It was early Saturday morning. Peter got up like he usually did to watch the Saturday morning cartoons. He stepped out of the room he shared with Davy, still wearing his orange footie pajamas. The first thing he always saw coming out of the room was the kitchen table, which usually had reminants of whatever 2am snack Micky had. Peter noted the empty plate, but his brow furrowed at the sight of the chemistry set. He sighed. Micky was at it again. He continued toward the couch to watch tv and found Micky already stretched out there.

Peter considered this for a moment before deciding to sit on the floor in front of the couch. He’d just have to keep the volume low. This idea worked well for the first fifteen minutes or so, then Peter heard what sounded like a growl. It really didn’t bother him too much since it was a noise typically heard when Micky did his werewolf imitation.

After an hour, Peter got up and switched off the tv. He gave Micky another glance before going back to his room.

Micky’s eyes opened slightly. He watched Peter move to the door, then stop. He closed his eyes again, then reopened them when he faintly heard the door close. A low growl escaped from him as he propped himself up on one elbow.

* * * * *

A few hours later, Mike made his way down the tornado staircase and stopped at the bottom. Davy and Peter were already helping themselves to cereal. Mike sighed when he saw the chemistry set still on the table and its owner sleeping on the couch.

Mike picked up the chemistry set, packing it away in a box like Micky always did, then went over to the Monkee in question. "Micky!?"

Micky was jolted up, practically into a sitting position. "Huh? Wha-- oh, Mike, geez, give a guy a heart attack, why don’tcha." He finished sitting up and rubbed at his eyes. He’d been asleep for atleast ten hours, so why did he still feel so tired?

Peter gave him a glance, briefly wondering if he’d simply imagined what’d happened earlier. He shrugged and dug into his cereal.

Mike and Micky joined Davy and Peter at the table. Mike grabbed his bowl of plain cornflakes. Micky filled his bowl to the top, then grabbed the orange juice. Like every other morning, the other three Monkees stared as their friend poured orange juice over his cereal instead of milk. Micky glanced up and caught them staring. He smirked and shoveled a spoonful into his mouth.

Mike shook his head, then spread out the newspaper Davy had brought in before he came downstairs.

"What do you see in there, Mike?" Davy asked, after a few moments.

"Not much so far," Mike replied, glancing to his left as Micky leaned over his shoulder to read something.

"Hey, there’s an ad for a chemist’s apprentice!" Micky announced, receiving groans from the others. "Oh, come on, guys, this could be just what I need."

"'E wouldn’t be blowing up the 'ouse, atleast," Davy concluded.

"He’s got a point," Peter agreed.

"Oh, alright, here, Mick. The phone number’s right there--" Mike began.

Micky grabbed up the page and headed for the phone. He dialed a number and waited.

"I wonder if this is such a good idea," Mike confided.

"What do you mean, Michael?" Peter asked.

"Well, Micky already experiments with that set alot as is. If he takes this job, we might be lucky if we could get him to play gigs still. And don’t ask about rehearsing," Mike assumed.

"Anothah good point," Davy spoke up. "But we can use the money, assuming it’s a paying apprenticeship."

They watched as Micky returned to the table, grinning like the Cheshire Cat.

"I take it you got the job," Mike said.

"Give the man a cupie doll!" Micky exclaimed, then went back to shoveling his cereal.

* * * * *

The last two days had been terribly boring. There was no gig Saturday night, so the guys hung around the pad.

Now, it was Monday morning. Micky tried desperately to stifle a yawn just before entering the building where the chemist worked. He glanced at the sign just before he went in. ‘Dr. Hekyll? Oh, man... I hope this guy’s good with a name like that. Geez...’

As soon as the door closed behind him, Micky stopped to look around. He could almost feel the hair on the back of his neck stand up. Maybe he should just stick to messing around with the chemistry set...

"Is that you, Micky?"

He almost jumped out of his skin at the voice that seemed to come out of nowhere. "Uhm... yeah, Doc, it’s Micky." He glanced over the room again, but came up empty in finding the owner of the voice. "Hey, Doc, uh, where are you?"

"I’m in the backroom, my boy, I’ll be out in a moment!"

The voice sounded creepy... like it came from the room he was standing in, yet Hekyll said he was in the backroom. Micky scratched at the back of his neck, trying to smooth down the hair. He made a small face when he thought there was more hair on his neck than there should have been. ‘I need a haircut,’ he concluded.

Finally, Hekyll appeared from the backroom, looking every part the mad scientist, from the long, white lab coat to the slightly grayed mop of curly hair.

Micky quirked an eyebrow, briefly wondering if this was what he might look like in the future.

Hekyll smiled after taking in Micky’s appearance. "My boy, you remind me of myself!" He flung an arm around the Monkee’s shoulders. "Come along, I have so much to teach you!"

Micky suddenly felt a growl grow from deep down. He swallowed hard and did his best to ignore it.

* * * * *

That evening, three Monkees sat around the kitchen table, helping themselves to take-out pizza, the cardboard box sitting open and half empty already.

Davy leaned over to look in the box. "Think we oughtta save the rest for Micky?"

Peter leaned over and gave the remaining pizza a look. "Half a pizza... that’s his usual, isn’t it?"

Mike nodded while chewing his last bite, then swallowed. "Yeah, but, man, I don’t know where he puts it all."

"'E’s almost as skinny as you," Davy commented, earning a glare from Mike.

"He works it off. Probably why he’s hyper all the time," Peter answered.

The door opened and Micky trudged in, looking worse for wear. "Hey, guys..." He flopped himself on the couch as the others traded looks.

"Mick, you look beat," Mike concluded. "We saved you some pizza."

Micky raised his head just enough to look over the arm of the couch. "I’m too tired to eat right now." He dropped his head back onto the cushion.

Mike stood and crossed to the couch. "Your first day and you worked this hard?" He received a groan as an answer.

"Hey, Micky," Peter began, "he didn’t use you as a test subject, did he?" He smirked, getting a kick out of his own joke.

Micky lifted his head again and glared at Peter, which caused the blond’s brow to raise warily.

"It was just a joke, mate," Davy defended, placing a hand on Peter’s shoulder.

Micky dropped his head again. "Maybe I’ll laugh tomorrow," he mumbled into the cushion.

"Okay, fellas, let’s let Micky get some rest," Mike said, returning to the table. He made the other two stand and head for their shared room, closing the door after, while Mike headed for the stairs. He stopped halfway up. "There’s something weird going on, here. I’m gonna find out what it is, Mick." He continued up the stairs, then closed the door after himself.

Micky didn’t move a muscle. Instead, a low growl came out, just before he drifted off to sleep.

* * * * *

A couple hours later, Mike and Peter stood on the bandstand, tuning their guitars. Davy eventually appeared, coming down the stairs with Micky in tow. The others glanced up and were taken aback by how quiet Micky was. As he walked by, Mike could’ve sworn he heard him growl.

Despite the weird way Micky was acting, they managed to get through several songs easily and sounding more like a garage band than ever, namely because Micky was pounding the life out of his drum kit.

And the extra drum beats at the end of Randy Scouse Git lasted noticeably longer than they had prior.

Mike knew something odd was going on, he just didn’t know what it was.

The jam session was called after nearly an hour. Davy and Peter headed to their room, while Mike offered to clean up. Micky still sat at the drum kit, but he’d turned his gaze out the windows. He seemed to be staring at something outside.

Mike came up behind him, trying to figure out what he was staring at. All he could see was a nearly full moon being hidden behind some clouds drifting by. As this happened, Micky’s shoulders slouched and he looked away from the windows.

Mike had enough. "Hey, Mick, what’s going on?"

Micky jumped and fell off his stool, landing butt first on the floor. He looked up at Mike, one hand gripped over his chest. "Geez, Mike, give me a heart attack, why don’tcha!"

Mike folded his arms over chest. "Micky, what is going on? You’ve been acting very strange, even by your standards."

"N-no, I haven’t." He broke eye contact. Even Micky wasn’t really sure of what was happening. He had an idea, but he wasn’t ready to admit to it, and he certainly didn’t have a legitimate reason why...

"Well?" Mike prodded.

Micky gave in. "I don’t know, Mike. I don’t feel right."

The Texan’s brow arched. "Are you sick?"

"I don’t think so." Micky scratched at the back of his neck again. The extra hair... "Uh, you don’t think there’s really such a thing as a werewolf, do you?"

"I doubt it, Mick--" Mike did a double take. "Werewolf? Man, where did you get that from?"

Micky got up. "You know that werewolf imitation I do." He launched into his usual round of howls and such, but in a lower volume so as to not attract any more unneeded attention. "You don’t think there’s any real chance that I could turn into one, do you?"

Mike nearly laughed. This had to be the most absurd subject he’d talked about since Peter tried explaining the ingredients in his Cream of Root Beer soup. "Listen, shotgun, I think you’ve been watching too many monster flicks." He paused, noticing an odd look in the drummer’s eyes. For the first time ever, he thought he saw fear.

"But, Mike, I’m serious. This is why I was in such a funk when I got home. Doc actually did try a couple experiments on me." Mike quirked an eyebrow. Micky began flailing his arms, a rather dangerous movement since he still held his drumsticks. "He said he believes that I might be howling at the next full moon. And that’s tomorrow!"

Mike grabbed a hold of his shoulders. "Micky, there is no such thing as a werewolf. The guy is obviously just messing with you. It’s all in your head, man."

"But there’s the hair--"

"The what?" Mike gave him an odd look.

"Hair. More of it. It’s mostly on the back of my neck."

"Okay..." Mike began as Micky turned around. He lifted up the longer part of his curly mop to reveal the extra hair. "Mick, so what? You’ve got more than your share of hair, anyway."

Micky turned back around to glare at him. He spoke in a lower voice, an eyebrow quirked, "There’s more... elsewhere."

Mike backed off. This was too weird, even if Micky was involved. The drummer couldn’t be telling the truth, but why would he think up such a story for just a joke? "You are serious about this." Micky nodded emphatically. Mike sighed. "But werewolves are a myth, not real. I can’t figure out how..." He removed his woolhat and turned it over repeated in his hands, trying to think this through.

Micky watched him turn the hat over, then he felt himself pulled to look out the windows again. His eyes widened. The clouds had completely passed over the moon, which was indeed nearly full. He reached out a shaky hand and rested it on Mike’s arm, causing the lead guitarist to stop playing with his hat.

Mike followed where he was looking and noticed the moon. And Micky’s shaky hand. The drummer truly believed he just might turn into a werewolf.

Mike silently cursed himself for not getting rid of the untagged powdered "element" Micky kept with his chemistry set. He didn’t know what it was, but had an idea the powder could be part of the cause.

* * * * *

The next evening, Micky returned to the pad in the same manner he had the previous day. He flopped himself on the couch, hiding his face where the cushions met.

The other three sat around the kitchen table. Mike told Davy and Peter about Micky’s... problem. Now it seemed they were just simply going to wait until it happened.

After some time, all three noticed Micky’s head moving. He looked up, over the arm of the couch at the others, like before. "Very nice. Just sit there and stare at me while I slowly turn into a werewolf. That’s just great."

"Micky, you aren’t going to turn into a werewolf," Davy said.

Micky snorted. "We’ll see about that." He dropped his head again. Eventually, he fell asleep.

Mike stood upon hearing his snoring. "He had me going with that for a little while."

"Interesting story," Peter commented.

"I stayed 'ome for this?" Davy asked, a playful smirk crossing his face.

"Oh, go on, Casanova, get outta here while your date might still speak to you," Mike said, shooing Davy towards the door.

"Alright, mate, I’m going." Davy stopped at the door. "Keep me updated on the 'air, okay?"

Mike glared at his grin and watched Davy close the door after himself.

"Mike, is there any chance Micky’s telling the truth?" Peter asked, finally.

Mike sighed. "He seemed sure of it yesterday. I really don’t know. Werewolves don’t exist, but I feel like I’m trying to make myself believe it, rather than accepting it as fact."

Peter was silent a few moments. "Maybe we ought to keep an eye on him, still."

* * * * *

Peter lifted his head from the table. He looked around, still drowsy. Must’ve fallen asleep. He could hear Mike snoring lightly next to him.

He glanced toward the couch... no Micky. Peter woke up completely and took in the sight of the entire downstairs.

The room was a disaster. It looked like a small tornado made its way through. He groaned, thinking the tornado’s name was Micky.

Furniture was overturned. All of the cabinet doors were open. The instruments were strewn over the floor, but undamaged as far as Peter knew.

Peter stood slowly and caught site of the open back door. He moved carefully to the door and looked out onto the veranda. Nothing. He took a moment to glance up at the full moon and noticed a few scattered clouds in the sky. He stepped out the door, moved to the railing, and looked out over the beach. The only thing he saw was an article of clothing at the bottom of the stairs.

Peter went against his better judgement, determined to find his friend, and went down to the beach. At the bottom of the stairs, he picked up the discarded maroon, paisley shirt Micky had worn earlier in the day. Peter draped it over his left shoulder, then began to walk along the beach in search of Micky.

He walked for several minutes before he came across Micky’s black boots, which he’d also worn earlier in the day. Peter smirked, hoping that atleast the crazy drummer would keep his pants on.

After several more minutes of walking, Peter finally reached the collection of rocks, signaling the end of the beach. He sighed and decided to turn back. As soon as he’d turned around, he heard a faint sound, like someone’s stomach growling. He took a few steps and heard it again.

Peter turned back toward the rocks, then placed the boots and shirt on the ground in a neat pile. He made his way carefully into the rock collection, searching for the source of the noise.

He found Micky behind one of the larger rocks, sitting with his back against it. Peter had been right that he’d atleast kept his pants on. He felt a little relieved, but became unsettled when Micky looked up at him.

Micky’s usually warm, bright, brown eyes were dull and seemed unfocused like he was looking through Peter rather than at Peter. His face held no expression, which was very rare for the drummer.

Peter froze, not knowing what to do. Micky didn’t look like a werewolf, or atleast not like what one would consider a werewolf to look like. But Micky wasn’t Micky. Peter just stood there staring at him.

Micky growled quietly again, and Peter swallowed hard. "Micky?" he asked quietly. "I--it’s me, it's Peter."

Another quiet growl. "Awe, c’mon, man, hasn’t this gone a little too far?" He knew he was pushing his luck, hoping Micky was just messing with them.

This time Micky stood and moved toward Peter. Peter took off, scooping up the shirt and boots as he passed them, running back to the pad.

Micky kept up behind him, his slightly leaner frame allowing him to do so easily. Peter silently cursed all those evening jogs that Micky took. He knew he couldn’t outrun him. Peter just hoped he could atleast reach the beach house.

Soon, Peter could see the stairs leading up to the pad. Unfortunately, he wasn’t paying attention to where his feet were landing and tripped over a surfboard that he quickly assumed Micky had left out a few days ago.

Peter glanced back, but couldn’t spot Micky. Did he give up the chase? Then he heard the growl again. Peter turned his head and saw bare feet directly in front of him. He swallowed before daring to look up.

Micky stood over him, glaring down still with unfocused eyes. To Peter, it looked like he couldn’t decide what to do.

Suddenly, the bright blue light that had been bathing them all but disappeared, thanks to a series of clouds moving in front of the moon.

Peter watched Micky blink, then shake his head. He almost jumped up and back when Micky fell into a sitting position right in front of him.

Micky held his head in his hands for a few moments before looking up. "Pete?" Now, his eyes held worry. "What--" He paused and tried again, "Why are we out here?"

Peter sighed, then looked up to see less than a quarter of the moon.

Micky followed his gaze. "Oh, man..." he breathed.

* * * * *

Mike woke to the sound of the back door crashing closed. He practically jumped out of his chair and stared as Peter led Micky to the couch.

Micky sat heavily and slouched forward, covering his face with his hands.

Mike walked up to Peter. "What happened?"

Peter gave Micky a wary look and spoke without removing his glance. "He’s turning into a werewolf." He turned to give Mike a look of sincere conviction.

"No, no..." Mike ran a hand over his face. "The full moon is tonight--"

"The clouds passed in front of it," Micky muttered through his hands.

"I found him sitting among the rocks. He doesn’t remember leaving the pad... or making this mess," Peter said.

"Mess?" Micky echoed, finally looking up. His eyes widened as much as possible as he took in the sight of the entire first floor. "No way..." he breathed.

"We fell asleep," Mike said.

Peter nodded. "I don’t know how he managed without waking us, but he did."

Mike shook his head. "I don’t like this one bit. Is there anything at all we can do to prevent a... transformation?"

"Doc might know of something," Micky suggested, warily, then yawned.

Mike checked his watch. "It’s too late now. Any chance you can stay you the rest of the night and we’ll go with you in the morning?"

Micky shook his head, yawning again. "I won’t promise anything." He shifted to stretch out on the couch. He was snoring within minutes.

Peter and Mike continued a bit of a vigil. Soon, Peter began to shake a little.

"Pete?"

"You should’ve seen the look in his eyes, Mike. I can’t help but wonder what would’ve happened if the clouds hadn’t passed by when they did."

Mike put an arm around Peter’s shoulders. "Don’t dwell on ‘what if’." He sighed. "I understand, though. That’s why I want to talk to this Doc guy."

* * * * *

It was the middle of the night. Peter had talked Mike into letting him stay in the living room, where Micky was still stretched out on the couch. Peter couldn’t sleep even if he’d wanted to, not with what had happened.

Peter had to admit, he was getting more than a little nervous. For the past half hour or so, he could hear... noises from Micky. He hoped that maybe the drummer was just having a bad dream, but he knew what was really going on. Now, he just waited to see if Micky would wake up. He glanced through the windows and caught sight of the full moon. His frown deepened.

Micky rolled over, his left arm now dangling off the side of the couch, his hand resting almost completely flat on the floor. His face was scrunched up, as if he were in pain. Peter’s heart went out to him; he more than likely was dreaming about something that wasn’t pleasant.

Peter considered his options and decided... he had to wake him up. He moved over to his sleeping friend carefully, then nudged him slightly. Micky’s face relaxed momentarily, then scrunched up again. Peter tried again.

Micky’s arm moved as he groaned, obviously not wanting to be woken up.

"Micky..." Peter whispered, shaking him with a little bit of force this time.

Micky’s eyes opened half way making contact with Peter’s. They stared at each other, one daring the other to make the first move. "Mick?" Peter tried.

The answer came in a growl, and Micky took a swipe at Peter with his left arm. Peter fell into a sitting position on the floor and leaned back on his arms. "Micky, it’s Peter!"

Micky dragged himself off the couch, landing on the floor on his hands and knees. If Peter hadn’t been so worried about both of them, he would’ve laughed at the visual. Instead, Peter began to back off, but Micky moved along following him.

"Come on, Micky, this isn’t funny," Peter said, his voice beginning to shake. He wondered if it would anger Micky in trying to call out for Mike and Davy.

Micky sat up on his knees, a different look flashing through his eyes. Peter saw it and knew he recognized it: Micky was trying to fight against whatever it was controlling him.

Peter shook his head. "Micky, you don’t want to do this. I’m only trying to help. You were having a bad dream--" He broke off seeing the look flash through his friend’s eyes again. "Micky, I know you’re in there fighting it off. I’m here to help, but I don’t know what to do."

Micky frowned, then fell forward to rest his forehead on his arms. "Pete..." His voice sounded strained. Something had a definite hold over him and it wasn’t about to let go that easily.

Peter moved forward carefully and placed a hand on his back. "You can do this," he urged.

"I can’t..." Micky whispered, then slumped down.

Peter looked out the window again to see clouds passing in front of the moon. He looked at Micky again.

He’d shifted to lay on his side, his eyes still open. "It’s too strong." He glanced up at Peter. "I’m tired." His eyes closed and soon he was snoring lightly.

Peter kept his hand on Micky’s back, rubbing it lightly. The night had just gotten longer.

* * * * *

Davy stood, gazing at the sight in front of him, as Mike walked up to him. "What do you think ‘appened?"

Both Peter and Micky were still on the floor in front of the couch, Micky’s back resting against the couch and Peter propped up against it, one hand still resting on Micky’s shoulder.

"I don’t know," Mike admitted, "but we have a problem." He shook his head at Davy’s questioning look. "Peter saw him. There’s no legitimate reason Peter would make it up."

"Should we wake them?" Davy asked.

Peter’s eyes cracked open and he gave a small smile. "Too late."

"Sorry, Petah," Davy said.

Peter blinked a few times. "It’s okay." He shifted and remembered Micky still next to him. He gave the drummer a weary look. "Guys, something’s got a hold on him. He almost... attacked me, but he fought it. He looked so lost..."

Mike frowned. "I tried calling that Doc and got no answer..."

Davy continued, "So I offahed to go down there. It was all locked up."

"And it’s almost noon," Mike said, tapping his watch.

Peter’s eyes widened. "Noon? I never sleep that late..."

"You were up half the night..." Three sets of eyes turned to Micky, who looked absolutely worn out, his eyes less than half open.

"Do you remember what happened?" Peter asked.

Micky’s eyes closed. "I’m sorry, Pete..."

"Mick, we tried to get a hold of the Doc," Mike began. "Seems he’s run out on us."

Micky lifted his head, his eyes open a little more than before. "What?"

"’E’s gone, mate," Davy replied. "’Is place was closed up tightah than Fort Knox."

"He couldn’t be gone..." Micky said, trying to sit himself up. Peter helped after he slumped back down twice. "He said he’d give me an antidote today..." He blinked at what he said.

Mike sighed. "Micky, is this whole thing his doing or your doing?"

Micky sighed and stared down at his hands. "I was messin’ with the chemistry set and... I was just throwing stuff together--"

"Did you drink what you made?" Mike asked, incredulously. He shouldn’t have been surprised, though, since Micky always tried out his experiments one way or another. They’d only been through this a hundred times, but this time had been the most harmful.

Micky mumbled his answer. "Yes..."

"Why, Micky? Don’t you realize that someday you might make something that could kill you?" Peter said, replacing a hand on his shoulder.

"Mick, a couple months ago when you shrunk yourself, that was an accident..." Mike said.

"And before that when you blinded yourself, that was an accident..." Davy said.

"This wasn’t an accident, Micky," Peter chided, quietly, rubbing his shoulder.

The room grew silent. After a few moments, the only sound that could be heard were quiet sobs.

* * * * *

That night, Micky sat outside on the veranda, leaning on the railing. He stared up at the moon, or atleast at where the moon should have been. The myth about werewolves was that they only came out when there was a full moon and, for the most part, that was what had been happening to him. Then why did he have that strange feeling in the pit of his stomach again?

Mike came out the door and stopped, crossing his arms. He glanced up at the sky. "Mick, it looks like rain, maybe you oughtta come inside."

Micky shook his head. "I don't want to put you guys in danger," he responded quietly.

Mike rolled his eyes. "The moon's covered by clouds! You're not gonna change--"

"But I feel like I will, Mike." Micky turned a glance over his shoulder.

Mike dropped his arms, seeing the weary and worried look on his friend's face. "So this isn't just a full moon thing?"

"I don't think so." He turned back to his previous position, staring up at the clouds.

"Have you thought about trying to come up with something to fix this?" Mike suggested.

Micky's head lowered. "I thought you guys didn't want me messing with the chemistry set anymore?"

"We don't, but more than that, we want you to be you again."

Micky sighed. "I'm such a pain in the ass."

Mike gave a small smirk. "Yeah, you are, but what's that got to do with any of this?" He waited for Micky to turn a grin on him, but he didn't even move. Mike sighed. "Mick, you're not a pain in the ass. Listen, man, we're not trying to blame you for this, we're just trying to say that you can make your experiments, just don't try them on yourself." He moved over to the railing, next to Micky, and rested a hand on the drummer's back.

Micky's head remained down. Mike's eyebrows rose slightly. "Micky?" Then he heard a growl. Mike looked towards the sky. Only a little bit of the moon could be seen. When he turned his glance back to Micky, Mike found him staring at him, a dulled look in his eyes. "Mick..."

Micky growled again, his eyes widening. Mike began to back off, towards the door. "Come on, Mick, this ain't funny and you know that!" Micky growled again and practically leapt at Mike, who sprinted for the door.

Mike attempted to slam the door closed before Micky got to it, but instead slammed the door square in his face, knocking Micky onto his back. Mike watched through the door as Micky raised a hand to his face, then hold his nose as blood began to trickle from it.

Mike swallowed. "Oh, shit." He wasn't sure whether to feel bad about it... or worried that it would piss him off. He watched Micky slowly get to his feet, still holding his nose, his hand becoming increasingly redder.

Micky glared a hole through the door at Mike, who backed off after locking it. Mike turned and called for Peter and Davy. Both of them came out of the downstairs bedroom they shared and joined Mike.

Peter had an even more shocked look on his face than Davy had. "What did you do to him, Michael?"

"He jumped at me! I thought he was attacking so I ran in here and slammed the door. I didn't think it'd hit him in the face!" Mike said, in defense, as Micky began pounding on the door.

Davy motioned to the door. "If 'e keeps that up, mates, 'e'll be breaking in 'ere pretty quick."

"And now he's probably got a broken nose," Peter said, giving Mike a pointed look.

"I didn't do it on purpose, Peter!" Mike said, getting annoyed.

Micky kept pounding both-fisted on the glass back door. The others became wide-eyed watching him. The glass pane was starting to crack under the barrage. Micky stepped back and, with a loud howl, slammed both fists double-axe-handle style into the pane, shattering it. He reached in and unlocked the door. The door swung open and Micky stepped in, an angry look on his bloodied face, and shaking his hands, which now were also bloodied from the glass.

"Man, he's gonna tear himself apart before he gets to us," Mike commented.

"Maybe we could just try to wear him out, make him tired," Peter suggested.

Davy quirked an eyebrow. "Like just 'ave 'im chase us around the pad?"

"It's nonviolent..."

Mike clapped Peter's shoulder. "You're a great friend, Pete." He paused. "Everyone scatter!"

The three took off in different directions, running around the first floor of the beach house. Micky began chasing Mike, but Mike had a plan. He kept tossing overturned furniture in his path, either making Micky dodge it or jump over it. Meanwhile, Davy and Peter did their best to bait Micky away to give Mike some type of breather.

At one point, Mike ran up the tornado staircase, taking the steps two at a time. At the top, he saw Micky half way up, and set himself on the bannister. Mike then did what he'd seen Micky do hundreds of times and slid down the bannister. As he slid past Micky, though, the crazed drummer latched onto Mike's arm. Mike was unable to stop and also couldn't pull his arm free and accidentally pulled Micky with him.

The drummer tumbled down half the staircase and landed lower-back-first with a resounding thud on the floor. Mike also tumbled to the floor after finding the end of the bannister and realizing he had no idea how to stop. Mike sat up and shook his head as Peter and Davy joined him.

Peter moved to Micky to check on him. He ran a hand over the back of the drummer's head. "I don't think he hit his head too hard," Peter announced.

Davy crossed to the kitchen and rummaged in a drawer, then returned with bandages. "Let's just get 'im cleaned up while we can."

* * * * *

Micky was being torn apart. The wolf wouldn't leave him alone. No matter how much he ran, or what he threw at it, it just kept on him. All the wolf ever did, though, was scratch him. His body was covered in slightly bloody scratches. He was also getting very tired from running. He slumped against a tree, trying to keep himself upright. He looked around wearily, but couldn't find the wolf. He hoped maybe it'd finally given up the chase and sighed, lowering himself slowly and painfully onto the ground.

After several minutes, Micky thought he heard a noise. He looked to his left, nothing, he looked to his right... and got swiped on the nose by the wolf. He was sent sprawling on the ground. He scrambled to his feet, tripping once, before getting up and began running again. He yelled out for someone, anyone to help him. There had to be some way to get away from the wolf...

* * * * *

Mike shook Micky roughly, trying to wake the thrashing drummer. Micky finally sat up abruptly, screaming, which caused Mike to jump and landed himself on the floor by the couch. Micky's eyes darted across the room worriedly before stopping his glance on Mike. "Mike..." His voice was barely a whisper, but Mike was happy nonetheless to hear it. "It was terrible..." He raised his hands, stopping them half way to his face to look at the bandages. His eyebrows arched, then he went crossed-eyed to look at the bandages on his nose.

"Sorry about that, Mick... you... started chasing me and I slammed the door in your face, trying to get away," Mike explained. Micky blinked, then nodded. "Were you having a nightmare?" Mike asked. "I could hear you growling, then moaning..."

Micky looked up at him. "A wolf was chasing me." He shook his head. "When Peter said I went after him, I'd had the dream then, but it only chased me. This time it kept swiping at me. I had cuts all over, then it cornered me and swiped at my face." He raised one hand to his nose, touching it lightly. He winced, then groaned. "And... why do I have such a headache and a backache?"

"Peter said he thinks your nose is broken." Mike looked away. "And the aches are from falling from half way up the stairs." Mike sighed. "You were chasing me and I was trying to just keep away. I went up the stairs, then tried to slide past you on the railing, but you grabbed my arm and wouldn't let go. You landed back-first on the floor, and hit your head."

Micky just blinked and laid himself out on the couch again. He turned his head to look at Mike. "I'm scared, Mike. What if that wolf catches me and--" He swallowed. "What'll happen to me?"

Mike ran a hand through his hair, then shook his head. "I don't know, shotgun. I don't know."

* * * * *

The next morning, all four boys sat at the table, one looking worse for wear.

"Anything, Pete?" Mike asked, after Micky finished telling about his dream.

Peter looked thoughtful, then nodded. "I think... Micky, somehow, you have to defeat that wolf in your dream."

"How?" Micky asked, wearily. "I already look like I've been tore apart by it."

"Isn't there some sort of weapon you could use?" Davy suggested, propping his chin in one hand.

Micky shrugged. "It's only chased me through the woods. The only things besides the wolf I've seen are trees."

The thoughtful look remained on Peter's face. "It's a dream, Micky. When you're in control, you can do anything you want in a dream. You could make some sort of weapon appear."

"I haven't felt like I'm in control, though. That's what scares me," Micky admitted, then sighed. "But I have to do something before I do any more damage."

"Try it, shotgun," Mike said, resting a hand on Micky's shoulder. "For all of us." Micky nodded.

* * * * *

That afternoon, Micky decided to atleast try to rid himself of the werewolf once and for all. He sprawled himself out on his own bed, which hadn't had much use over the last few days... while the other guys were out doing other things. He had told Mike that he would either take a walk or jog along the beach. He didn't feel like doing either.

Soon enough, he finally fell asleep and the dream began all over again...

Micky found himself surrounded by trees. The only noise around him was that of the wind blowing. He took in the area around him, still nothin but trees. This frustrated him. Micky wanted... needed a weapon to get rid of that wolf. He held out a hand and tried to concentrate for a moment. Finally, just as he was about to give up, two lead pipes, each two feet in length appeared in his hand. He moved one to his left hand and twirled them like he would his drumsticks. He grinned, This could work.

Micky started walking farther into the wooded area, trying to be cautious, but also wanting to find the wolf. The sooner he did, the sooner he could be himself again. He stopped, hearing the sound of crunching leaves. He spun and looked in the direction he though the sound had came from, but he found nothing.

Next thing Micky knew, he was face down on the ground, the pipes a mere foot in front of him. He could hear the wolf growl and figured it was standing near his feet. He reached out one hand, slowly and carefully, trying to grab one of the pipes. The wolf growled again and Micky made a quick grab at a pipe. He flipped himself over on his back, holding an edge of the pipe in each hand. The wolf snapped at him, its jaws locking around the pipe. Micky knew he had to get the other pipe, so he glanced as best he could behind him to see where the pipe was. Once he found it again, he made a quick reach back, but the wolf yanked the first pipe from his other hand.

The wolf wrestled the pipe in its mouth for a moment, long enough to give Micky a chance to pick up the second one, then flung the pipe away, just to Micky's left. He watched it land about ten feet away, then finally turned his attention back to the wolf, which had started advancing on him. It growled, but Micky had had enough. He swung the pipe at the wolf's head, connecting with its snout and, more importantly, its jaw. It whimpered for a moment, but took too long and Micky swung again, hitting the other side of the wolf's head.

Micky stood again finally, while the wolf shook its head. He took the opportunity and grabbed the first pipe and held one in each hand. He twirled them again and beckoned the wolf to advance. The wolf obliged and leapt at Micky. His eyes widened, but he side-stepped, and smacked the back of the wolf's head with one pipe, which sent the wolf crashing to the ground. Micky moved to its head, held one arm up for the killing blow, and brought the pipe down...

* * * * *

Micky sat up in bed, breathing heavily. The room was dark, however. He could see Mike sleeping in the other bed across the room as usual. The moonlight bathed the room in a blue light. Moonlight...? Micky got up carefully and went to the window. He stared out at the clear sky and the almost full moon. On any of the past nights, Micky knew he would've been howling by now...

"I did it!"

Mike sat up abruptly. "What the--?" He squinted and looked at Micky like he had two heads. "Micky, what..." Mike stopped, a look of realization crossing his face. His eyes widened. "Mick..."

Micky practically launched himself onto Mike's bed and Mike himself. "I got rid of the wolf!" he crowed, hugging the Texan.

Mike gave a crooked grin and patted Micky on the back. "Good job, Shotgun!"

The bedroom door opened and the light was flicked on. Both Davy and Peter stood in the doorway, Davy rubbing at his eyes.

"What's going on in 'ere?" Davy asked.

Micky pointed at the window, grinning as widely as he could. "I'm not turning into a werewolf!" he crowed again.

Peter smiled. "I knew you could do it, Micky!"

Davy gave a sleepy and lopsided grin. "Alright, Mick."

Micky dropped himself back on his bed, sitting Indian style, still grinning. "We should celebrate!"

Mike's crooked grin reappeared. "You wanna celebrate, Mick? Here's how you can do that: we still haven't cleaned up the mess you made out there. You can clean that up yourself tomorrow before rehearsal."

Micky's grin fell and he frowned, folding his arms. He pouted a moment before grinning again. "You know Mike, you kinda remind me of that wolf--!" He was cut off by a pillow bouncing off his face. "Hey!?"

Mike's grin still remained as Davy and Peter began laughing, heading out of the doorway.

~END~