Power Monkees: Silenced
SUMMARY: When one is deafened, how do the rest of the Monkees react? Written for the Wild Card square in my hc_bingo card, using the prompt "loss of hearing".
For a normal man, it was life-changing.
For a young man, it was terrifying.
For a superhero, it was a decided detriment.
For a musician, it was devastating.
The only thing that got him through every day was the sure hope that this was temporary, that it would be fixed once his concussion eased up enough to take the pressure off of the part of his brain that controlled his hearing.
But the doctors were guarded, saying that even then his hearing might not return all the way. He hadn't known what to do, what to think.
Especially when his three bandmates - his teammates, his partners - hell, his brothers -- grouped in tight and wouldn't let go. He was the co-leader, he was the one supposed to hold them together - and they were holding him?
He'd be tempted to look at the dark side, at the 'what if this never gets better' - and then he'd find Davy's large brown eyes reflecting the light. Usually looking right into his as the size-changer matched his height to punctuate the message through his hard head.
He'd be tempted to freeze in the fear of the unrelenting silence - and then he'd find himself blinking in surprised amusement at a handwritten joke Micky would shove in front of his eyes. Or catch the drummer doing his mime act exaggerated to comic proportions.
He'd be tempted to free-fall into the abyss of desperate desolate despair - and then he'd find himself confronted with the white-hot glow of Peter's steady faith and its incorrigible optimism.
He found himself supported, held firm by their unwavering belief that this would all be all right in the end. He allowed himself to rest in that support until he could believe it for himself.
It was six weeks of misery, but in the end? His brothers were right. It was all right, and so was he.
For a normal man, it was life-changing.
For a young man, it was terrifying.
For a superhero, it was a decided detriment.
For a musician, it was devastating.
The only thing that got him through every day was the sure hope that this was temporary, that it would be fixed once his concussion eased up enough to take the pressure off of the part of his brain that controlled his hearing.
But the doctors were guarded, saying that even then his hearing might not return all the way. He hadn't known what to do, what to think.
Especially when his three bandmates - his teammates, his partners - hell, his brothers -- grouped in tight and wouldn't let go. He was the co-leader, he was the one supposed to hold them together - and they were holding him?
He'd be tempted to look at the dark side, at the 'what if this never gets better' - and then he'd find Davy's large brown eyes reflecting the light. Usually looking right into his as the size-changer matched his height to punctuate the message through his hard head.
He'd be tempted to freeze in the fear of the unrelenting silence - and then he'd find himself blinking in surprised amusement at a handwritten joke Micky would shove in front of his eyes. Or catch the drummer doing his mime act exaggerated to comic proportions.
He'd be tempted to free-fall into the abyss of desperate desolate despair - and then he'd find himself confronted with the white-hot glow of Peter's steady faith and its incorrigible optimism.
He found himself supported, held firm by their unwavering belief that this would all be all right in the end. He allowed himself to rest in that support until he could believe it for himself.
It was six weeks of misery, but in the end? His brothers were right. It was all right, and so was he.