I'm Coming For You -Mike/Phone Guy (Microphone)

Part 2 - We're Here

"Shit. Shit, shit, shit, shit- where's my phone?!" Mike tore out his pockets, but no cellular device came out. He made a sharp gasp of air before shouting, "I must've dropped it!" Tan fingers curled around the old landline loaded with messages.

"Mike, that phone...can't call. It hasn't-"

"What?!" The taller male opened his mouth to presumably let out a long stream of curses, but was cut short by a loud groan of pain as Scott clutched the side of his abdomen, face twisted in agony.

"Scott!"

Mike's call was answered by him coughing up a few drops of crimson fluid.

"Damnit, don't die on me!"

"T-there's a first aid kit...under the...desk."

The newbie's hands felt along the bottom of the wood. Indeed, out came a large white box with a red cross. He opened it, only to be met with a plethora of foreign objects.

"How do you use these things?!"

Scott weakly held out his good arm and Mike handed him the open box. Two rolls of gauze were set on the table, along with a few marked liquids and some cotton swabs.The brunette picked up one of the bottles and read its label.

"Rubbing alcohol?"

"Huh? N-no...which one says Neosporin?"

Mike frowned. His friend's far-sightedness wasn't going to be of much help.

"You have spare glasses?"

"At home..."

He growled and pulled a piece of paper out of the box. Good, instructions. "So you have to wrap this white stuff around his head?"

Scott peered behind the blue-eyed man's shoulder to the window where a dark figure loomed over the glass. "Door..."

The taller's hand reflexively blocked the figure from entering with a device known as the 'close button'. A dirty yellow chicken loomed over them, glaring through the glass. To Mike, it seemed a bit more...violent than usual. Agressive. Like it had an emotional attachment to its prey. But that's stupid...after all, it's just a robot.

He flipped the tablet to Pirate's Cove, set it on the desk and kneeled in front of Scott. The instructions were a bit of help, but still confusing as hell. Maybe if you put it on this way...?

Tan hands whirled around the smaller figure. Every now-and-then they'd brush against a bit of non-marked skin and send goosebumps to its receiver, who could still blush despite the state of health he was in.

By the time Mike had finished, the phone guy looked like a broken mummy.

Mike flipped on the light, a large robot was absent from the window, and so he opened up the door to once more let in a black abyss. He flicked on the tablet, Foxy still behind curtains, then redirected his attention back to the injured man.

The man stared back at him with tired eyes. His face held a small smile and pink tint that danced across his cheeks like a flame.

"What are you staring at?"

Scott turned away quickly, though he couldn't get far without having pain spike up his neck.

"N-nothing." The pink tint increased.

For a moment, there was silence. It wasn't until Mike leaned toward Scott, arm outstretched, that the latter heard his heartbeat faster, faster, their faces inches apart, and right when Scott thought they'd crash...

...Mike kept going.

"Clank!"

The door slammed shut behind Scott, who face was a nice rosy shade, and his brown eyes looked to Mike for an answer.

"Bonnie," was his reply and he gestured to the giant purple bunny only distanced by a metal slab.

Scott looked at the clock. Two hours pass rather quickly when your life is in danger.

"Can you move your arm?"

"Huh?"

He had picked up the tablet with one arm, flipped through it with one arm and set it down with one arm. The other hadn't even moved.

"Can you move your arm?" Mike repeated, flicking on the light for a split second and opening the door.

"I can-"

"Show me."

He moved it a little ways, slowly, face clenched in pain. A little more, bit his lip to keep from screaming. A little more-

"That's enough, that's good!" Mike moved to catch the falling arm. "I didn't mean to hurt yourself!"

"That's what I was...trying to tell you..."

The brunette frowned even more than he had before. "Oh."

Another silence as the two took in how much distance was between them. Mike was kneeling in front of the other, his hands cradling Scott's broken arm. Scott was leaning over Mike and clutching his abdomen with the other.

"Mike...."

"Save your voice. It's gotta last the rest of the night. Let me see your side." Scott lifted up the side of his shirt and Mike finished the job, tossing aside the torn-up garment. A nasty red spot marked the side of the paler one's ribs.

The worry was spreading in Mike's body that wasn't something he could provide a temporary fix for. "How bad does it hurt?"

"Bad...I think my spleen's gonna explode."

The taller gently pressed a hand to the injury, causing Scott to flinch. It was burning hot.

"Damnit, Scott!" he groaned. "Where's the ice?"

Said man flashed him a look as if it were obvious. "The kitchen...?"

Of course. Maybe he could-

A strand of musical notes reached their ears in a specific, classical pattern. It seems like Freddy wanted to cook.

Mike put his hand over Scott's heart to feel for its pulse- fast but strong, a good sign.

"W-what are you doing?" the flustered man asked his companion.

"Checking your heartbeat. It's strong as hell, thankfully."

"How much longer?"

Check Pirate's Cove, check the clock. "Three-and-a-half hours."

"How much...power?"

"62 percent. We gotta be careful."

"There's...there's no way out until morning, is there?"

The brunette slumped against the side wall. He almost seemed more tired than his injured, worn out friend in the office chair. Bags were already present under his eyes and color was lacking in most areas of his face. Why would the near death of a close friend stress him out more than the friend itself?

He sighed. "I don't think there is."