Michael tore through the halls, not caring who he bumped into. The screams led him to a closed door. It was unlocked.

Everyone looked at him at once. Micky's therapist and doctor were seated across from Micky, who looked up at Michael with a gasp. His face was red and he hiccuped as he stumbled to his feet, falling into Michael's arms.

"What have you done to him?!" Michael shouted, holding Micky protectively to his chest as he sobbed and grasped at Michael's t-shirt.

"I'm afraid you'll have to leave, sir," the therapist said. "We're not quite finished—"

"You've had him for two hours! If you're not finished then what the hell have you been doing?!"

"I'm afraid that's classified information. We have a strict therapist-patient protection policy."

Michael gritted his teeth together, resisting the urge to strangle the two men at the same time, but Micky's hand on his chest calmed him down some. Micky sniffled and looked up.

"M-Mike I wanna go h-home."

Michael looked down at Micky's teary, red face and, breathing deeply, he nodded.

"Let's get you out of here."