"Mike! Mike, can you hear me?" Peter knelt down right in front of Mike's line of vision. He didn't respond, he continued staring off as if he wasn't even there. The only thing that seemed to move was his hands, which trembled slightly. He grabbed the man's hands, causing him to jump and pull them away.
Mike blinked and found himself sitting on the bedroom floor, Peter across from him.
"You're back!" Peter smiled and Mike frowned in concentration.
Back? I didn't know I went anywhere.
He looked up and saw Micky and Davy standing above him. What happened? He wondered but said nothing.
"We got pretty worried about you," Davy explained, crouching down onto the floor, "but I'm glad that you're okay."
He nodded and looked down, Micky noticed this and an idea came into his head.
"Hey, Mike, you wanna step outside with me? Get some fresh air?"
He shrugged and stood up, Peter helped him to his feet, and the two walked out to the balcony.
Once he made sure the door was shut, Mike spoke.
"What happened?" He asked, barely above a whisper.
"I was hoping you'd answer that for me," Micky joked before sitting down. "We lost you for a minute," it had been closer to an hour. "You just...left your mind, you weren't there at all. Do you remember anything?"
He tried to think back and remember, but it was all a blur. "I remember going upstairs to get ready for the gig...Ah, sh!t, we had a gig!"
"No, no, it's fine. We took care of it. Don't worry about that. Are you okay?"
He nodded and looked back up at Micky.
"You, uh, freaked out quite a bit earlier. We came into the bedroom because you were screaming. You panicked when we came in, yelling at us, telling us to stay away. It didn't look like you had any idea who we even were. Then you just, shut down."
Mike stared at his hands, picking at his nails.
"Sorry," he muttered.
"You have nothing to be sorry for, babe. I'm just glad you're okay, now."
Micky pulled him into a hug, he flinched at the touch but returned the hug moments later.
Later that night, Micky had come downstairs to read while the other Monkees went to sleep. He was just about ready to go to hit the hay himself when he heard Mike bolting down the stairs.
"Mike?" He asked but Mike didn't hear him. He frantically ran around the room, searching, searching for something that he just couldn't find, yelling curses at himself. Micky threw his book down and ran over when he crashed onto his knees.
"Are you okay?" Mike looked up, eyes dazed and full of terror.
"I can't find it." He muttered, voice breaking. "I'm sorry."
"It's okay, Mike. Don't worry about that, please." He had no idea what was going on in his head but knew it couldn't be good. Mike looked down and his shoulders began shaking.
"They'll come back for me, they always do...I don't wanna go back there...don't make me go back there..." Mike cried and Micky sat down, sighing.
"You don't have to. I promise I won't let you go back. And I won't let them find you either. Okay?"
He nodded and Micky smiled a little. He wrapped an arm around Mike, who tensed up but eased into it. Not long after, Mike fell silent and still, his body going rigid. Micky frowned and looked at him. He was staring off into the distance, completely gone, just like he was earlier in the morning. He released his arm and made his way back to the couch. He wanted to go to sleep but decided it would be best to stay up for Mike. He picked up his book and continued reading.
About fifteen minutes later, Mike's eyes opened wide and he looked around. A familiar sense of dread and confusion filled his mind. How did he get here? His eyes finally landed on Micky, sitting on the couch, illuminated by a lamp. He smiled at Mike. A warm, comforting smile.
"You're okay, Mike. You're home."
Home. He repeated the word in his head and couldn't help but smile too.
