Chapter Text
A banner hung lopsided over the far wall, the words Good Luck, Sergeant Dodds! stenciled in a cheerful blue font. The corners were peeling, tape bending like they wanted to make an exit of their own. There was another sign, this one in bold red scrawled over with signatures, doodles, and well-wishes from the squad, a collage of permanent marker hearts and inside jokes. The cake on the table had already lost two corners, the uneven, impatient cuts a clear sign Amanda had gotten to it first. Someone, almost definitely Sonny, had queued up a playlist on the office speaker, something soft and forgettable.
Another farewell. Another clean break.
You’d think he’d be used to it by now.
“You, uh… packed everything up?” Sonny asked, standing nearby, shifting on his feet. He didn’t quite meet Mike’s eyes.
Mike shrugged, then hesitated. “Yeah. Most of it.”
“It’s… going to be weird not having you around.”
Mike forced something onto his face that might’ve passed for a smile, if you didn’t look too close. “Yeah, it’s… but it’s such a good opportunity, you know?”
Sonny laughed weakly under his breath and shoved his hands into his pockets. “Yeah. No, I get it. You’ll do great. You will.” He swallowed. “It’s… like you said. A good opportunity.”
They always were.
Mike’s father made sure of that. Promotions carefully arranged, the next stepping stone lined up before he’d even had time to finish processing the one before it. Not just for advancement, for trajectory.
Don’t get comfortable.
Don’t grow roots.
Don’t form attachments.
His father had said those things often enough, they’d etched themselves somewhere deep. Not unkindly, just matter-of-fact. But Mike had long ago stopped wondering whether the advice was wise or just lonely.
And sometimes… sometimes, it was hard to fight the last one line of the mantra. Especially when the person making it so hard was someone like Sonny.
Warm. Funny. Moral. Passionate. Kind. Sweet, even. So attractive it caught Mike off guard, again and again. Mike would catch himself watching him across the squad room, pen tip pressed to his lower lip, breath catching a little as he got pulled under the surface of something he wasn’t allowed to want. Then Amanda would say something, or Olivia would call across the desk, and Mike would cough, look anywhere else, and pray the flush on his neck wasn’t obvious.
His father wouldn’t have disapproved because it was a man. He’d known since high school that Mike was bisexual, four solid weeks of raving about Eli Flore, the new transfer student, had left little mystery.
No, it wasn’t that.
It was the dating part. The wanting. The distraction from the five-year plan. The ten-year plan. The twenty year plan. The seemingly infinite checklist of steps to perfection. A machine he’d been taught to climb into and operate, no matter how badly he’d wanted to walk instead.
Sometimes, though, and he could barely admit this to himself, sometimes he wondered if there was something there from Sonny too.
A look that lingered too long. The way their shoulders touched at the bar, when he had been dragged out for celebrations or commiserations, neither pulling away. His smile that would light up his whole being when Mike hadn’t said anything that warranted such beauty. The way Sonny would lean in just a little closer when they talked.
And God, how many times Mike had wanted to close that last inch between them, to lean in, to say something reckless, something charming, something real, to stop pretending.
But Mike didn’t fall halfway. When he fell, he crashed, heart-first.
So he fought it. Every time.
Because what was the use in falling if you were never allowed to land?
He ignored it. Most of the time. It was a skill by now. Something he was almost proud of, the strength it took to not want what he couldn’t have.
But this time…
This time it hurt a little.
Mike exhaled slowly. Maybe once he was gone, the ache would fade. Maybe once they weren’t sharing space, sharing breath, he could forget how it felt to be near him.
“Alright, sarge,” Rollins said, stepping up beside him and handing over a slab of cake, her voice light. “Took me a minute, but you grew on me. I’m gonna miss you.”
He smiled, a little more genuinely. “Thanks.”
“Yeah, we all are,” Sonny added, placing a hand on Mike’s shoulder, a touch that nearly undid him. He wanted to lean into it, wanted to freeze time in that exact spot.
Olivia, nearby, elbowed Fin. “Right, Fin?”
Fin groaned dramatically. “Yeah, yeah. Now I got everyone telling me I should take the sergeant’s exam. Thanks a lot, Dodds.”
They laughed. Even Mike. It felt good. It felt warm. For a moment, he let himself believe it meant something. That he was leaving something behind that mattered.
But he was so tired of leaving things behind.
He resisted the urge to glance back at Sonny, who hadn’t moved far, still close enough that Mike could feel the ghost of his touch through the shoulder of his jacket. Warmth that hadn’t left.
Olivia’s phone buzzed, and she took out her phone, still smiling at Fin as she lifted it to her ear. “Lieutenant Benson.”
Mike turned back, letting his eyes drift to Sonny, who stood alone by the table, slowly poking at his cake with a plastic fork. He looked… deflated.
God. It couldn’t be over him going, could it? That was just wishful thinking and almost embarrassing in how much he wanted it to be true.
Mike stared at his profile, strong nose, the way his mouth pursed in thought. Striking. So striking. He remembered all the late drives, the way Sonny looked in passing headlights, skin brushed with gold and shadow. Moments that felt overwhelming for reasons he couldn’t admit.
He never would. Not out loud.
And still, he watched him.
“Hey, guys,” Olivia said, approaching with her phone still in hand. “That was Lisa Munson. We’ve got to do a clothes job. She’s leaving him.”
Fin’s brows drew together. “And he made bail?”
“Do you want me to go with you?” Sonny asked quickly.
Mike glanced at him , that readiness, that concern. That heart.
Maybe that was why.
He’d never stood a chance, had he?
“You know what, I’ll go,” Mike said, as he set his plate down on the table.
Olivia raised a brow. “You’re packing up. It’s your last day.”
“A guy like that sees a sergeant and a lieutenant… he’ll listen.”
She studied him for a moment, then gave a small, amused nod. “You’re right.”
Mike turned slightly, casting a glance toward Sonny. “Let’s get this over with,” he said, offering a faint smile.
Sonny tried to return it, but it didn’t quite form. It struggled to life, then faltered, falling away before it could reach his eyes.
Mike turned again before he could think too much about it. He grabbed his jacket and fell into step beside Olivia as they headed out.
He didn’t look back.
Mike felt as if he were drifting through water. Warm currents tugged gently at him, drawing him downward even as voices and sharp bursts of pain tried to drag him to the surface. The sky above was impossibly blue, blindingly clear, yet somehow soft around the edges.
He’d had a gun. Munson had a gun. Mike should’ve searched him… God, why hadn't he searched him?
Jesus, it hurt.
"We got a gut shot, here," a voice crackled through the haze.
"Get a compress," another responded urgently.
The voice Mike recognised most clearly belonged to his father. "Okay, it's okay. Hang in there, son."
His father's words echoed, distorted as though spoken from far beneath waves. Mike blinked heavily, trying to focus, but everything swam, colours blurring together. The pain surged again, fierce and consuming, yet he felt oddly disconnected, as though observing from outside himself.
As he was wheeled rapidly toward the ambulance, Mike's head lolled to the side, vision swinging wide across the lawn.
Standing there, motionless and slightly transparent, stood a man. The figure was washed out, like an old photograph left too long in the sun. He watched.
He knew him, didn’t he?
"Hang in there, son," his father repeated, voice breaking slightly.
The stretcher jolted and. Mike winced. The pain flared anew, intense enough to clear the fog for an instant.
"Hang in there. You'll be all right," his father said again, gripping Mike’s hand tightly.
"He'll need blood," William's voice was sharp now, edged with barely-controlled panic.
"We're on it," Olivia's voice cut through.
Mike’s eyes drifted back to the lawn, drawn to the still, faded figure.
He knew him.
He was sure he knew him.
But it didn’t make sense.
He couldn’t be here.
The man lifted his hand slowly. Mike's heart stuttered.
"Pop Pop," Mike whispered, the words spilling softly from his lips as darkness rushed to envelop him.
He opened his eyes slowly.
Pain washed over him immediately, sharp and unforgiving. Breathing felt difficult, his chest shallow and restricted. Mike's vision wavered, settling on the figure standing at the foot of his hospital bed.
His father.
Mike choked out weakly, "Lisa Munson."
William stepped closer, confusion flickering across his face. "What? What'd you say?"
"Lisa Munson," Mike rasped again. "Is she all right?"
William approached, his voice softer, reassuring. "She is, thanks to you."
Mike grimaced, a fresh wave of pain making him wince. "... I blew it, dad."
William shook his head firmly, gripping Mike's hand gently. "No, no, no, you didn't."
"I didn't search the guy," Mike admitted, voice thick with regret. "I should have known better."
William tightened his hold slightly. "You saved a woman and her two children." He smiled gently. "You know, after this, you can put the hero thing aside for a while."
Mike's gaze drifted. Beside his father stood the faded figure from the lawn. The man's presence radiated warmth, a serene glow behind him.
“Listen to your father,” the man, a smile playing at his lips.
Mike’s own twitched faintly. “Whatever you say, Pop Pop.”
His father gave him a strange look. But the man, his grandfather, Thomas, just kept smiling down at him.
He looked back at William. "I bet you're pretty pissed off at me right now."
"'Cause you got yourself shot?"
"No," Mike whispered weakly, "'cause you had to call mom."
"I haven't been able to get ahold of her yet. Your brother’s coming."
Mike nodded weakly, struggling to keep his eyes open.
William leaned in. "You did great, son. I am so proud of you. Okay, so proud."
Mike wanted to answer, to ask how his grandfather could be there after seventeen years gone, but the words were just out of reach.
Instead, he closed his eyes, slipping away again into the waiting dark.
“...never been so scared, you really had us all worried. I am just so glad you're okay. I don’t… I don’t know…”
“Carisi?”
A warm weight against his hand suddenly disappeared as his eyes fluttered open. Sonny was sitting beside him, hair wild, face pale and drawn, sleeves rolled up revealing a small white bandage on his arm.
“Hey, welcome back,” Sonny said softly, managing a weak smile. “I promise not to tell Lieu you were sleeping on the job.”
“Hi…” he murmured, fighting against the sudden rush of dizziness. His thoughts churned, memories and anxieties intertwining. Lisa Munson. He strained to remember clearly. His father had-- Oh, God, is she…?
“Hey, sit back down,” Sonny gently commanded, placing a steadying hand on his shoulder and easing him back. “You need to rest.”
No. His father had said she was okay. He remembered.
Relief washed through him, brief yet intense. Mrs. Munson was okay. She was safe. He hadn’t failed her.
But there was something else nagging at the edge of his consciousness. He’d seen his grandfather. Yes, his grandfather. Which wasn’t possible.
The last time he'd seen his grandfather, he'd been just a child, approaching his coffin cautiously, heart heavy with confusion and sadness. Hands folded across the chest, still and solemn. It was his grandfather, undeniably. Yet, it wasn't him. This man lacked the ridiculously large smile that had always greeted him warmly, the familiar comforting scent of peppermint candy. Instead, the figure carried a strange, floral sweetness, foreign and unsettling. He had hated the smell of pot pourri for years afterwards. But mostly his grandfather's larger than life essence was missing from the air, leaving behind only an impression of something faintly remembered, like gazing upon a portrait of a long-forgotten ancestor. For the first time ever, the man had looked so small.
It must be the truckload of drugs he was undoubtedly on.
“You still with me?” Sonny asked.
“Yeah,” Mike whispered, voice hoarse. “I’m still here.”
He glanced at the clock on the far side of the room. 11:00. God, was it morning or night? How long had he been here?
Sonny cleared his throat, shifting slightly. “This is the second time you’ve been shot. It’s a strange hobby to have. Have you considered backgammon instead?”
“What can I say?” Mike murmured. “Collecting calls to me. If I get a third bullet, I get the next one free.”
Sonny’s face darkened. “That’s not funny.”
Mike's lips twitched slightly. “Who heckles someone in a hospital bed?”
Sonny ducked his head. “I am... We’re all really happy you’re okay.” He looked away for a moment, but when he looked back there was sheen to his eyes. Christ, he must be exhausted.
“What happened to your arm?” Mike asked, noticing the bandage.
Sonny blinked, seeming caught off-guard. “Oh… you needed blood.”
“Oh,” Mike whispered, overwhelmed by a strange mix of anxiety at the thought of losing so much blood and a dizzying awareness that Sonny's blood was now running through his veins. Would it be surprised when it reached his heart and realised Sonny was already there?
That … that was the drugs. It had to be.
Because he knew. Knew without a doubt, that he wasn’t supposed to think that. He had worked so hard on not thinking that.
These drugs were doing him no favours.
Sonny smiled faintly. “Only you would get shot on your last day. I take it you're a fan of the 90s action movie genre?”
Mike grinned weakly. “Three days from retirement and I’m too old for this shit.”
Tiredness pulled at him again, irresistible.
“I don’t know what I would have done if… God, I’m so glad you’re okay,” Sonny said, voice breaking on the last word.
That feeling again, the one he tried to push away every time he looked into Sonny’s eyes. Every single time, it felt like the first.
He…
He…
Mike's gaze drifted back to the clock. 11:05. Had he drifted? He must have drifted.
“Hey, look who I found,” came his father's voice. Standing next to him was Olivia, looking worse than he felt.
Olivia stepped closer, smiling faintly. "You gave us quite a scare."
"Sorry about that," Mike mumbled, exhaustion heavy in his voice. “I should have…”
He should have… What was he saying again?
William squeezed Mike's hand gently. "You did good, Mike. We're so proud."
God, it was cold. Weren’t they shivering? It was freezing.
"I just need a... blanket. My head's cold," he mumbled softly, pointing vaguely toward his feet.
Sonny jumped up and moved to the back of the room, returning with one and covering him gently, tucking him in.
“Dad, don’t be late to the game this time, okay?” Mike murmured. He tried to look at his dad, but his eyes were struggling to focus. “Coach said if you miss kickoff again, he won’t let me start.”
What had he said? He couldn’t… couldn’t remember… and Olivia was looking at him strangely. His grandfather was back again, standing quietly, looking deeply sad. God, he was so tired.
"Okay, Mike, we're just going to pop outside a moment. We'll be right back," Olivia said gently, guiding William out of the room. Mike nodded slightly, turning his eyes back to Sonny, who was already watching him
Jesus, he was beautiful. Mike wanted to tell him, needed to tell him, but fatigue tugged heavily at his thoughts. A strange buzzing sensation was creeping through his body. In his head, his head felt…
A sudden swift pain and then his head flung back against his will.
Jesus the pain, what was…
“Mike? Mike, are you okay?” Sonny’s voice rose urgently. Mike felt Sonny's hands, his touch warm and safe. Had Sonny ever touched him this much? No, because if he had, how could Mike have ever lived without it?
The room was growing lighter, too bright.
“We need... we need a doctor in here. Now! Jesus, Mike, you’re…” Sonny's voice faded away.
His grandfather was there again. That big grin, the familiar scent of peppermint. Thomas stepped forward and reached out his hand. Mike felt himself lifted effortlessly to his feet, all pain and exhaustion evaporating.
He glanced at the clock. 11:11.
Make a wish.
He wished he could understand what was happening.
Looking back, he saw a flurry of activity around the bed. Doctors and nurses shouting urgent commands. Sonny stood in the corner, hands gripping the back of his head, panic and tears filling his eyes. For a brief, aching moment, Mike felt Sonny’s pain as if it were his own.
But words were hard to find. His fingers itched to reach out and touch.
“Come along, son. Walk with me awhile,” Thomas said, squeezing Mike’s hand three times, their old signal: I’m here. I love you.
Mike hesitated, reluctant to look away from Sonny, but the light was so warm, inviting, and Thomas’s grip so comforting...
There was so much light, so much light, so much light and....
He opened his eyes slowly.
Pain greeted him instantly, insistent, unforgiving. Breathing was shallow, like trying to inhale through gauze. His chest felt tight, ribs protesting with each twitch of effort. Vision blurry at the edges, Mike squinted toward the end of the bed.
His father.
Mike’s voice rasped low in his throat. “Lisa Munson.”
William stepped closer, brow furrowed. “What? What’d you say?”
Why had he said that? She was fine. She was safe. His father had told him so.
“Nothing… I… where’s So-- Carisi?” He blinked rapidly, fighting the haze in his head. “He was just…”
But the bed was empty beside him. No Sonny. Just the quiet beeping of the monitor and his father’s tired face, still wearing the same blood-streaked shirt. He must not have been out long, then.
“Never mind,” Mike murmured. “It’s fine…”
William moved closer, placing a hand on his arm. “ "You saved a woman and her two children. You know, after this, you can put the hero thing aside for a while."
Mike gave a weak, breathy laugh. “Yeah. You… you said that already.”
In the corner of the room, his grandfather stood again. Silent. Watching.
“Pop Pop,” Mike mumbled, licking at dry lips, his head rolling weakly toward the shape. “You’re still here?”
William glanced at him, confused, eyes narrowing slightly. But Thomas only smiled -- a quiet, weary curve of his mouth. It looked sad somehow. Like he knew something Mike didn’t.
I haven't been able to get ahold of your mother. But your brother’s coming."
“I know,” Mike whispered. “It’s okay. It’s okay.”
His eyes were growing heavier by the second.
"You did great, son. I am so proud of you. Okay, so proud."
Mike wanted to answer. To thank him. To tell him that’s all he’d ever wanted to do. To make him proud.
But the fatigue was too strong. The darkness wrapped around his mind and he let his eyes fall closed.
“…never been so scared, you really had us all worried. I am just so glad you're okay. I don’t… I don’t know…”
“Carisi?”
There was pressure against his hand and then it slipped away just as Mike opened his eyes.
Sonny sat beside him. Again. His hair was wild with worry, his face pale and drawn. The sleeves of his shirt were rolled up, a small white bandage stark against his forearm.
“Hey, welcome back. I promise not to tell Lieu you were sleeping on the job.”
“Hi…” Mike managed, dazed. He tried to sit up, but the motion sent a spike of discomfort through his side.
“Hey, sit back down,” Sonny said, guiding him gently with a hand against his shoulder. “You need to rest.”
Mike obeyed, sinking back into the stiff mattress. Everything around him felt warped, not quite real, like trying to hold onto fog. Nothing stayed solid for long. Every sensation, every thought, was slick in his grip.
“You still with me?” Sonny asked, watching him carefully.
“Yeah, just… just out of it a little.”
The clock on the far wall ticked steadily: 11:00. Morning? Night? He couldn’t tell. Sonny was still in the same clothes, same tired posture. Hadn’t he gone home?
“This is the second time you’ve been shot. It’s a strange hobby to have. Have you considered backgammon instead?”
Maybe Sonny was dipping into the morphine himself.
“You need to get some sleep. Seriously.”
Sonny laughed, ducking his head. “I am... We’re all really happy you’re okay.” When he looked back up, there was a faint shimmer in his eyes. “Only you would get shot on your last day. I take it you're a fan of the 90s action movie genre?”
“Seriously, go home. Get some sleep. Maybe workshop some new jokes?”
Sonny tilted his head, puzzled. “What?”
That dizzy tiredness was pressing in on him again, heavier than before. The soft edges of the room blurred. He was fighting it, but it clawed at him with every blink.
“I don’t know what I would have done if… God, I’m so glad you’re okay.”
Something tugged at his chest, not pain, not exactly. Something deeper. Something wasn’t right.
He…
He…
He looked at the clock again. 11:05. He’d lost time. Again. He’d been thinking something important, something critical, and now it was gone.
The door creaked. “Hey, look who I found,” his father’s voice broke in, cheerful and strained. Olivia walked in behind him, her shoulders taut with exhaustion.
Mike frowned. His dad hadn’t changed clothes. The blood was still drying on his collar. Hadn’t it been… hours?
“Mike,” Olivia said, stepping forward, “You gave us quite a scare.”
“I… yeah. Yeah. I’m okay, though… I am, aren’t I?”
“Yes,” his father said quickly. “You’re doing so good. We’re so proud.”
The chill in the room reached his bones. His skin prickled. How could anyone get better if the hospital was trying to actively give them pneumonia.
“My head’s cold, could I have a blanket?” he asked, gesturing toward his legs.
Sonny stood again, a little too fast, like he’d been waiting for something to do. He disappeared briefly, returning with a blanket that some nurse must have put away and tucking it around Mike agan.
He was home. His kitchen. The faint clink of a spoon against cereal bowl. He blinked in confusion.
“Where’s my badge? I swear, if your brother put as much effort into hiding things as he does into his grades…”
“Dad, don’t be late to the game this time, okay?” Mike said automatically. “Coach said if you miss kickoff again, he won’t let me start.”
Then the kitchen was gone, and they were all staring at him again.
Had he spoken out loud?
His grandfather was there. Standing quietly near the door. Watching.
“Okay, Mike, we're just going to pop outside a moment. We'll be right back,” Olivia said guiding William out of the room.
The walls felt like they were breathing. The air shimmered faintly. It was all too familiar and too strange at the same time. What was it? Déjà vu?
Something wasn’t right.
He looked at Sonny. His face. That face. Still so beautiful through the haze, even through the worry.
Then came the buzzing. That telltale hum crawling across his scalp, through his limbs.
Pain slammed through him like a hammer and his head snapped back against the pillow. The lights above him flared white-hot.
“Mike? Mike, are you okay?” Sonny’s voice cracked into panic. Hands grabbed at his shoulders. “We need... we need a doctor in here. Now! Jesus, Mike, you’re--”
And then Thomas was there. Reaching out, calm and still, the eye of the storm.
He pulled Mike up, only Mike wasn’t sure his body moved.
From the bed, his chest rose and fell. Sonny was in the corner now, watching in horror. Tears slipped down his face as he grabbed at the back of his head.
The clock said 11:11.
Make a wish.
He wished he knew what the fuck was happening.
“I don’t understand,” he whispered, looking down at the figure still lying on the hospital bed. “What’s going on?”
Thomas held his hand tightly. “Come along, son,” he said. “Walk with me awhile.”
Three firm squeezes to Mike’s hand. The light expanded until the hospital room dissolved in its brightness.
He opened his eyes slowly.
Pain greeted him instantly, crue and a jarring. Breathing was shallow, like trying to breathe in a smoke filled room. His chest felt painfully compressed. His vision blurred.
At the end of the bed stood his father.
“Dad?”
William moved forward. “What? What’d you say?”
“Your clothes… have you been home?”
“Son, just… sit back for me okay. No, of course not. I wanted to be here when you woke up.”
“I… am having the strangest dreams.”
“You’re on quite the cocktail, kid. That’s no surprise.” He rubbed at his arm and smiled. “You saved a woman and her two children. You know, after this, you can put the hero thing aside for a while."
“You… you’ve said that.”
His eyes were drawn to another figure in the room.
“Pop Pop. No… not not again.”
His father widened his eyes and Thomas just smiled back sadly.
No. No this couldn’t be happening again. No.
“I haven't been able to get ahold of your mother. But your brother’s coming."
“Something’s wrong, dad, something…”
His eyes were growing heavier by the second.
"You did great, son. I am so proud of you. Okay, so proud."
Mike wanted to reply, to tell him he had lived this already but … it was too much. He was so tired.
He fell into the dark.
“…never been so scared, you really had us all worried. I am just so glad you're okay. I don’t… I don’t know…”
No.
No.
Not again.
The palm left his hand as his eyes flew open. Sonny was there again, just like before. Same wild hair, same pale, drawn face, sleeves still rolled up, the same white bandage on his arm catching the light like a cruel joke.
“Hey, welcome back,” Sonny said softly, managing a weak smile. “I promise not to tell Lieu--”
“We’ve done… we’d done this… I need… you need to go get a doctor, this isn’t right.” His voice cracked with panic.
Sonny’s expression changed, confusion leaping into worry, as he gently pushed Mike back against the pillow. “Hey, sit back down. You need to rest.”
No. Why wasn’t he moving? Why was he not dragging a doctor in by the scruff of his neck? “You still with me?”
“Get the doctor. Please,” Mike rasped.
Sonny gave him one last worried look and nodded. “Sure… no problem. I’ll be right back.”
He patted Mike’s hand once more and turned, leaving the room.
Mike exhaled shakily. That was different. Thank God. It had to be a lucid dream, some post-operative nightmare. Just a trick of the morphine. His brain firing in spirals. That was all.
He…
He…
The clock on the wall blinked back at him: 11:05.
A knock and the doctor entered, clipboard in hand. His father followed behind, still in his blood stained shirt. Through the glass in the hallway, Mike saw Olivia and Sonny talking, their voices muffled. The door clicked softly shut.
The doctor approached and began checking his vitals. “You seem okay,” he said gently. “Any dizziness? Blurred vision?”
Mike stared up at him. “It keeps happening again. I keep having the same moments. Again and again.”
The doctor smiled, indulgent, as if humouring a child. “I think you might still be very confused from the anesthetic. And the drugs we’ve got you on for the pain, they’re strong--”
“You don’t understand.” Mike tried to sit up but winced. “I keep waking up with my dad and then--” He shivered violently. “Why is it so cold in here? My head’s freezing.” He pointed at his feet. “It’s freezing.”
The doctor frowned, glancing at his chart. “Your… head?”
Mike nodded. “Yeah. My head.” He wiggled his toes, dazed.
The doctor leaned in and flashed a penlight into Mike’s eyes.
God, where had Matthew put his dad’s badge? He was so annoying sometimes.
“Dad, don’t be late to the game this time, okay?” Mike whispered suddenly, staring into the sterile white above. “Coach said if you miss kickoff again, he won’t let me start.”
The doctor froze. Behind him, Thomas had appeared again, silent in the corner, his face carved with sorrow.
“Mike,” the doctor said slowly, carefully. “Can you tell me--”
A buzzing sensation slithered through Mike’s body like a current. His head… his head…
Then came the pain.
Sharp. Blinding. Tearing through his spine like electricity. His head whipped backward against the pillow.
Christ.
The doctor slapped the emergency buzzer. “We need a crash team, now!” he shouted.
Alarms sounded. Nurses flooded the room like a wave.
Mike could see them, barely, his body convulsing in the bed, his father trying to push forward, someone holding him back. The world was glowing. Too bright. Too bright.
No.
Not again.
Please, not again.
A hand slipped into his own.
Thomas pulled Mike to his feet, even though Mike could still see his own body lying on the bed, wires everywhere. Chaos. Pleading voices.
The clock behind them read 11:11.
Make a wish.
Mike closed his eyes. I wish I could stop this.
He turned. Doctors were shouting.
“Come along, son. Walk with me awhile,” Thomas said. He squeezed Mike’s hand three times.
“Not again,” Mike whispered. His voice broke. “Please not again.”
The world burst into white.
He opened his eyes slowly.
Pain ran to him immediately, eager, sharp, familiar. Each breath was shallow, like sucking air through water. His chest ached in waves. Vision swam until it landed on the figure at the foot of the bed.
His father.
No.
Please, God, no.
Not again.
The first time. The third time. The fourth. Fuck. This could be the hundredth. He no longer knew.
Was this purgatory or Hell? How many times had he lived this now? Sometimes he couldn’t speak to them. He just cried, knowing what was coming. Other times he begged them to stop it, to stop what was going to happen, and they looked at him with dismay and terror, calling desperately for doctors. Once, his dad had appeared genuinely ready to call for an exorcist.
Had Lisa Munson died? Was this his punishment for that mistake? Maybe Olivia had come back into the house, maybe she died too. Jesus. And the kids. He shuddered, haunted by visions he couldn't confirm or escape.
It had to be something truly evil he’d done for this to be happening.
William smiled at him. "I haven't been able to get ahold of your mother. But your brother’s coming."
“Tell him to save the fare. Go to Disneyland instead. One of us might as well be having fun. Or a strip joint, actually. Tell him that’s my dying wish.”
“I…” His father looked confused and shook his head, searching Mike's face for clarity. “I just want to say, you did great, son. I am so proud of you. Okay, so proud."
“Whoopie doo.”
William looked even more confused, visibly hurt. “Um…”
“If you were so proud of me, you’d be proud of me wherever I was. Whether it was SVU or traffic control. God forbid I ever get settled somewhere. Can't ruin that climb to the tippity top, can we?”
“Mike, that’s not true…” William's voice wavered slightly.
“Yeah? You push me through the ranks so fast I'm getting a stitch. Nevermind what I want. That’s just an inconvenience, isn't it?”
“Mike?”
“Are you putting all the money on me since Matthew disappointed you so badly?”
“Mike… you need to rest.”
“I'll sleep when I'm dead. Oh, wait, I fucking can’t.”
Thomas's expression hardened slightly, eyes reflecting both sadness and frustration. “Mike. You have to stop doing this.”
“Whatever you say, Pop Pop,” he laughed bitterly, eyes closing.
Hello darkness, his old friend.
“...never been so scared, you really had us all worried. I am just so glad you're okay. I don’t… I don’t know…”
“Oh, Christ…”
A warm weight against his hand suddenly disappeared as his eyes fluttered open. Sonny was beside him, again. Hair wild. Face pale and drawn. Sleeves rolled up, a familiar white bandage on his arm. Like every goddamn time before.
“Hey, welcome back,” Sonny said softly, managing a weak smile. “I promise not to tell Lieu that you were sleeping on the job.”
“Why do you always do that?” Mike rasped.
Sonny frowned, puzzled. “Do what?”
“Let go of my hand like it's on fire?” Mike turned his head, bitterness thickening his voice. “Are you frightened someone’s going to see?”
“No, Mike, of course not…I just didn't want you to feel, um…” Sonny stopped, sighing heavily. “This is the second time you've been shot. It’s a strange hobby to have. Have you considered backgammon instead?”
“It was supposed to be you.” Mike’s voice was flat, sharp with resentment. “You were supposed to be in that house.”
Sonny's face fell, devastation clear in his eyes. He swallowed hard, nodding slightly. “I know. I’m so sorry, Mike--”
“You would’ve searched him, Sonny. You wouldn’t be trapped in this endless goddamn nightmare. You’d be safe at home, curled up with your favourite teddy bear. Probably called Barba Bear, complete with pink furry suspenders. Living your best fucking life.”
“Mike…are you okay?” Sonny reached out hesitantly, his hand hovering awkwardly.
“Oh, I’m amazing, Sonny. Utterly transcendent with glee.” He tried to sit up, winced, and fell back in pain. 11:05. “Just stuck in a hell of my own making.”
“Hey, look who I found,” William's voice broke through, accompanied by Olivia, looking exhausted and drained.
Good.
Olivia stepped closer, smiling gently. "You gave us quite a scare."
“Oh, fuck off.”
“Mike!” gasped William. “It's just the drugs, Lieutenant, he--”
“Why didn’t you search him?” Mike interrupted, frustration boiling over. Olivia recoiled slightly, eyes wide. “You remind us constantly how seasoned you are. So much better than the rest of us? What happened, Benson? Got a case of the Mondays?”
“Michael!” said William in shock.
“No, no, it's okay.” Olivia raised a hand. “He's right. You… I am so sorry, Mike. I am so--”
“Oh, save it. The same damn script every time. You'd think demons or whatever you things are would be more creative.” His voice faltered, anger giving way to exhaustion. “Just get me a fucking blanket. My head’s freezing.” He wriggled his toes impatiently.
Sonny scrambled to obey, worry etched deeply into his expression.
Oh, it was coming. The confusion. His brain wanted to take him back to the kitchen, eating cereal while his dad ran around the house looking for his badge and blaming Matthew for another prank. He needed to tell him, he needed to tell him he had to be there for the game. He knew it was hard without Mom, and the job, but he was trying so hard to be everything his dad wanted and he wasn’t noticing, he wasn’t noticing, he wasn’t… Where was he? What had he said this time?
They all looked panicked again.
These hell demons were quite the acting troupe.
Olivia with her hand on her stomach, watching him. His Demon grandfather standing quietly, looking frustrated.
“Oh look, my ride’s here,” Mike muttered.
"Mike, we'll be right outside. Just a moment," Demon Olivia said softly, guiding William from the room.
“Don’t let the door hit you on your way out,” Mike sneered weakly. He had a feeling none of the words had come out in the right order.
Sonny's eyes held deep sorrow, the pain echoing Mike's own aching heart.
God, Sonny was beautiful. Even if he was a creature from Dante's Inferno. And always so painfully, eternally unreachable. Choosing not to go after him had been one thing, something he’d bitterly accepted, lived with, regretted privately. But now he was trapped, each repetition a reminder of what he'd never have. Forever just beyond reach, forever agonisingly close but unattainable, Sonny's presence mocked every missed chance and every unspoken desire.
Yeah, it had to be fucking Hell, didn't it?
Fatigue took hold, a sinister buzzing overtaking him again. His head snapped back suddenly, Sonny's frantic voice fading into white noise.
“Mike? Mike, talk to me! We need help-- now! Jesus Christ, Mike, stay with me--”
His grandfather stood patiently once more, that scent of peppermint sickeningly familiar. No longer filling him with nostalgia and longing, just despair.
Thomas reached out a hand, pulling Mike effortlessly upward, erasing all pain, fatigue, and anger. For now.
11:11.
Make a wish.
He wished he was dead.
“Fine. Let's go, old man,” Mike said bitterly, resignation heavy.
Thomas placed a firm, unyielding hand on Mike’s chest. “Walk with me awhile.”
Mike surrendered to the cycle once more, stepping forward into the blinding, inescapable light.