Peter's eyes went wide.

"Wait, really?"

Micky nodded happily.

"It was only for like a minute or so. But Mike was back!"

Micky got a little too loud at the end, causing a soft whimper to come from the bed. They all looked as Mike shifted around, his eyes squeezed shut before he eventually relaxed and became still again.

"Keep your voice down, remember?" Davy whisper-yelled at Micky, smacking his arm.

"Right, whoops. Sorry, Mike."

Mike made another sound as if to say: "it's okay."

Tears filled in Peter's eyes, and he let out a choked laugh.

"Hey, are you okay?" Davy asked, wrapping an arm around Peter.

"Yeah," he sighed. "It's just that when you called...I-I thought something bad had happened, Davy. I thought he..." His voice trailed off, not even wanting to think about what he initially feared.

Davy nodded sadly and pulled Peter into a full hug, Micky joining in later. They stayed there for about a minute before a faint groan prompted Peter to pull away. He looked back at Mike, smiling slightly.

"Maybe we should go so he could rest." He suggested, wiping his eyes.

"Yeah," Davy agreed.

"Bye, Mike." The three whispered in unison and crept out of the room. Micky wasn't as stealthy as the other two, saying "sorry, Mike" each time he bumped into something on the way. But Mike never stirred. He was out.

Peter led the way to the car and sat in the driver's seat. His hands were shaking, but not from anxiety. From happiness. Just pure and genuine joy, a feeling Peter had missed. Micky hopped in beside him, grinning wildly, and Davy climbed into the back, humming "Daydream Believer" to himself. The ride home was a surprisingly quiet one. But as the car eased into the driveway, the idea of silence was quickly forgotten.

Micky leaped out of the car and basked in the light, singing "Good Day Sunshine" as loud as possible. When did the sun become so bright and warm? He ignored the people who came out to see what all the commotion was. Many of them seemed more amused than anything else. But he didn't care enough to be bothered by those who weren't.

When the song was over, Micky took a dramatic bow. He looked around but realized he was alone; the other two had gone in without him.

"Tonight calls for a celebration!" He proudly declared as he opened the door.

"Oh, yeah?" Davy asked from the couch with an amused smirk. "What kind of celebration are you thinking?"

"Whatever-we-want-celebration." He shrugged, and Peter laughed, tears clouding his eyes again. But he didn't mind it.

"I missed Mike." Peter sighed, and Micky sat beside him.

"Me, too."

"But he's back, now." Davy smiled. "You wanna know how I know? The first thing he said was that Micky was too loud."

Micky hurled a pillow at the Brit, who fell off the couch at the impact.

"That's what he said, though!"

"I got excited. You were there, too. You weren't exactly quiet, yourself, Mr. Jones." He defended, and Davy shrugged in response. Once Peter calmed his laughter, he looked up at Micky.

"What'd he say?"

"Well," he sighed and wrapped an arm around Peter, "he didn't say much. The first words out of his mouth were 'too loud,' which we were both probably being a little too rowdy. I asked him how he was, and he said his head hurt and that he was tired. He was out not long after that."

"It probably knocked a lot out of him..." Peter thought out loud. Poor Mike.

Micky nodded.

"He's probably exhausted. Fighting for your life for a few months isn't exactly the easiest thing to do."

Peter frowned. Fighting for his life? Could Mike have died? He worried. Micky seemed to notice how tense the blonde had become and gave his shoulders a little squeeze.

"Hey, but he's okay now, right? There's nothing you to worry about, Pete. It'll all work out. I promise."