Author's Note: Here's a treat. I actually managed to crank one out in one night. Idea's just kept rolling in my head until I typed them out. Enjoy!

Chapter 26: Blinded

Peter's heart sank like a stone. All the elation that had filled him moments prior at Micky finally waking up and seeming to have enough cognitive ability to recognize him exploded inside him. He felt like he was going to throw up. The words Micky spoke tore through him like hot knife through butter. What did Micky mean? Was he blind? Would it be permanent or temporary? Was this just a side effect or a complication?

"What do you mean, Micky?" Mike asked his voice also turning from elation to dread and worry. Davy's face had paled and he looked like he was going to faint.

"I can't see," Micky said again. His voice sounded strained and scratchy. Dr. Warner, Linda and the other doctor who'd been in earlier both came back in the room.

"He says he can't see," Davy said. "What does that mean? Why can't he see?"

"Calm down, Davy," Dr. Warner said as the other doctor squeezed next to Peter to start looking over Micky.

"His vitals are normal," Linda said looking at the monitors. "Heart rate's a little high."

"Stress," the doctor said dismissing it. "Mr. Dolenz, I'm Dr. Townsend. Is your vision blurry, or is there nothing at all?"

"It's really blurry," Micky answered.

"That means there's something there," he said. "Just relax. You're brain has to adjust still and heal itself. Your brain was deprived of oxygen for a short time, but long enough to damage it. The occipital lobe was probably damaged a little, but the fact you can see something, no matter how blurry, tells me that it's trying to repair itself."

"So it'll go away?" Mike asked. "He'll get better?"

"Yes," Dr. Townsend answered.

"How long?" Davy asked.

"That's really hard to tell," he answered. "Could be a few days; could be a few months."

"Months?" Peter whispered.

"That's one end of the spectrum," Dr. Townsend said. But Peter didn't care. All he cared about was the possibility this could last months. "I have to be honest. There is a small chance it may never heal."

"Never?" Davy asked.

"But that is a very small chance," Dr. Townsend said.

"Micky will be fine," Mike said firmly. Peter wasn't sure if he was trying to convince them or himself, but either way it wasn't working. Peter stared at his friend in despair. Micky closed his eyes and tried to smile a little, but even that didn't take away the feeling of dread Peter had.

"Mike's right," Micky said. "I'll be fine. Someone wanna tell me what happened though? Last I knew I was at the house."

"We rescued you, Micky," Davy said. "Got the smoke bombs from your room and distracted Peter's family so we could get you out the back door. Then we brought you here. They had to operate on you, but they saved you. You've been asleep for almost a week."

"Not sure we could have gotten you out of the house if you hadn't cleared out the room first," Mike said. "Not exactly sure how you did that, but good job."

"Oh no," Micky said and snapped his eyes open as though he just remembered something. He tried to sit up, but everyone in the room pushed him back down.

"Don't do that," Dr. Townsend said. "You need to rest."

"Peter," Micky said.

"Micky, I'm fine," Peter said. "I'm a little banged up, but the doctors are taking care of me and I'm just fine."

"No," Micky said. "Your father."

"What about him?" Peter asked feeling his stomach knot up again.

"He's here," Micky said. Peter's voice caught in his throat. If his dad was here, that was really bad. His father was ruthless and merciless, not to mention quicker to anger than anyone Peter had ever met in his entire life. Peter was the only person he knew of that had angered his father and lived to tell about it.

"What do you mean, Micky?" Mike asked.

"He was at the house," Micky answered. "He's the one who kicked me."

"He kicked you in the stomach?" Dr. Townsend said.

"Yeah, a few times," Micky answered.

"I'll pass that on to the police," Dr. Townsend said. "But they'll want to hear it from you later when you're more up to talking about it."

"Does that really matter?" Davy asked. "Who cares who kicked him; they all need to go to jail."

"It makes a difference in how they're charged," Dr. Townsend explained. "We thought Percy was the one who kicked Micky, but if it wasn't him, Percy can't be charged with attempted murder."

"You must be joking!" Davy exclaimed. "They all had a hand in this!"

"David, lower your voice," Dr. Warner cautioned. Peter was hearing the words, but not sure if he was fully comprehending them or not.

"The blows to the stomach are what caused the internal injuries," Dr. Townsend explained. "The broken ribs that punctured his lung, the ruptured spleen, even the tear in his heart. Those are what nearly killed him."

"It's ok, Davy," Mike said. "Percy can still be charged for kidnapping me and Micky and assaulting us. He's still going to jail. Peter, you ok?" Peter realized Mike was talking to him and he tore his eyes away to look at Mike. Peter felt sick to his stomach all over again and was afraid if he opened his mouth, he'd throw up.

"Peter?" Davy pushed. "I'm sorry; I didn't mean to upset you."

"You didn't," Peter managed to croak out. "It's just…with my dad here…it's really bad. It means he's really desperate and really angry, and the only person he's been angry with that he hasn't killed has been me."

"And me," Micky said. "I'm alive, Pete."

"Yeah, but you only barely lived," Peter answered sadly. "They said your heart stopped while you were in surgery a few times. They said if we hadn't brought you here when we did, you would have died."

"Well, then I guess I'm safe as long as you guys stick around," Micky said.

"Ok, boys," Dr. Warner said. "I think that's enough for today. You can come back tomorrow, but Micky needs to rest."

"Can they stay longer?" Micky asked. "I feel plenty rested. Davy said I was asleep for a week."

"I'm sorry, Mr. Dolenz," Dr. Townsend answered. "I agree with Dr. Warner; you need to rest some more. So do your friends."

"What's wrong with them?" Micky asked suddenly sounding worried.

"Nothing, Micky," Mike said.

"Don't lie to me, Mike," Micky snapped and started coughing from the roughness of his throat. Linda grabbed a glass of water and put it into Micky's hand so he could soothe his throat a little.

"Sip it slowly," she instructed.

"I'm not lying, Micky," Mike said once Micky stopped coughing. "We're fine. We were hurt, but we're better now."

"Obviously not if you need rest," Micky said trying to bring the cup to his lips. He failed and spilled the water down his chin a little. Peter felt bad and tried to help him, but he was too far away. Instead, Mike reached out and helped guide the cup to Micky's lips.

"Look, Micky, we're fine," Mike said. "Don't worry about us. It won't do you any good to stress yourself out over something that isn't even a big deal."

"How do I know that," Micky quipped. "I can't see. I don't know how badly injured you are. Last thing I knew you were dying from a head injury."

"I wasn't dying," Mike answered a little too shortly for Peter's liking. Peter decided to say something or the two of them could keep going at it until one of them stressed each other out any further.

"Mike had a head injury, but it's healed," Peter said. "You've been here for a week. We've done our major healing already; now it's your turn. Yes, Mike had a fractured skull and so did I, but they've healed now. The doctors say we can go home soon."

"And Davy?" Micky asked looking in Peter's direction.

"Not even a scratch on that pretty face," Mike said.

"What about Marcy and Patty?" Micky asked.

"They're fine," Dr. Warner answered clearly impatient that they hadn't left after she'd already asked them to. "They're in protective custody right now, and completely unharmed. They wanted to come see you, but your friends thought it would be better to keep them in hiding until everyone has been apprehended."

"Who's still out there?" Micky asked.

"They caught my mom the other day trying to get in here and kill me," Davy answered. "And I helped the police nab Peter's mom. Tommy and Timothy got arrested a few days ago. Everyone else is unaccounted for, but the entire police department is looking for them. Even the FBI. They'll find everyone, Micky, so there's nothing to worry about."

"Now just relax, Micky," Mike said. "We're gonna go back to our room and get some sleep. I promise you, everything is going to be ok." No one said anything the whole way back to the room or the rest of the night. Peter knew Davy and Mike were just as worried as he was about Micky's vision. The doctor had said it was a very small chance it would never return, but there was still a chance. No matter how small it was, there was still a chance Micky would never see again. What would that mean for them? Micky could still live a full life, but he wouldn't be able to read music anymore. He could still play, but how good would he be at learning to play by ear instead of reading the music. Before falling asleep, Peter vowed that he would do everything he could to help Micky cope. He wouldn't admit it to Mike or Davy, and especially not to Micky, but he still felt guilty for all of this. And now with his father around, things weren't exactly going to get any easier on them. Taking care of Micky would be his way of making up for everything that had gone wrong because of him and his family.

Micky stared at the ceiling. Not that it was doing much because all he could make out were fuzzy white clouds. He admitted to himself that not being able to see clearly scared him, but he didn't want to admit that to his friends. The moment he'd told them he couldn't see, they'll all gone from sounding relieved and happy to terrified. He didn't want them to worry about something that was probably nothing. The doctor had even said that he should get his vision back. Although the knowledge that there was some small chance that he wouldn't nagged at him. But he couldn't allow himself to think that way. He had to tell himself that he would get his vision back. He would see Mike, Davy, and Peter's faces again. He'd be able to see his little sister that he'd only just met. It just might take some time. After a couple hours of lying there mulling over his situation, he felt himself start to drift off to sleep.

Micky sat in his desk at school. He was told by the teacher to wait there after class because the principal wanted to talk to him. He wasn't sure if he was in trouble for something and tried to think about what he could have possibly done, but he came up empty. He usually kept to himself on the playground with the other kids, so he never got into fights. He had always turned in his homework and never talked back to the teacher. Maybe it was because he never really spoke to the teacher at all. He didn't answer questions in class because he really did want to just keep to himself. He tried to stay in his own little world because he didn't want to let anyone else in. He'd only been waiting for a few minutes when the principal walked in with his teacher.

"Hello, Mr. Dolenz," she said. "Your teacher says you like to be called by your middle name. Michael is it?"

"It's Micky," he answered.

"Ok, Micky, do you know who I am?" she asked.

"You're the principal," he answered.

"Yes, I am," she said. "Do you know what my job is?"

"You run the school," Micky answered. He really didn't understand why she was talking to him like he was a 5 year old baby. He was nearly 10 and understood perfectly who she was and what she did. "When kids get in trouble, you punish them."

"Micky, I do more than that," she said. "It's my job to make sure you all learn in a happy, healthy environment and that every child is safe."

"That's great," Micky answered. "What does that have to do with me? I didn't get into a fight or talk back or anything. I keep to myself."

"Yes, your teacher told me you like to be by yourself," the principal said. "Even when paired in group projects, you do them on your own and don't help your teammates. She also told me that last month you had a bruise on your eye and the month before that you were limping. Now you have another bruise on your neck."

"I know I do," Micky said now becoming more aware of where this was heading and dreading it.

"Can you tell me what happened?"

"I fell."

"On your neck?"

"Yes. I fell on a board."

"What about the bruise you had last month?"

"I fell off my bike."

"Did another fall cause you to limp before that?"

"Yes. I'm a little clumsy."

"That's interesting. You've been attending this school for 6 years since preschool and most of my other students have had at least one injury in that many years. But you, who claim to be clumsy at home, has never had a single accident here at school in the past 6 years."

"I don't know what to tell you."

"Micky, you can trust me."

"Ok."

"If someone is hurting you, it's my job to report it so it will stop."

"Who said someone was hurting me?"

"You display all the signs. Withdrawn from the rest of the school and several significant injuries. You're gym teacher told me he's seen several bruises on your back and stomach when you change into your gym clothes. I can help you Micky."

"No you can't," Micky answered without thinking. He knew if the teacher reported his parents for abusing him, he'd get in a lot more trouble. The neighbors had repeatedly called the police on the home and each time social services had come out, but never found anything wrong. Micky had told them once that his parents were hurting him, but the social worker didn't do anything about it. He wasn't sure why, but his parents had said that the dumb lady (to put it a lot nicer than they put it) had believed their story of Micky being a dramatic little brat and always making up stories. He didn't want to go through that again, and so he was determined to convince the principal to leave him alone.

"What do you mean, Micky?" she asked.

"I mean that you can't help me because there's nothing wrong. Now can I please go home? I have chores to do in addition to my homework."

"Of course. But please remember, Micky, if you ever want to talk, there are a lot of people here at school who want to help you." Micky got up and walked away. He knew there were guidance counselors and lots of other people here to help him, but knew he wouldn't talk to them. He couldn't let social services come back out to the house. Last time they had, which had been their 6th visit, his father had nearly dislocated his shoulder and had kicked him so many times, he could barely walk. Which honestly is what had caused the limping the teacher had told the principal about. So he just walked home hoping the teacher and principal never brought it up again.