.
They were all ghastly, to say the least, disguising as something civil with their Aryan features, but Mickey just had to stand out among them all. Maybe she could do something about both issues at hand, the one that she has to blame and the one she wants to blame.
“You know they’re calling this kid ‘Superman’?” She laughs icily before turning back to her friend. “Biggest corporation in the world, and the media can’t come up with a more original name?”
He nods, allowing her to speak as she usually does.
She sighs again, looking from the picture of Ian Gallagher and back to her “son” Mickey Milkovich. “Find out where Ian Gallagher lives,” she decides with a firm voice. “We need to resolve this issue: make him a student at Lakeshore High.”
None of the Milkovich siblings couldn’t believe the news, really. Whatever uproar Mickey had created, it was nothing different from hearing about starving children in Africa or the many wars going on in Iraq- none of it seemed to come back to him, and the students around them moved on accordingly.
But that didn’t stop him from seeing the video. Over and over again.
What was that feeling? What was it that made his heart fall from its safe place in his chest? What was it that twisted his stomach into knots that couldn’t possibly come untangled? He watched the video as the boy (he found out his name was Edward Mason. Not Jimmy or Johnny or Louis) walked off the balcony, and in the short frame between where he was really falling to when the red head stepped up to save him, he felt something he couldn’t identify.
But that red head really was Superman. Sure he saved Edward, but he also saved Mickey; saved Mickey from whatever horrid feeling it was that pained him so. He saved Mickey from buckling to his knees. So Mickey was able to get back up.
And he still loved the power.