Punching the Clock, But It's Already Broken

May the Circle Be Open

"MICHAEL!"

Michael froze, backpack slung over his shoulder.

I know what happens, I know what happens to Evan, to Elizabeth, I have stared death in the face and accepted it, please don't make me relive this pain any more-

"Michael! Where the hell're you going, man?!" Frederick skidded to a stop in front of him, Mark and Simon close behind him. Frederick's chest was heaving, Simon's pale face was flushed, and Mark doubled over, clutching his sides and wheezing. They had run all this way to catch up to him?

"Running away, and if you guys were smart, you'd do the same," Michael answered, blinking away tears.

He hadn't waited this time. He hadn't waited for the news of Evan's death before running away. No, he had sprinted home and packed his bag before booking it out of Hurricane. Currently, the group was standing in front of the sign indicating to drivers that they were leaving the county. Frederick took a step forward, Michael took a step back. His heel hit the pole of the sign.

"I'm sorry, guys. I really am. We'll stay in touch, yeah?" He stepped onto the road, trying for a smile as he put his backpack on both shoulders.

"Mike!" Mark shouted, eyes widening.

Michael cocked his head to the side. "Calm down, Mark. I promise, I won't forget about you all. Don't forget about me either, got it?"

Simon launched himself forward, fingers grazing Michael's arm before lights started shining through the evening haze.

Michael turned around, stared the car down, listened to the shouts of his friends, before the world went dark.

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The pale yellow walls, the white popcorn ceiling, the surreal paintings on the walls... He was back in his house. What the hell? That made no sense. He couldn't be back there, he hadn't been anywhere near there when he got hit by the car.

What was happening? Was this real? Was he really back again?

Michael sat up, and stared around the room. Sure as shit, there he was. Undeniably, in the flesh. He heard footsteps coming up the stairs, and flung himself from the bed, never mind how comfortable it was, or how sore he was.

Nope, actually, turns out it was rather hard to ignore the pain. His entire body hurt.

He fell to the ground, whacking his head hard on the floor. He cried out, clutching his temple where he'd hit it.

"Mike?"

Everything hurt, he didn't know why he was back, Evan was dead-

"Mike? Are you alright?" The bedroom door opened, and his mother knelt beside his curled-up figure.

He blinked hard, willing away the tears. "Y-yeah..." He forced out, but his mother saw through it in a second. "No, you're not. Come here..." She gently pulled his head into her lap, and he slowly sat up, vision swimming. He gagged, clutched his stomach, and his mother frowned. "Are you sick?" She asked, feeling his forehead. "Michael, you're burning up-!" She retracted her hand, and Michael grunted in response. He didn't trust himself not to say something stupid.

His mother gently helped him back into bed, helped him take his shirt off. Her expression shifted slightly, but she said nothing about anything she saw. "You should rest. Get some sleep, okay? I'll tell your father that you're not feeling well." She shut the bedroom door on her way out.

Shaking, Michael tugged the blankets up to his head and sobbed. Was this some sort of punishment? Was this because of what he'd done to his innocent brother, the one he so desperately wished to protect?