He could hear, he could feel, he could smell, but he could not see. Mikey's hands reach out in front of him in hopes that his hands touch something. He knew he was alone, and it terrified him.
The piercing silence in the air could have been cut like paper; it was the kind of deafening silence no one wanted. Words of desperation sit on the end of his tongue yet he can't quite let them out. Something was holding Mikey back from calling for help. He wanted someone, anyone, to be there with him.
He wanted you.
You. Where were you? Were you somewhere in this darkness too?
Mikey presses onwards, hands still stretched outwards. With his heart already almost pumping out of his chest, he feels the anxiety traveling up his legs and into his spine and up to his neck. It's starts to mess with his head.
Echoes break the air, shattering the silence like glass. Mikey gasps in fear and looks around rapidly but with no prevail as his view is still met with complete darkness. At first he can't tell what they're saying, or how many there are, but they are no less terrifying. Mikey's pace begins to quicken.
The more he travels however, the louder they become, resulting in the man getting more and more frightened, the panic and anxiety intensifying. Breath rapid and hitching in his throat, stomach knotting, nausea, sweat dripping off his forehead; Mikey was no longer sane. He was losing his god damn mind.
Mikey.
It makes him stop dead in his tracks and his breath hitches in his throat, and he remains as silent and still as he can.
Mikey.
His eyes squint, brain working itself to try and register who the hell was talking to him. It was thrashing inside his head, he knows who that is.
Look at me Mikey.
"I can't." He still had no words emerge, instead he simply mouthed them. Would the spirit see? Was it even a spirit?
Why?
"It's dark," he mouths again. The echoes stop, and Mikey is at a standstill again. He licks his lips nervously.
"Why can't I see you?"
Silence still. That same ear splitting silence that makes his heart pound viciously once again.
I'm here.
Mikey huffs. "I can't see you," he mouths, "it's dark."
I'm right here.
At this point he's beginning to become irritated; the twitch of his nose and fisted hands says so.
"It's too dark."
Silent once again.
Taking a step forward Mikey begins walking again. But he stops when a very dim light begins to glow behind him, then watching as his own shadow grows taller beneath him as the light grows. He slowly turns, breath hitching in his throat as he now stares at the figure before him. Someone unfamiliar, most likely the one who was messing with him. At least he hoped, maybe he could get them to talk.
Mikey's hands reach for his weapons, and to his shock . . . and fear, they are not strapped to his belt.
He's wary, and is ready to take stance should the moment come he needed to protect himself.
Can you see me now?
Mikey slowly nods his head, but takes a step back while the shadow takes one forward.
Don't be afraid.
This was getting a little to unsettling for him. It already was enough, but this was topping the cake.
Looking for these?
His eyes watch intently as the shadow grows, revealing a shape in it's arms that's all too familiar to him.
"Those are mine," he mouths, "my weapons."
Do you want them back?
"Yes."
Do come get them.
What kind of a ruse was this? Obviously some sort of trick. Mikey's happy-go-lucky normal personality is replaced by anger and fear, eyes narrow and his jaw locked. He swallows hard.
You're scared.
The shadow then gets close, and Mikey goes to step back again.
Except this time he can't. He is physically incapable of moving away. Maybe it was the fear building in his gut, or perhaps something was holding him there.
Don't be afraid of me.
"Who are you?"
You know who I am Mikey.
Mikey swallows again. When the figure holds out it's arm to return the weapons, his eyes widen in shock when an arm emerges from the dark, as if this thing was wearing a cloak. He looks up and to his surprise, he sees a face, half a face. The mouth, nose and chin are the only things to appear. It's smiling.
I know who this is, Mikey thinks. Why can't I say the name? Something was still holding him back.
You really don't know who I am? After everything we've been through.
"Everything? I don't..."
The hand holding one of his weapons quickly lets the weapon go, then snatching Mikey's hand in it's own, pulling it towards the shadow. Mikey frantically tries to resist and pull back, but fails as it forces his hand into the dark. It's face snarls and teeth clench together. Blood begins to drip from it's lips and nose. Mikey's hand becomes warm, and wet, and it's only when he looks down that he realizes what the sensation was. Foul smelling, warm, wet. . .
It was blood. And when he looks up..
If only he could scream.
You stand there, face now fully in plain view, staring at him with such malice.
"(Y/n)," he finally manages to say.
Look at me Mikey. You did this.
The blood begins to pour out of you and Mikey is beyond mortified.
You weren't there for me. I'm going to die and it's your fault. You can't protect me.
He closes his eyes and lowers his head in hopes this would be over with. That you were unharmed.
What kind of monster does this?
Monster.
He wants to throw up. Tears flood his face as Mikey viciously tries to pull away, but you only seems to pulls him closer. Mikey viciously tries to pull away. This wasn't you. No way in hell this was you. You wouldn't say such a thing, especially to him and using that word. You knew how much he hated that word.
"(Y/n)," Mikey pleads, choking on his tears. His hand is pulled closer, grip tightening on him.
Look at me Mikey.
"(Y/n)!"
Look what you did to me.
"(Y/N)!"
Open your fucking eyes Michelangelo!
And he does so. When they open Mikey takes a moment for his mind, as well as his eyes, to come back to reality. He's home. His real home. Eyes stare up at the ceiling for a couple moments before a hand reaches up to wipe his tears away.
Mikey pauses, staring at the same hand that was covered in your blood. He swallows thickly and takes a shaky breath, sitting up slowly in his bed to look around. Everything seemed normal, like it always was.
"Mikey."
He looks up to see you in the doorway with a can of his orange crush in your hand, looking at him with worry in your eyes.
"I could hear you out here," you say, making way to him, "you were talking in your sleep. You okay?"
Mikey doesn't respond right away, staring down at his hands. Why was he afraid to speak all of a sudden?
His thoughts were interrupted when your hands set place on top of his. Mikey looks up again to see you inched closer to him, sitting on the side of his bed.
"Babe, you look like you're going to be sick," you say. "It was just a dream." You place a hand on Mikey's cheek, and he exhales sharply and leans into your touch. Your hand was warm, and it felt wonderful.
He pulls you into him as his arms wrap around your waist tightly, holding you as close as he can. Mikey's face nuzzles into your neck, and you feel him plant faint kisses onto your skin.
"Mikey?" He was oddly quiet.
Mikey basks in the feeling of your body against him. A sigh of contentment and relief and comfort leave his lips.
"You know I would never hurt you right?"
"Of course I do," you say, pulling away to look at his face. You place a kiss on his lips. "Mikey, what the hell happened in your dream?"
He simply shakes his head, face diving back into your neck.
"Just lay with me. Please."
How could you refuse? You had never seen him so stressed or this troubled before. Mikey was a completely different person. You didn't pressure him into telling you, fearing it would make things worse. Instead you snuggle into his bed with him, hoping your company would give him better dreams this time around.