Thankful

Finally succeeding in ripping free of Mick's grasp, Dylan resumes his course to Angel's office, but he only makes it several steps before he's caught again. As his arm is cranked behind his back, he howls in protest. Locked in Stacy's grip, he tries to break free, but all it does is serve to cause more pain in his arm. "No! Let me go!" he shouts.

Though he fought with all he had, by now, his energy was almost spent. His thrashing slows, his breathing growing more rapid and shallow. Tears stream down his face as he fights against Stacy and against the invisible force that felt as though it were ripping him up inside.

Mick slowly picks himself up off the ground, thankful that Stacy had been nearby. Wiping his bloody nose on his sleeve, he opts to ignore that for now, along with the pain in his shoulder. Trudging forward, he doesn't waste time talking to Stacy yet - they needed to get Dylan back to the house.

By now, Dylan's tugging and pulling had lessened immensely, although his anger had not. "I hate you!" he screams, not caring if he was talking to his father, Stacy, or both.

Mick feels as though he's been stabbed through the heart... again... but doesn't react. "Come on, Dylan," he prompts quietly. "Let's go."

Taking the other side, he nods to Stacy, letting her keep Dylan in her grip and using her help to aim him back to the house and half drag him up the porch. Once inside the house, Mick is glad for Stacy's assistance in getting his son down the hallway and back into the spare room. Forcing Dylan onto the bed, Mick pins him down, looking him square in the eye. "You will stay here," he commands firmly.

"No!" Dylan struggles but his efforts are week. "Get off of me!"

"I will... but only if you settle down."

Dylan glares at him, still out of breath as sweat drenches his shirt. "Why do you hate me?" Though angry, his voice cracks in almost a whimper.

"I don't hate you." Mick keeps his voice steady and calm. "I love you very very much. That's why I'm doing this."

Finally, finally, Dylan begins to relax.

"Can I let you go now?" Mick asks.

Dylan nods numbly.

Taking the risk, Mick loosens his grip and straightens, backing away from the bed. Stepping out into the hall, he shuts the door for a moment, leaning back against it and closing his eyes for several seconds to regroup. Eventually looking to Stacy, he nods. "Thank you. He went crazy and when I tried to stop him, it was like I was trying to hold back the Hulk."

He wipes his nose again, finding it was still bleeding, and he rolls his eyes. "I better take care of this. Would you mind just making sure he doesn't leave the room for a minute while I clean myself up?"


Jason hangs up the phone in his living room, a strange feeling settling over him. It was... numb. He should be more upset. Maybe he was. Is this what it felt like? He couldn't tell. It bothered him that it didn't feel worse. Why wasn't he upset? Why didn't he...feel?

Swallowing hard, he picks up his cell phone this time and flips it open to text Katie a message.

Mom just called. Bad news.
Wes is MIA. No details yet.
Pray for her.