#; mickey

[angelicallyruby]

@dramaqueenclarke had me sign up for this. 😴

[sgtxpreacher]

"12) things you said when you thought I was asleep" with E V E R Y O N E (but maybe ricky/mickey first idk)

On nights like this, when the road stretches out before and behind them like a length of rope and the only lights come from the cars shuttling in the darkness, Jake feels at his most peaceful. There are no wars to be fought. No Cybermen to be destroyed. No people going missing. No lights of distant towns to even hint at people, no stars visible in the clouds above to hint at alien worlds or parallel universes. Just him in this island of a van, in the orange glow of the dashboard. Just the cassette he’s listened to on repeat often enough to make it feel like white noise, turned down low enough to be present only as the lick of a guitar here and there, a whispered lyric, a murmured note. Just the little space carved out in the world by the curve of the headlights. Just this.

And Mickey in the passenger seat, a blanket pulled up to his chin, his head tilted at what looks like a very uncomfortable angle for sleeping.

Mickey took the first shift, so now it’s Jake’s turn. He’s rested enough from half a night’s good sleep and a can of some Swiss energy drink to make it to the next town, where they can stop in some church parking lot and sleep until morning. (Logically, they could be robbed or mugged or hijacked just as easily in a church parking lot as they could be anywhere else, but part of Jake still likes to think that choosing a church for their resting place will give them some credit with God.)

Jake looks at Mickey every once in a while. Not often, but often enough. It was a narrow scrape they had, back in Prague – the narrowest yet – and he wants to make sure that Mickey is sleeping well. He should’ve let Jake drive in the first place, really, with the pulling a muscle and wrenching his ankle and nearly being electrocuted.

But he seems fine now. Eyes closed, breath deep.

“Mickey?” Jake asks softly. “You still up, mate?”

Nothing. Good.

Jake sometimes goes weeks now without mistaking Mickey for Ricky. He thinks that means he’s getting better, but he isn’t always sure. It’s been months since he stopped thinking of Mickey as “the other one.”

“Scared me half to death back there, you idiot,” Jake mutters, not loud enough to wake Mickey up. Just loud enough to hear a human voice for a while. “Imagine me trying to do this on my own. Couldn’t fucking manage it, now could I? I’d be dead or mad in two weeks.”

It’s been weeks since he last wondered what this journey would look like with Ricky by his side instead of Mickey. Guiltily, he sometimes thinks it would have been less fun.

“Maybe it’ll sink into your dream. Like listening to French when you sleep to learn it better, like.”

It’s been weeks since he threw out the parking tickets in the glove box. Now it’s full of maps.

“Don’t die on me, will you? I need you around.”

Who would have paid the tickets anyway, with Ricky gone?

Jake shifts in his seat, rolls his shoulder, and settles in for the drive ahead. His eyes are fixed on the road ahead.

He doesn’t notice Mickey open his eyes for a moment and watch him.

When he looks back, Mickey is asleep.

[lixnhxarted-blog]

;; ooc

so i probably should’ve posted this first but i was pretty tired yesterday evening and my brain wasn’t functioning correctly. 

hi, my name is michela but i like to be called mickey cause it sounds cooler. i’m eighteen and from a place called malta. i play willow pickett, who is portrayed by the ever-so-lovely elizabeth olsen; she’s in the first aid department and is quite a lovely soul [ i shall be updating some background info in a bit ].

anyway, if anyone wants to plot, i’d be absolutely delighted to!