Blinking awake to a pounding headache was not something Mike wanted to become a routine. A half groggy, half whiny moan involuntarily escaped his lips as he sighed. For a moment, he forgot where he was and how he got there. The soft bed he laid on seemed foreign; he just couldn't seem to wrap his head around any solid thoughts.

His dangerous adventure had come to a screeching halt when he had that nasty fall. He remembers calling Chuck, but other than that, it was dark.

Mike let his eyes close again, slowly letting himself wake. And as his sleepy mind cleared it all came rushing back to him like the lousy adrenaline that got him in
this situation in the first place. He turned his head and squinted at the figure sitting beside the bed.

"Finally awake, huh?" a familiar, soft voice laughed.

Mike blinked again and let Chuck come into focus through his dark lashes. By the look on his friend's face, he could tell he was not going to like these next few
minutes.

"What," he began pausing for a moment to sit up, resting his elbows on the pillows, "what the hell happened?"

Acting as an answer, an immense pain shocked his system. He hissed through his teeth and whipped the blankets off. His foot was fully wrapped and was positively
screaming at him. The pain shot through his leg, up through his ankle, feeling like a spider-web of daggers. His toes felt numb, and he was like 99% sure he was
missing part of his heel, probably.

"Shit..." he whispered, all together exasperated and annoyed with himself.

Chuck shrugged and twisted his lips into a sideways smile. "Well," he paused trying to figure out the best way to put it, "you fell."

Mike shifted a bit, sitting back and resting against the headboard. "Yeah, I know that." He gestured to his foot with a questioning look.

"Ah," Chuck bit his lip. "Well, when you fell, your foot sort of...impaled itself on a scrap piece. It had been cut from a larger piece so it was pretty sharp. Crazy
though, you must've been falling pretty fast to have it go all the way through your shoe and foot." As the blonde spoke, he fiddled with a chunk of his hair, studying
it intently as if he could tell if the ends were split or not.

Mike sighed. He could not believe this had happened. How could he be so reckless?

Oh yeah, he'd been reckless for a while. But now that he actually had some real consequences, well, he was downright regretting his behavior. Hindsight is 20-20. If
only he had been more patient. Taken up poetry or, hell, learned to paint from Dutch! If only he hadn't been such an idiot, he wouldn't be sitting here with a foot throbbing.

Moments passed as he wracked through all of these thoughts. He sighed again, letting his head fall back against the board with a small thud. "How long for recovery?"

He heard Chuck choke back a yelp. He opened his eyes and darted them to his friend. "Chuck..." he said, a little more assertively. Chuck chewed on his bottom lip and
Mike wondered if it would start bleeding.

Chuck stood up and turned away, focusing on the rather complex first aid kit he had put together on the nightstand. "W-w-well," his usual weak and stuttering tone coming
back at a rather inconvenient time, "since we had some trouble finding you, you lost quite a lot of blood. A-a-a-and, and, the wound was pretty bad. It's, uh, well, it's
on your foot. Well, ok, you know that obviously. But, it well, it kind of is hard to tell..." he stopped shuffling around and turned towards Mike, who's stare was
unchanging, patient and understanding to his friend's conversation issues. "Unless we can keep infection out, it's pretty hard to tell when it's gonna get better. And
when it does...Mike, I'm not even sure your foot is gonna heal properly."

Mike Chilton sighed for what seemed a time too many. "You've gotta be kidding me." he mumbled, not quite wanting Chuck to hear it.

"I'm sorry."

Mike's heart hurt at those words. He narrowed his eyes as he stared at his hands. "It's not your fault, Chuck. You're the one who saved me right? If it weren't for you, I'd probably be still out there, drowning in my own stupidity. This is..." he gestured to his foot, "this is just what I get for being so..."

"Stupid?"

"Stupid."

Chuck let out a short laugh, but it was followed by a frown. It was a frown that spoke a thousand words and showed a thousand emotions. Chuck knew how this was going
to effect his friend. He knew Mike better than any one on this planet. He understood why his leader had been going out, he knew why he would come home late some
evenings with unexplained bumps and bruises. He just never spoke up. Chuck had always been worried about his friend, and he knew the day when Mike would just push it
too far would come. Only now, I just wished he hadn't been right.

...

Chuck walked downstairs towards the garage, leaving Mike to attempt to sleep through his pain. He was the one that cleaned his wound, he was fully aware of just how
much pain there actually was. There was no way Mike was going to get any decent sleep. Not right away, at least.

"Go on. Fine tune, Mutt would ya? Can't let her be neglected! I'll just nap and, uh, read a comic or something..." Mike had, unsuccessfully, reassured his friend. With
some more pushing, he eventually got Chuck to (begrudgingly) agree to these terms; but promising that he'd be back in exactly three hours to check on him.

Kicking at some gravel, he eventually made his way through the "home," casually avoiding the pressing questions from the rest of the burners. Hiding under his bangs,
he quickly glanced at Jacob, who in return gave him a knowing look. He took charge and boomed his voice over all the questions, declaring that the first person to try
his new delicacy would be awarded with a new car part. Dutch, Julie, and Texas exchanged odd looks, and Chuck let this be his opportunity to escape.

He was not in the mood to talk, and simply did not have the energy to put on a mask for his friends' sake.

Usually towering over the others, Chuck let his natural curve of his spine shrink him down to as low as he felt.

He had blamed himself for this whole ordeal.

Of course, he would never tell Mike this. How could he? That would only trigger a guilt battle of who could carry the blame more than the other. Sometimes it was just
plain annoying how polite and kindhearted Mike could be. Chuck wanted to be able to shoulder all the burdens himself. Why was it up to Mike to carry all the baggage?
He was just as human as the rest of the burners, and yet he was the one who had the target painted on his forehead.

The blonde found his way to the garage, not really having any recollection of the journey there. He stared at Mutt. It was parked different than usual. This was
because Dutch was the one to drive it back. And now that Chuck really looked at Mutt, it was not right. Mike would not be driving her for a long while, and it
just seemed so wrong.

Chuck finally pulled up a stool and sat next to Mutt. He placed a soft hand on the hood, his chin falling to his chest.

"This is going to be a long recovery," he spoke to the car like speaking to a friend. "Mike is gonna miss you, he'll be down here for sure. God, he'll crawl down here
if he has to."

He pat Mutt once, before standing back up and opening the hood. Maybe he'd add a little something special as a get well present for Mike.

...

Four days. That's all it took. Four days of laying around, trying to sleep, and muttering profanities at his foot before Mike felt like he was going to explode.
He lay on his bed, staring blankly up at the ceiling. He hummed a non-distinctive tune and played his stomach like a drum. Now that the pain wasn't exactly paralyzing, Mike was
ready to move about and be done with it all.

His foot had other ideas.

Mike had been certain he could simply get right back in the game. He had sat up and tried walking, only to fall face first. Chuck had not been a happy camper after
that. The brunette had to hide his smile as Chuck lectured him like a mother; spewing out reasons why he should stay in bed, get lots of rest, and has be bathed recently?

It was when Mike finally looked up at Chuck's expression that he finally felt his stomach drop. Chuck's bangs were clipped back out of his eyes, and they stared at him with an unwavering concern. Mike felt a twinge of guilt stab his gut. Chuck was his best friend, of course he was worried. Mike just hadn't noticed it since he was always caught up in his own world. The war with Kane, the rebuilding of Motorcity; these all clouded his vision to see what was right in front of him the entire time.

So, Mike surrendered. He promised, with no fingers crossed, that he would be a good patient and listen to Chuck. The blonde promptly put him on "room arrest."

And considering he was still very much addicted to a certain pesky hormone, all this inactivity was the absolute opposite of what he thought he needed. Mike strained
to listen to the sounds of his burners chatting and enjoying the lull from Kane attacks. Luckily for Mike's sanity, there hadn't been any activity from above as of yet.

Mike wasn't sure what he'd do if the red lights and alarm went off. Probably force Chuck to create an android stand-in for him. He smirked at the idea.

After a few more minutes of absolute, mind-numbing stillness, Mike was feeling restless. No amount of opening and closing his eyes would change that. He slapped his hands on the mattress, causing the blankets to puff up on either side of him.

"Oh my God," he moaned to himself a bit dramatically, "This. is. awful."

In his head, he briefly turned over the idea of making a really loud noise just to draw attention from the others. He decided against it because he wasn't entirely
sure he wanted his burners to see him like this. In fact, he had realized that he didn't want his burners seeing a lot of sides of him. When did that start?

All this inactivity was good for brain work, but bad for his conscience. The more he thought, the more he really realized just how badly he messed up. He should have
never let his impatient nature get the better of him. He should have lived up to the leadership qualities that so many people expected of him. He had let down his city,
his friends, and most importantly, Chuck. Mike couldn't stop himself from wondering what type of expression Chuck made when he got that comm call; his imagination
giving him a pretty good idea. It made him a bit queasy.

Oh well, it was too late to sulk on all of that now. He had screwed up, big time, and now he was paying for it. End of story.

Mike shifted a bit to sit up, sending one of his pillows over the edge of the mattress. Chuck had really gone kind of over board with the whole "make him as comfortable as possible" theme. He stretched his arms above his head, straightening his back. He heard a satisfying pop and crumbled back into horrible posture with a relieved sigh. For a moment, he looked around his room and mentally took note of everything he hated about it. Once he could walk around again, he was going to rearrange some things. Everything, actually. In fact, all of the useless things he had laying around were all going to go. He made this promise to himself once before, when he was bed-ridden with the flu. He wasn't exactly sure how much merit it held this time around, but it was kind of comforting to know he was at least trying to change for the better.

But for now, he was stuck in sweat pants and t-shirt in his overly soft bed. Doing absolutely nothing, and it felt so damn boring. The polar opposite of how he felt just days
before. Wind whipping his hair, muscles twitching, hands shaking. That odd, sensitive shiver he'd get right before he'd have his fix...

Now that he thought about it. He did sort of miss that feeling. It had made his body tingle with anticipation and would give him a satisfaction that he'd never really felt before.

It was, well, good. It felt good. It felt so damn good that he wanted, no, needed to feel it again.

Or, at least, the equivalent.

And "Nurse Chuck," as he so endearingly called him now, wasn't going to make his round for another hour. So, why the hell not? He was human after all.

Mike leaned over and opened the small drawer of his nightstand. He reached in to the way back, shuffling over some papers and an old oil filter. He felt around for
a few moments and frowned. He could've sworn he had left some in there.

Things were just not going his way lately. He huffed, peeved at his predicament, and slid down against the headboard.

Not two seconds passed before he glanced quickly at his door; safely closed off from the rest of the world.

Tucking a hand behind his pillow and closing his eyes, Mike pressed his other on his groin. He lazily palmed himself through the fabric, letting his breath deepen with each downward movement. The pressure felt relaxing, offering just enough sensation and pleasure to tie him over for the moment. He hummed softly into his sigh.

Sure, it wasn't that same feeling he got when risking his life on a insane adventure; but he wasn't going to complain.

...

Mike hadn't meant for it to get this far. He intended to just stifle his boredom, to get a taste of that pleasant shiver he'd grown so accustomed to. Before he knew
it, his mind was wandering. Fantasies he didn't even know he enjoyed began to fill his mind, egging his hand to move faster. The growing tent in his sweat pants wasn't
offering him much of a choice either.

He gripped his hard-on through the fabric and stroked. The feeling was muted, and a bit harsh on his skin. An unpleasant expression crossed his features as he let out
a small moan. He shifted his good leg up, trying to get better access. When that proved inefficient, Mike scoffed and simply pulled on his waistband. A relieved puff
of air escaped his lungs as his dick sprung out, standing at attention, practically mocking him. He grabbed his with his fist and hissed through clenched teeth. Working so
many hours on Mutt had made his hands permanent sand paper. He wasn't going to get very far with just this.

Cum beaded on the tip and he glared at it. He wasn't nearly wet enough, but if he were to stop now he would surely die. There was no way that this inactivity curse was
going to ruin his jacking-off schedule too. Not if he had anything to say about it.

Thinking quick, Mike turned onto his side-mindful of his foot-and grabbed a pillow. After a short pause (as if trying to convince himself it was worth it), Mike
folded it in half around his cock, and he couldn't have felt more ridiculous. Despite this self-inflicted embarrassment, Mike continued. Grunts and sighs followed as he began to thrust. The fabric was cool, and it sent an exhilarating shiver through his body. It was quite nice; feeling almost identical to the shiver he actually craved. The softness allowed him to move at any pace he
wanted, and it didn't seem to be chaffing at all. Mike squeezed the pillow tighter as he rolled his hips forward, imagining it was something much better and tighter
than he was thrusting into.

He kept going at it for quite some time. And soon, Mike began to get frustrated. He whimpered, defeated, as he grew tired. His hand, with whitening knuckles, cramped as it gripped the pillow.
His climax was nowhere in sight and it was driving him up the wall.

"Come on," he moaned desperately.

It just wasn't fair.

Not only was he unable to go on his adrenaline rush, but he couldn't even get off without running into some kind of hiccup.

He pressed his face into his other pillow, feeling his hot breath moisten the fabric as he bit into it angrily. He needed more, he needed something different.

Something that would send his heart racing just like his adventures.

Something new.

Something...no.

His eyes popped open wide as his brain offered a suggestion.

Anything but that.

No. God, no.

Never.

Well...

He couldn't actually believe he was about to do this. He wasn't necessarily against it, but really? This is what it's come down to? Yeah, he definitely had a problem.

Mike quickly brought his hand out from under the pillow and popped his fingers in his mouth, moistening them with his tongue as it swirled around. As he pulled them out,
his saliva shined and trailed along his lips. He stared at his fingers for a quick moment, his dark skin glistened in its new coat. Just looking at it made an odd wave
of anticipation rush through him. Maybe he made the right choice after all. He gave a quick, shuttering sigh before moving his hand behind him.

"Jesus, shit," he said in an exasperated tone. His eyes squeezed shut as he pressed his finger against the ring of muscle. It was tight and offering little to no room
for any kind of entrance. He attempted to relax, picturing his turn ons in vivid detail. Eventually, with some wriggling, he got it in. His sharp intake of breath
practically caused him to cough. It was definitely different, and definitely new. He wasn't exactly sure if he liked it, but that bit of uncertainty was not enough to stop
him.

His finger moved in and out, slowly, testing his limits. He easily found that his limits were, well, nonexistent.

Minutes passed and one thing led to another, and Mike had two fingers inside. He scissored them, causing his body to twitch and squirm, and God he had no idea he was
into this. His breathing was uneven, and his lungs began to hurt as he switched from panting to holding his breath. Pushing into the knuckle, Mike let out a long
groan. This was when he realized he wasn't even paying any attention to his front.

Odd. He had never forgotten about his dick before during something like this. It angrily throbbed in response.

His fingers pulled out and back in, his hips mimicking this movement. Over and over, again and again. Thrusting into the pillow, and into himself. It was a perfectly
foreign combination that simply sent him over the edge. Minutes later, and Mike found himself coming harder than ever before. Every muscle tensed, and he pressed his
face flat into his pillow, feeling his eyes roll back into his head. When his waves of orgasm finally subsided, for the first time in he couldn't remember when, he
felt totally and utterly relaxed. His heart thrashed against his chest in powerful beats; his pupils dilated wide.

"Damn," he smiled as he turned to lay on his back, resting in his filth and not really caring. He still had time before his nurse made his round.

His chest rose and fell happily as his breath sighed in a blissful afterglow. Who needed adrenaline when you could have that?

Sometimes, being the Dare Devil had it's perks.

...

Chuck let his quivering fist hover just in front Mike's door.

No, he had definitely not heard what he thought he just heard. That would be preposterous.

But maybe...?

No.

He was hearing things.

Oh God, it totally was.

Chuck felt his face heat up involuntarily. The sounds that Mike had just been making traveled easily through the wooden door and straight to Chuck's crotch. The blonde
had a feeling his friend really had no idea just how loud he was actually being. And now there was absolutely no way on God's green earth he could possibly look him in
the eye.

"Ugh, Mike," Chuck whispered weakly, "you really gotta stop putting me through these emotional roller coasters."

He turned on his heel and dragged his feet away down the hallway. He thought maybe another half hour or so would be enough time. Or maybe never.

Never worked.

...

A knock on the door jolted Mike out of his nap. He quickly fell out of his sleepy haze and his arm felt like shattering glass because he had fallen asleep on it.
He groaned a bit and said something that sounded like a "come in."

Chuck opened the door, a friendly smile on his lips that touched his eyes. His cheeks were constantly flushed a deep red recently. Mike didn't really understand, but never mentioned it out of politeness. Chucks bangs were yet again clipped up out of his eyes, and Mike couldn't help but stare. It was such a rare occurrence, but he could get used to seeing them.

The moment didn't last long though because Mike knew what it usually meant when Chuck had his bangs back. It meant it was time to change the bandages.

He promptly grabbed a pillow and slapped it to his face, a futile attempt to hide from the enemy.

"No," he declared in a rather uncharacteristically bratty tone.

He heard Chuck sigh and place the medical scissors on the first aid tray he had put together. Mike knew he was being unreasonable, seeing as he had done this every
single time after the first change. But at this point in time, he really didn't care. An entire week and a half had already put Mike past his limits of charisma and positive
thinking.

"Come on, bro," Chuck pleaded, "It'll go by a lot smoother if you'd just behave for once."

"I'd rather cut my foot off. Why don't we just do that?" Mike retorted into the pillow, his free hand waving about dramatically. "Seems like all the shit has hit the
fan already, so why not add that to the mix?!"

"At least things are quiet for once, from Kane I mean," Chuck smiled and began cutting strips of the bandages. He'd be lying if he said he didn't enjoy Mike's new attitude. If anything,
it made him a lot less intimidating. And Chuck, well, he could definitely use less intimidating people in his life. He turned and sat on the bed heavily, making Mike
bounce. He saw Mike's hand press the pillow harder into his face, but he had no further resistance otherwise.

Chuck didn't say anything more as he fluffed the pillow under Mike's foot to give it more leverage, and carefully began to unwrap it. The first time he had taken a
look at the wound, Chuck had practically fainted. But other than Jacob, Chuck was the only one who knew anything about medical care. His realistic LARPing had been a
rather good tutor for him. He knew his friends would make fun of him for it later, but at the moment he was practically a savior.

He pressed his lips into a thin line and furrowed his brow. The wound was still looking pretty nasty. Not as bad as the first night. And after a few days of that, the wound had closed just enough to actually
use stitches.

Now that had bee quite the adventure.

Chuck had given Mike a leather belt and frown apologetically.

"What's this for?" Mike had asked as Texas and Dutch suddenly grabbed his hands and pushed them down against the mattress. Mike's eyes had widened, but his expression showed that he was pretty much comprehending. He let Dutch place the leather belt in his mouth.

"We kinda...ran out of anesthetic..." Chuck mumbled anyways, as he and Julie soaked the needles in alcohol.

Chuck shivered just thinking about the face Mike had made that night.

But now, at least all he needed to do was clean it and refresh the bandages. That was...relatively painless...or at least it should be. But Mike was a squirmy dude, as
if the ants in his pants were constantly having a party that literally no one was invited to except them. The blonde burner wanted to ask Mike about this twitchy-ness.
Chuck always remembered that himself being the antsy one and Mike being...well, Mike.

Chuck lifted the last bandage off; it stuck only momentarily before popping off. That part was always the longest, since Chuck had to be extra careful not to agitate
any of the stitches. It had been at least ten minutes before he finally got that last bandage off.

And right on cue, Mike began to fidget.

"No, Mike, come on. No!" He pressed his hands on Mike's knees, trying to hold him still.

"It hurts though!"

"It does not!"

"How would you know?"

"I know because...because I know! All right? Now, p-p-please, M-mike, just...would you just..." his voice quickly resorted back to its default whine and tremble as
Mike began to turn over, and he quickly lost any authority he might have had.

Chuck deflated into a sigh, and flopped sideways on the bed to lay parallel to Mike-keeping his legs off the side. They laid there for a few moments in a silence that
wasn't necessarily uncomfortable.

"Mike, you really gotta relax, buddy. Your crazy escapades, your literal addiction to danger. That crap is gonna get you killed. Shit, I thought you had died..."

Mike winced at those words. He knew this whole event had caused some tension between them. They weren't talking like they used to. Things were...weird, different. Despite Chuck's 24/7 care, Mike felt further and further away from him. And it hurt. A lot. More than he thought it would. He laid there, stewing in his painful thoughts for quite some time.

"Why don't you just, I dunno, find a different way to get your rocks off?" Chuck finally said.

There was no answer from Mike. Did he fall asleep?

Chuck sat back up and looked over his shoulder at the pillow where Mike's face should be.

"Mike, I said-"

"Yeah, I," Mike began a bit quietly. There was a short pause. "I heard you."

A few more moments passed before Mike moved the pillow away. Chuck greeted his gaze with a soft smile. It fell quickly as he saw the rather serious look on Mike's
face.

"W-what?" Chuck felt his face heat up a bit as Mike's stare lasted longer than comfortably allowed. Chuck's brain had pretty much hated him ever since the little incident from days earlier. It would spring up and say 'hey, remember this?" and yes, yes Chuck remembered it. Rather vividly, in fact.

"We're friends right?"

"Um, yes?"

"And friends...ahh, friends do, um, things for each other, right?"

"...yes?"

"Chuck, if I asked you something really, really weird...would you..." his voiced trailed off, as if he were rethinking his decision to say whatever he was about to
say.

Chuck couldn't say for sure how much time passed. He opened his mouth a few times, but promptly closed it because he swore Mike looked like he was going to say
something more. And of course, he didn't. Mike's gaze eventually shifted and he let his head fall into his hands, letting out an exhausted groan. He rubbed his eyes
with the balls of his hands and whispered, "Jesus Christ..."

"Mike?" Chuck let his hand fall onto Mike's knee.

"Chuck, will you blow me?"