Prisms of No Colour

1

A lot can change in the span of a single day.

There had first been a celebration, Peter was set free from Hell and allowed to keep his harp. Zero had been banished, no longer able to come up onto land for any reason. No more scams, no more tricks, no more fear. The court ruling gave the Monkees a false sense of hope.

They were safe now, or so they were told. The Devil was never one to play by the rules and now he had reason for revenge.

As they left the courtroom, they were met by a bright light of the outside world. Each of them held their hands over their eyes as they blinked, getting used to the sun and tried to make their way back to their car. Micky, Peter and Davy soon got used to the sunshine, but Mike still held his hand over his face.

He eventually found his way to the back seat, struggling with the door for a moment before successfully getting in, rubbing his eyes. No matter how he tried, he never seemed to be able to adjust to the new light. He could feel as a headache began to form as his eyes tried to focus, but never could.

"You don't wanna drive?" Davy asked, turning around to face him.

"No, no," Mike said, still rubbing his eyes. "I'm good."

"Hey, Mike?" A voice asked. Mike turned toward the noise, squinting and blinking as he tried to see the blurry figure.

"Hey, Mike, are you okay?" Micky asked and Mike sighed, nodding.

"Yeah, I'm fine," he muttered, rubbing his forehead. "Just a bit of a headache."

Micky frowned but nodded.

"Oh, okay," he said, getting into the front seat. "Well, we're going home now so you can rest when we get there. How does that sound?"

Mike hummed and nodded, closing his eyes as he leaned back into his seat, drifting to sleep as the car began to move. Suddenly, he could feel the car come to a stop and someone shaking his shoulder.

He opened his eyes again and squinted, only seeing blurry shapes and colors. He didn't say anything as he blinked several times, waiting for his eyes to focus.

"Hey, Mike," Micky said above him. "We're home."

"Oh," Mike said quietly and watched as the figure moved out of the way. Hesitantly, Mike stepped out of the car, Micky watching him carefully as he did.

"You sure you're alright?" He asked and Mike could feel as a hand was placed on his shoulder.

"Yeah," Mike sighed. "I'm fine. I think I just need to lie down for a bit."

Micky frowned, not buying the story, but nodded.

"Okay," he sighed, watching as Mike made his way toward the stairs, feeling around for the railing. "If you need anything, just ask."

Mike nodded, eventually finding it and taking a hesitant step. Slowly and carefully, Mike made his way up the stairs, finding his way toward the bedroom. Micky stood there and watched as he did, a worried expression on his face.

"Hey, guys?" He called out, turning to Davy and Peter who were busy carrying the harp in. "Does Mike seem weird to you?"

Davy and Peter frowned, looking at each other, then back at Micky.

"I don't know," Davy said honestly with a shrug. "He might just be stressed."

Peter nodded, looking up the stairs sadly.

"He usually gets himself sick with how much he worries about things," the Brit continued. Micky sighed, knowing it was true. They had all been so stressed about the court case, Mike probably just wore himself out.