Work Text:
The question catches Mickey off guard. He’s sitting on the counter, feet knocking against the cabinets, watching as Ian measures out flour for pancake batter. It’s all mushy and shit, how domesticated they’re being, but Mickey doesn’t really care, not even attempting to hide the smile on his face. The same smile that wilts when Ian looks up and asks, “Have you ever wondered if Heaven and Hell exists?”
“What?” Mickey gives Ian a wary look, fighting the urge to check and see if Ian had taken his meds (something he had promised to stop doing after their last fight). “Why?”
“It’s something I’ve been thinking about for a while,” Ian replies dumping the flour into a mixing bowl. He sets the measuring cup down, picking up a wooden spoon, and begins stirring the contents. “What happens after we die?”
“If you’re thinking about doing something stupid…” Mickey trails off, glaring at Ian. The last thing he wants is to have that conversation again.
“No,” Ian reassures the older boy, giving him a quick smile. “I already promised I would never do that. I just…” Ian sighs, meeting Mickey’s gaze. “Have you never thought about it?”
Still eyeing Ian cautiously, Mickey slowly shakes his head and says, “Not really. No.”
“What about the Christening for Yev? I mean, you have to have some sort of belief…”
“Hey, that was Svetlana’s shit,” Mickey grunts remembering that stupid fucking argument. “I don’t exactly believe in an afterlife. We live, we die. That’s it for me.”
“That’s kind of a negative way of thinking,” Ian points out, giving Mickey a sad look. “You don’t believe in anything?”
“I believe those pancakes won’t get done before noon if you don’t hurry up,” Mickey states gesturing to the bowl.
Ian huffs, returning his attention to the pancake batter, and Mickey actually thinks they’ve moved on, which is a bit stupid on his part. Especially when Ian puts his spoon down and asks, “You seriously don’t believe in anything?”
“Oh my God.” Mickey hops off the counter, moving around Ian to the fridge. “Look, let’s just drop this dumbass conversation, alright?” Ian looks like he wants to argue, so Mickey talks over him. “Alright?”
Ian rolls his eyes, measuring out pancake batter. He pours some into a frying pan, turning the stove on, and moves across the room to grab a spatula out of a nearby drawer. “Clearly,” he starts moving back to the pan, and Mickey rolls his eyes, “we have different opinions.”
“Why do you fucking care so much?” Mickey grabs a beer from the fridge, shutting it with his hip, and moves towards the kitchen table.
“It’s just something to think about,” Ian grumbles flipping the pancake in the pan.
Mickey sighs heavily, but decides to humor the younger guy. “Look, let’s say argument’s sake, I did believe in that crap. What makes you think anybody from our neighborhood is getting into Heaven?”
“What makes you think nobody will?” Ian counters glancing over his shoulder at Mickey, one eyebrow raised.
“Because look where we live, Ian.” Mickey gestures towards the open window, a distant shout nearly drown out by a siren. “We live in the ghetto, most of, if not everyone, who lives here has done some questionable shit, and the last I checked breaking Jesus’ laws or whatever the fuck they are earns us a one way ticket to Hell.
“And can you honestly tell me, with a straight face, that no one has broken one of those stupid fucking laws? Seriously?”
“It’s not about religion,” Ian argues under his breath, scooping the first pancake from the pan and adding it to the empty plate by his elbow. “It’s about whether or not there is an afterlife.”
“I get that, but I still stand by what I said. We’re not getting into Heaven; especially me.” He said the last part under his breath, not expecting Ian to hear it, but from the sympathetic look on the red head’s face, Mickey knew he hadn’t succeeded. “Shut up,” he says roughly before the younger guy could open his mouth.
“If it helps any,” Ian starts pouring more batter into the frying pan, “I probably won’t end up in Heaven either.”
“Nah, you will,” Mickey states matter-of-factly. “You’ll save some cranky old lady from getting flattened or some shit. Get special treatment because you’re a boy scout.”
“I thought you said no one from this neighborhood was getting into Heaven.” Ian doesn’t look Mickey’s way, too busy flipping the second pancake, but he does have his eyebrows raised in question.
“You’re different,” Mickey mutters with a small shrug, crossing his arms. Before Ian can press the point, Mickey lets out a frustrated breath and says, “If anyone deserves paradise or whatever, it’s you, alright?”
For a while, Ian doesn’t say anything, and it seems like their religious (or not religious) discussion is over, so Mickey leans back in his chair, sifting through Thursday’s paper just for something to do. He finds the movie times, wondering if he and Ian should go to a movie, and is just starting to read through the list when a plate of pancakes is set down in front of him.
“You deserve a paradise, too,” Ian says softly, lightly kissing the side of Mickey’s head, and slowly walks out of the room before the older boy can say anything else, leaving him sitting in a baffled silence. After a brief pause, Mickey snorts, putting the paper down, and vows to never get up before eight again.