as we go along ( monkees imagines )

mike (ft. peter)

AUTHOR'S NOTE: I can't seem to edge away from Dad Friend Nez. Oops!

In retrospect, you should have been more careful. But who has time to think when you're goofing around the beach? You and Peter definitely didn't have the foresight, much to Mike's chagrin.

He expected it, though. The moment he watched the pair of you dart out without shoes, he knew someone was going to get hurt. And when Peter came back not even ten minutes later, carrying you in his arms, Mike was not at all surprised. In fact, he already had a first aid kit set out.

"Caught my foot on some wood," you explained as Peter set you down on the couch. He then moved to stand behind it. "It hurts when I twist it this way and that—"

Peter winced and made a move to hold your foot in place. "Don't move it—"

"Peter—don't touch it—" He swatted the blond's hand away then glanced at you. "That's cos you probably sprained it," Mike told you. He grabbed a pillow and set it on the arm of the couch. "Here, put your foot up. I'll get it all bandaged up and what not."

Mike was well-practised in at-home remedies. Something he picked up while assuming this weird role as a dad friend to his bandmates. From Micky's harebrained experiments to Davy's cooking disasters, it only felt natural that he would take this spot. He didn't mind it. The way the boys would thank him profusely made it all worth the while. He cared for them—he really did. They were like brothers, in a sense.

And the more he saw you hang around, the same care extended to you too.

"Davy took the Monkeemobile and Micky has the van so we gotta wait until one of them gets back," Mike said, mostly to himself.

You weren't particularly listening, distracted by whatever joke Peter was telling you. He wound your ankle with the elastic bandage, just tight enough to keep pressure on it. It used to take him a few tries but now it was almost second nature to him. Peter had quite the track record when it came to hurting hands and feet. "I can take ya home then. Ain't no way you're walkin' on this."

You watched as he put the kit away. "Thanks," you told him. A beat passed. "I thought you were gonna tell me, 'Told ya so.'"

He let out a little chuckle. That would have been rather typical of him.

"Well, I figured you'd know without me tellin' you."