This is a prompt from Rick And Maggie.
Also, I went off of the years in the book, not the TV show. The book takes place in 2015, so that's what any years are based off of.
EPISODE: CUCKOO CLOCK OF DOOM
Disclaimer: I own nothing
Tara the Terror was the most annoying creature in the history of the world, but while she could be downright cruel at times, her brother was not.
Two days had passed since he'd accidently erased his little sister from existence, and the guilt had been gnawing at Michael ever since.
As much as it pained him, he knew he had to go back and save Tara. It was the right thing to do. Just because she loved to make his life miserable didn't give him the right to be cruel enough to erase her. That was like murder in Michael's book.
The sun had long since gone down when Michael crept into the den. The dim light from the moon created beams of silver across the carpet, but other than that, Michael was shrouded by darkness.
Michael approached the cuckoo clock with quivering hands. That cuckoo clock had caused him a lot of trouble and a lot of pain, but he needed to get his baby sister back. He disliked her (maybe even hated her sometimes), but she was family. Family doesn't leave anyone behind.
Michael's hand trembled like a leaf in the wind as he raised it above his head and traced his fingers over the sleek wood beside the little door. The yellow bird with its electric eyes lurked behind it, and it was ready to spring out in three… two… one…
The door slid open, and the bird popped out of its hiding place, nearly hitting Michael in the eye as he leaped back.
"Cuckoo! Cuckoo!" the bird squawked. "Cuckoo! Cuckoo!"
It was now or never.
Michael leapt forward and twisted the bird's head around, listening to the awful crick of the neck as he did so. The bird finished its twelve cuckoos facing backwards.
The bird returned to its compartment, and Michael's hand hovered above the dial on the side of the cuckoo clock.
The dial told the year. The dial was currently pointed to 2015, and Michael took a shaky breath as he turned the dial to face 2004.
The world spun around him, and just like that, Michael Wheeler was tossed back in time.
The first time around, Michael had simply deaged. Gone back in time over night. He'd never aimed for a specific year, and trust me, it was a very different experience than the first time around.
He was spinning in circles. The world was a burst of color. There were colors he recognized, like green and purple, and others he'd never seen and couldn't even begin to describe. There was sound, but it was difficult to put it into words. It was a mixture of a soft breeze, a whistle, and a low groan, but it almost sounded musical. He could hear laughter, voices, music, and other sounds he knew, but he couldn't name them.
The whole experience was something that could never be put into words.
And then, the pain set in.
The first time around, he'd deaged a few years over night, but he'd never deaged eleven years within a matter of minutes. Least to say, it was painful.
His bones were shrinking, and it felt like they were being crushed and broken and healed over and over again. His skin was being stretched over his bones; his bones were now too big for his rapidly shrinking skin, and the bones were broken all over again as the pressure snapped them. Seconds after they were broken, they were healed, but they were much smaller than before. His clothes were shrinking as well, and it was utterly comfortable to be in clothes that were four sizes too small. His scalp was tugging his hair back into his head until his hair was shorter, and the pain was that of getting your hair pulled times three.
You couldn't even begin to imagine how painful the whole experience was.
Just like that, it was over, and Michael was staring at a spinning circle of dinosaurs above his head. Rainbows were painted on the wall, and his mother was leaning over his crib.
"Aw," she cooed. "Hello, Michael."
His father appeared beside his mother.
His father smiled. "Why don't we go for a walk downtown?" he asked Michael.
Michael smiled, hitting his arms against the mattress.
Come on, he thought. Let's go! The sooner we get to the antique store, the sooner everything returns to normal.
"Why don't we go to Anthony's?" his father asked.
Michael grinned, hitting the mattress harder.
Yes! He thought. YES!
"No," his mother said.
Michael pouted, trying to act like he was disappointed with his mother's decision, which wasn't hard.
"Why not?" his father asked.
"Anthony charges an arm and a leg," his mother pointed out.
Then, give him an arm and a leg! Michael thought. Give him anything if it means going to the antique store. Small price to pay for returning the world to normal.
How he wished they could hear him…
No, he took that back. They'd probably think he was crazy.
"Maybe we shouldn't go anywhere," his mother said. "He's getting fussy."
How's this? Michael thought, smiling with the few baby teeth he had.
"He's fine. Come on, honey," his father said with a raised eyebrow. "Michael, do you want to go to Anthony's?"
Michael squealed, standing up and ready to go.
"Fine," his mother relented, making Michael squeal louder.
His mother rolled the stroller into Anthony's and parked it in the center of the packed shop.
"Hey, Anthony," his father greeted.
"Mr. Webster, what are you in for today?"
"Oh, we're just browsing," Mrs. Webster said.
"Oh, well, we have some wonderful tables over here…"
The parents left Michael and turned their backs.
Now's my chance! Michael thought.
Michael stood and approached the clock in the corner of the store. He climbed on blocks and tables (he even knocked some objects over, but luckily, there was a display of pillows right beneath him, so they didn't make a sound when they hit the pillows).
Less than a minute, Michael thought as he watched, impatiently, for the bird to appear.
Cuckoo! Cuckoo!
The bird popped out of its compartment with its head backwards. The sound made his parents and Anthony spin around.
"Grab that baby!" Anthony shouted.
Michael reached skyward and turned the bird's head around. As his arm returned to his side, a number fell from the clock and hit the floor. It was not 2010 (Michael made sure to be careful around that tile). It was 2003.
A flash of light blinded Michael, and he stumbled backwards, expecting to find himself sitting in an arm chair, but he didn't.
The vortex of color and unidentifiable sounds appeared once more, and Michael felt the unbearable pain begin again.
Was he growing? This didn't happen the first time.
His skin shrunk, and Michael's eyes widened.
He'd knocked off the tile 2003. The year he was born.
No! No!
Michael felt pain overwhelm him as he shrunk once more.
He saved Tara. He was a hero.
Pain.
Hero.
Pain.
Hero.
Pain.
Hero.
Despite the awful pain, Michael smiled. He was a hero; he'd saved his sister. He didn't particularly like her, but he loved her, and saving her was worth being erased.
Michael Wheeler smiled one last time before the vortex vanished from his sights, and he tumbled into darkness.
Michael Wheeler was no more.
Tara Wheeler opened her eyes on that early morning, and she squinted at her ceiling. She could hear her father working in his office next door, and her mother was making breakfast down in the kitchen.
It was a typical morning. Just her, her mother, her father, and their cat. No one else.
But for some reason, Tara felt like something was missing.
Michael had died (or been erased, which was basically dying, although he'd fall into oblivion and would not wake up in the afterlife) for a sister that made his life miserable. He'd saved Tara the Terror simply because it was the right thing to do, and he'd been erased. If Michael's soul still existed, though, he wouldn't regret a thing.
Heroes always go out saving.
Thanks for reading!