Michael woke at four o'clock in the morning, he knew he wasn't going to make it to work. He was laying on his couch with no recollection of how he ended up there. The last thing he remembered was grading papers, then he shut off. Yet there he was, a thin blanket covering him while re-runs of a 70's sitcom played quietly in the background.

He couldn't remember anything after nine from the night before, and he was trying not to think about how unnerving that was.

Slowly, he lifted his head from under the blanket. It was still dark outside and the building opposite his still had all the lights off.

He felt awful. His head was throbbing and his muscles were so stiff he could barely move. Subconsciously he stroked his hand down his arm, checking for bruises. There was nothing.

But, there was a heavy weight on his chest, causing each inhale and each exhale to be a painful chore. The thought of leaving his warm, cocooning blanket scared him slightly.

He wasn't going to make it to school. His students or his co-workers couldn't see him like this.

Though it nearly made him throw up, Michael got himself into a sitting position, reaching forward to grab his phone from where it sat on the coffee table. He proceeded to find the School's number in his contacts and dialled, not surprised when he got the machine.

He had to clear his throat a few times before any actual words came out, informing the receptionist that he was sick (He'd opted for "food poisoning" instead of "psychotic breakdown") and that she should get a substitute to cover his class.

Michael had only taken personal days or sick days twice: When Kali miscarried the first time, and his fathers funeral. Michael didn't like taking time off work, work was good for him. Routines and schedules, forced interaction; these were all healthy things, and they kept Michael's demons at bay for a certain amount of time.

Missing work instead of throwing himself into it was definitely a bad sign.

Michael didn't have the energy to care. He threw his phone back onto the table and dragged a hand down his face, taking a brief look around his apartment.

That's when he saw the mess. The papers that were neatly stacked on his table were scattered across the floor, the pen he'd been using had been snapped in half and was sitting under the chair. Posters that hung on his walls were ripped down, the corners torn and still stuck on the wall. One picture in particular - a framed photograph of Michael and his family - was lying on the ground, the glass shattered.

Michael felt a shiver run down his spine. He looked around at the mess and frowned. He knew this wasn't good; he hadn't blacked out in a long time, and even then, he wouldn't break things.

He packed the thought away and decided to reopen it when he had the mental capacity to do so. He gave his trashed apartment one last glance before curling back into the couch, pulling the blanket above his head.

xXx

The first thing Samantha did when she arrived on campus was look around the parking lot. She frowned when she realised Michael's navy-blue muscle car was absent. She immediately felt uneasy.

After her first period class ended, one of her students, Meg Masters, approached her desk.

"Miss. Riggs?" She asked, and Samantha glanced up, pushing her reading glasses a little further up her nose.

"What can I do for you?" She asked kindly, Meg shifted uncomfortably.

"I was wondering if you knew where Mr. Cohen is today?" She asked.

"No, I couldn't tell you." Samantha tilted her head slightly. "Why would you assume I'd know?"

Meg shrugged, her eyes shifting from Samantha's gaze. "I've seen you talking in the hall, I thought you were friends."

Samantha swallowed, trying to ignore the hopeful warmth in her stomach. "Does Mr. Cohen miss class often?" She asked. Meg shook her head.

"No. Not really."

Samantha's body tensed and she gave a quick nod. "He's probably just got a cold - I hear it's going around."

Meg nodded, clearly unconvinced, but she plastered a tight smile on her face anyway. "Yeah. You're probably right..."

Throughout her afternoon classes, Samantha could barely concentrate. She couldn't help but worry about Michael. She had heard Dean and Garth talking in hushed voices in the teachers lounge at lunch. Dean was fretting over how Michael didn't answer his texts or calls, and how he'd hardly ever miss work.

He was obviously worried, and Samantha thought about telling him about what had happened, but she'd promised Michael she wouldn't breathe a word to anyone.

She tried to put herself in his shoes. Thinking about if she had a mental breakdown and a co-worker found her, then having to go on and face that co-worker every day after that... It was cringe-worthy. And then to bring people in on that, so Michael would have to face not only her but Dean and Garth as well? It would only make things worse.

But she couldn't just do nothing.

xXx

Michael woke just after three o'clock when his stomach let out a vicious growl. He assumed it was hunger - the last time he recalled eating was at lunch, yesterday - but it felt like nausea. He went through the list of food he knew he had in the house but nothing really appealed to him. He sighed and turned his face into the couch. He had slept for about ten hours, but he still felt exhausted.

Sleep was beginning to take him again before someone started pounding on his door.

"Michael!" Gabriel's voice yelled through the closed door, Michael's eyes snapped open. "Open up! I know you're in there."

Michael's body, and mind, screamed in protest when he abandoned his spot on the couch. He walked around the torn posters and smashed pictures on the ground, the pressure in his chest increasing as he was going to have to explain himself.

"Michael!" The pounding continued, causing the door to rattle in its frame.

"I'm coming, hold on." Michael groaned, his hands fumbling to open the bolt on the door and slide the chain out of its place. "You'd think someone called a bomb threat."

He pulled open the door just enough to lean on the door frame, regarding his younger brother with a sleepy expression. Gabriel's face immediately relaxed, but his hazel eyes were still light.

"What's going on?" Gabriel questioned. "You weren't at school today."

"What is this? Junior high?" Michael raised an eyebrow at him, squinting at the bright light in the hallway. Gabriel swallowed, taking in Michael's ruffled pyjama pants and the still half-closed door.

"You look like shit." Gabriel said plainly.

"I'd look better if you'd let me get my beauty rest. Which you rudely interrupted, by the way."

"It's three o'clock in the afternoon."

"So?"

Gabriel shot Michael a glare, which soon faded when his eyes fell to Michael's hand resting protectively on the door handle.

"Can I at least come in?" He asked, Michael's jaw tensed, thinking of the mess that sat behind him. Even if he had said no, Gabriel would've forced entry anyway. He was small, but he was pretty damn strong.

Mentally preparing himself, Michael stepped back and opened the door. Gabriel let out a breath as he walked in, only to sharply inhale when he saw the mess inside.

"What the hell?" He asked as he shut he door. "Were you robbed?"

"If I was they did a shitty job of it." Michael ran a hand through his unwashed hair, causing it to stick up at odd angles. "They didn't take my TV and the good silverware is still in the drawer."

Gabriel frowned and stepped around the papers. Michael watched as his eyes fell on the shattered photograph.

"This was you, wasn't it?" He asked quietly, not daring to look at his older brother. Michael leaned against the kitchen counter and folded his arms, standing was just too much work.

"I can't remember." Michael admitted. "But probably."

"So you have a panic attack, then black out, then you don't even think to call me? I could have helped you, Michael."

"How did you find out about that?" Michael demanded, even though he knew damn well who told him.

"That new teacher called me - Samantha, or whatever." Gabriel replied, and Michael felt hot anger run through his system when his suspicions were confirmed. Of course Sammy told him. It's not like he and Gabriel have some sort of sibling telepathy thing going on. "She said she found you after school."

Michael pushed away from the counter forcefully, moving back on to the couch. "Son of a bitch." He muttered, "I'm gonna kill her."

Gabriel followed closely at his big brother's heels. "Don't get mad at her, she was only trying to help. She sounded pretty shaken up about it, man."

"Yeah, well, you try and find out you work next door to a psychopath." Michael grumbled, sitting on the couch and resting his head in his hands. "You'd be shaken up too."

"You're not a psychopath, you're just...having a rough time."

Michael huffed a laugh and gestured to the mess around him. "You call this a rough time?"

"Basically, yeah." Gabriel shrugged. "You've been holding it in for way too long. Maybe now you can get help."

"I don't need help!" Michael growled, though he knew he was lying. He ran his hands through his hair again, avoiding Gabriel's gaze. "I needed a day off, which I got. I'll be back tomorrow, it'll all be normal again. Alright?"

"No." Gabriel crossed his arms stubbornly over his chest.

Michael looked up. "What do you want me to do about it, Gabriel?"

Gabriel hesitated for a moment, pursing his lips as he studied his brother. Michael only looked back. Gabriel looked way older than twenty-four, his hair was getting a little bit longer and there was a light stubble beginning to creep across his jaw.

"Look," Gabriel started, "Maybe you should give Dr. Novak a call? He helped last time."

"Go back to therapy?" Michael's eyebrows shot up. "No. No fucking way."

"It's not a big deal, everyone needs help sometimes.." Gabriel pressed.

"I can help myself, thanks."

"No offence, but I beg to differ." Gabriel glanced at the broken picture on the floor and Michael scowled at him. "I'm not pushing anything on you, but I think it would be a good idea. Think about it?"

Michael narrowed his eyes, usually it was him lecturing Gabriel like a disappointed parent. When had the roles been reversed?

"I need to shower." Michael pushed past Gabriel towards his room. "Then I'm gonna sleep for another thirteen hours before I drag my ass to work tomorrow. That's what I'm thinking about."

The bedroom door slammed shut behind him and Gabriel let out a long breath when he heard the shower water turn on.

When Michael emerged twenty minutes later, the papers were re-arranged on his desk and the glass was swept off the floor, but his younger brother was gone.