Trauma At Its Finest (Lip Gallagher X Male Reader)

Ch 41. Reality Or Fiction

The next time Lip wakes up, cold water splashes across his face.

He jerks upright with a groan, the world spinning. His head rings like church bells after a funeral, and as his blurred vision adjusts, he sees two hazy figures looming over him.

"Dad, wake up."

Another voice. Sharper. Older. "He's drunk again?"

Lip squints against the light, eyes finally focusing.

One of them—tall, sharp-eyed—stares down with a look so much like Y/N it makes Lip's stomach twist. The other one, younger, softer but bruised, resembles Lip himself.

They're both bruised.

Lip blinks, trying to process. Where the hell am I?

He's back on the couch. At home. Except the house feels colder, worn down, older. The kind of quiet that comes from disappointment, not rest.

"Dad, the bills need to be paid." Alyosha—now sixteen—says flatly. "Where's the money?"

Lip clutches his head, moaning. "W-What money...?"

"You spent it, didn't you?" Mikhail snaps. "You really are useless."

"Mik—" Lip tries, but the words slip.

"I have to take care of the family now." Mikhail cuts in, voice full of bitterness. "You think that's fair?"

"I'm... sorry." Lip murmurs weakly.

"No, you're not." Mikhail spits. "If you were, you'd have quit drinking the day pa died."

Lip's eyes widen, his heart sinking. "I-I'm sorry! I mean it!"

"You always say that." Alyosha whispers from behind his brother. "But it's never true. Just... stop lying. Please."

Lip chokes on his sob, watching the children he raised glare at him like a stranger.

"I think it's time you left." Mikhail says, cold as ice. "I'm almost 18. We don't need you anymore. At least then, you can't hurt us again."

Lip's gaze drops to their bruises.

"I hit you?" He whispers in horror.

Alyosha doesn't answer. He just helps his brother lift their father from the couch like dead weight.

"W-Wait—no! Please! I-I can change! I will!" Lip begs, flailing in their arms. "Please! I don't want to lose you too!"

They don't listen. They carry him to the door.

"PLEASE!" Lip screams, just as he's tossed into the abyss.

Gasping, Lip jolts awake in the same alley he drank himself into oblivion. The cold of the concrete bleeds through his shirt as he sits up, gripping his throbbing head.

"Shit..."

The dream lingers like a bad hangover. Too vivid. Too real. Was it a warning? A glimpse of what I become if Y/N dies?

He looks around—crushed beer cans strewn across the pavement, a puddle of spilled something sticky and stale. He reaches into his pocket. Phone still there. Not robbed. A miracle.

He powers it on. Notifications flash.

1 Voicemail.

He plays it, holding the phone to his ear with trembling fingers.

"Hey, Lip. We're worried about you... Please tell me you're alright. Y/N's still asleep, but he's stable. We'll take care of Mik and Alyo, so... please take care of yourself. Y/N would want that. Whatever happens, he wants you to be okay. Call me when you get this."