Davy couldn't sleep. How was he expected to, after everything happened? He glanced over at Micky, who had fallen asleep in his chair. Peter had gone to bed a little bit earlier, but that was because he, too, had fallen asleep on the couch. The three of them had spent most of the evening in the living room, not saying a single word. Peter and Micky had alternated for several hours, taking turns of whose time it was to cry and whose time it was to go over and comfort the other. But even then, they didn't speak. They didn't even move from where they were sitting.

Davy couldn't cry, either. He wanted to. After all, he was the reason Mike was on that side of town to begin with. It was his fault that Mike got hit, that he was now in the hospital, barely hanging onto life. But instead, here he was, unable to do anything at all.

He closed his eyes finally, hoping to at least rest a minute if he couldn't sleep. That thought was interrupted by the sound of the downstairs bedroom door creaking open. He opened his eyes and saw Peter there, eyes red from tears and shoulders shaking. He didn't have a chance to react before Peter darted up the stairs. It took Davy a little while to realize what had happened before he made his way upstairs as well.

Peter was on a walk. Spring was coming, and he smiled at the flowers that had sprouted by his feet. Birds were chirping, leaves were rustling, and he was happy. The people he passed, they were happy too. But it didn't last long. The sudden sound of wheels screeching and glass breaking hurt his ears and he covered them with his hands as people began to run to the scene.

There had been an accident, not far from where he was now.

There was a car with shattered windows, its driver, lifelessly draped over her steering wheel. Blood was dripping down her face. She had hit a motorcyclist, who was unconscious on the ground, far from his bike. Peter wasn't too close but he was still able to recognize the bleeding man on the ground. Mike. His face was pale, his eyes were open and unfocused, and there was so much blood...

Peter jumped up, crying. It was only a nightmare, but he couldn't help shaking and crying. Entirely by impulse, he ran upstairs and made his way to the bedroom. Mike had always calmed him down and comforted him when he had a nightmare. He knocked on the door.

"Hey, Mike?" He asked, voice shaking

No response.

"Mike?"

Again, no response.

He hesitantly opened the door. He was half asleep at that moment but it was also too dark to notice that Mike's bed was empty and made. He walked in, confused as he flipped on the lights. No one was there. Everything was still.

"Mike?" He cried out, beginning to remember what had happened.

He looked around, becoming frightened. He was searching for anything, anything at all, to prove that his friend was okay. Then he found it It was a small slip of paper sitting on the nightstand that had caught his eye. He grabbed it hastily, scanning it over again and again before collapsing onto the ground in sobs. It was no use, Mike was gone.

"Peter?" Davy urgently called out before he rushed into the bedroom and pulled the crying man into a hug, hoping to calm him down.

"It's okay, Pete...I'm here...it was just a dream." He spoke softly, rubbing circles on his friend's back. When his sobs stopped, Peter handed him the note. Davy was confused until he read it over. His eyes went wide, filling with tears:

"Mick, I went out to run a few errands and will be back in a few hours. Probably before you even wake up. Be good. -Mike."

"Oh, Peter..." Davy's mind flashed back to the morning, how it all led back to being his fault. How it all happened because he had made Mike be there at that time.

"I'm sorry..." he whispered, not loud enough for Peter to hear. Who it was for, he wasn't sure. "It'll be okay...it'll all be okay..."

He hugged him and they sat there together on the floor for a few minutes before Davy stood to go downstairs. Peter didn't move. He looked up at the Brit with pleading eyes. He wasn't going anywhere.

"You sure you want to stay here all night by yourself?"

He nodded, not looking up. Davy understood and left the door creaked as he made his way downstairs. Once he was alone, Peter went over and sat on Mike's bed. It felt more surreal than sad, he didn't know if he was allowed to be in there. Even if he wasn't, Mike never got mad at Peter, regardless of whatever he had done. He smiled as he thought about all the memories that suddenly flooded his mind as he sat in his brother's bed. Looking around, he noticed something hanging from the bed knob by his shoulder. He pulled it off and held it close to his heart as he laid down, drifting back to sleep.

"Hey, Mike!" He bounced down the stairs to the sleepy Texan, who was drinking his morning coffee.

"Mornin' shotgun," he replied with a yawn. "You're in a good mood."

Peter nodded and fiddled with something excitedly behind his back. This did not go unnoticed by Mike.

"Whatchu got back there?" The Texan asked curiously with a slight grin.

"It's a surprise!" He beamed, "close your eyes."

He complied and once his eyes were closed, Peter pulled a hat over Mike's head. Confused and startled, Mike ripped it off and held it in his hands, examining it closely.

"What's this?"

It was a green wool hat. It was a nice hat, but it seemed out of the blue.

"It's a hat. I saw it at the store, and it made me think of you."

Why? He wasn't sure, but that didn't matter.

"Do you like it?"

It was nice, sure, he did like it. But it seemed random to Mike why his friend had bought him a hat for no apparent reason. It wasn't his birthday, it wasn't Christmas, it wasn't any other special day he could think of. He didn't even know Peter all that well. But it was greatly appreciated and made Mike smile for the first time after a rough couple of weeks. He slipped the hat back over his head and turned to Peter's happy face.

"I love it."