Well, I didn't think I'd write another Total Drama fic... but then I got the idea for a ten-parter. Great. XD

My plan is this – I'm a fan of the band Depeche Mode, and recently I've spent a lot of time listening to their album "Playing The Angel". I can't place why, exactly, but something about the sound of that album reminds me of Mike, even though really, it's a very dark album. Of the album's twelve tracks, I've managed to come up with at least a vague summary for ten of them, so that's what I'm going to do here – ten one-shots about Mike, each inspired by a song on the album. If it matters, yes, this series will go the way of Mike/Zoey eventually, but she's not showing up for a bit. That'll be in the fourth story, I think. Each part will be uploaded as its own entry, since they'll have different ratings and I don't know how I'd manage them all in the same story – either I'll rate it too low and people will read a rating they don't want to see, or I'll rate it too high and then people who don't want to read that high rating will miss out on lower ratings that they may want to see. They're all one-shots – they'll reference back to older ones, but I don't think the older ones will end up being required reading for later ones – so I don't think it'll matter so much.

I have no idea how long I'll be working on this, but it won't be constant, especially since after I think two parts, I'm gonna want to wait to see how season 5 goes. I really don't like contradicting canon, and I apologize now if anything here ends up doing so!

So, I think that's it for now. Enjoy!

Playing The Angel, Part 1 - "Precious"

Precious and fragile things need special handling... my god, what have we done to you?

Twelve-year-old Michael Skinner sat on the chair in the waiting room, not entirely sure what to expect out of this. His mother had told him that he was here for a doctor's appointment today, but this wasn't the doctor's office he usually went to. At his regular office, people were always bustling through the waiting room and the kids could play with the old donated toys in the corner or flip through books that were missing half the pages, all while ignoring the faint smell of rubbing alcohol. The employees decorated the walls with murals of public domain children's characters and a tiny TV in the corner played the same VHS of an old preschooler show that Mike had outgrown by the time he learned to read. It wasn't exactly a theme park, but the bright colors and sounds provided enough of a distraction to help the patients forget that the doctor would poke them and prod them and possibly give them a needle soon. This office, however, had no such distractions. There were no books or magazines, not even the news magazines from two years ago that Mike didn't understand half the words in. The walls had no pictures or decorations, just paint in the dullest, least offensive shade of blue imaginable. There was no TV, though there was a CD player that played quiet classical music that simply made Mike want to nod off. There were other kids in the office, but even the kids here were different from his usual doctor's patients. All of these kids seemed terrified, bored, or simply disinterested; Mike didn't even know if he could approach them. Most of them had brought their own book or handheld video game to play with, so they probably didn't want to socialize anyway. The ones who weren't engrossed in something had either fallen asleep in their chairs or were simply staring listlessly ahead of them. The adults were equally disinterested, with their newspapers or novels or own disinterested stares. No one was conversing with each other. Mike found the whole thing a bit unsettling.

"Mom? Why are we seeing a different doctor today?" Mike asked his mother, who was sitting silently next to him. She didn't respond. "Am I here to get a shot?"

"No, Mike. Dr. Freeman isn't that sort of doctor," she replied.

"Then what kind of doctor am I seeing?" Mike asked. He didn't even know there were different kinds of doctors. He just thought that they all looked at your ears and checked your heart, told you everything was OK, gave you a piece of candy and a sticker, and sent you on your way until next year.

"She's just going to ask you some questions... she'll probably ask questions about your... friends." His mother hesitated before saying the word 'friends', as if saying it would cause something horrible.

"They're not my friends," Mike said, crossing his arms and slouching down in his seat. "Is she going to tell me they're not real? Because they are-"

"Mike." His mother said his name in a clipped warning tone.

"I know you can't see them, but they're real, they talk to me-"

"Mike."

"And they really do make me do bad things, I don't like it but they do, I'm trying to get better about not listening to them-"

"Michael." This last warning was louder than intended and attracted the attention of the four other families in the room, but that's what it took to get Mike to fall silent. He knew his mother hated it when he mentioned the others in public, but he still didn't understand why he had to keep quiet about it. He thought most kids had imaginary friends. The only difference was that his were kind of mean, that's all.

The entire waiting room looked up and turned their heads toward the door at the sound of an anguished scream. A little girl in pigtails came running into the waiting room, sobbing at the top of her lungs. She immediately latched herself on to the leg of a man sitting in the room and proceeded to bawl into his knee.

Now Mike really didn't want to see this new doctor.

Behind the little girl came an older woman who reminded Mike of one of the teachers in his school. She wore red glasses and had her light brown hair tied back into a bun. Despite her prim, proper attire, her smile held a soothing aura that reminded Mike of things like that teacher comforting him that time Svetlana made him jump off the monkey bars and break his arm for the third time.

But then he looked at the crying girl, and suddenly that warm memory drained.

"Michael Skinner?" she asked, still smiling. "Is Michael Skinner here?"

"That's me," Mike mumbled, raising his hand no higher than his head.

"I'm Dr. Jane Freeman. You can come back now."

Against his own judgment, Mike rose from his chair and approached this new doctor. Halfway across the room, he instinctively reached out to take his mother's hand for some much-needed comfort, only to find nothing but air. He turned back to see that she was still sitting in the chair.

"Mom? Aren't you coming back with me? You always come to my doctor's appointments."

Mrs. Skinner shook her head. "This is just between you and Dr. Freeman, Mike."

Mike briefly considered heading right back to his chair at this. However, despite all of his apprehension, he never was the type of child to disobey – at least, not when they weren't influencing him – and so he followed Dr. Freeman into her office.

This room, like the waiting room, was totally different from what he expected. There was no scale, no blood pressure monitor, no gross pictures of organs and how everything you do is killing them. It reminded him a lot of his living room, in fact. Mike sat himself in the plush chair against the wall, while Dr. Freeman sat opposite him at what looked like his mother's computer desk, just with no computer on it. She picked up a clipboard and began writing on it. Mike sat in silence. He felt as if he was in school, maybe being scolded by a teacher for yet another incident that he couldn't really remember doing. A pile of small toys sat on the doctor's desk. Without really thinking about it, Mike grabbed a squishy ball from the pile and began rhythmically clenching his fist around it.

The doctor continued to write long enough for Mike's attention to wander. He turned his head to look out the window. It was a bright spring day, the sort where it wasn't cold enough to need a jacket nor warm enough to making playing outside miserable. The street below looked like a much better place than this doctor's office that didn't look like one.

C'mon, Mike, let's ditch this place! said a voice inside Mike's head. It reminded Mike of the gangsters he'd see in the movies his father liked to watch. It's real nice out there! What're we doin' here with the adults? We gotta be free! Live our own lives! We don't need these people!

Yes, yes! We should go! came yet another voice from Mike's mind, this one a lot higher pitched. Svetlana would like to run! We have been sitting for far too long!

Against his will, Mike felt himself start to rise from the chair. His vision started to fade-

"So, Michael, is it?"

Mike snapped back to himself at the sound of his name. His eyes flicked to the clock on the wall. It felt like he'd been sitting for a while, but it hadn't even been two minutes. Dr. Freeman was smiling and offering him her hand. She didn't seem scared or confused. Good. They must have stayed in his head this time.

"Mike," he said, taking the doctor's hand and shaking it. "I like being called Mike."

"I'm Dr. Freeman, but you can call me Jane if you'd like," she replied. Mike nodded, though he wasn't sure if he'd be calling her anything.

"Why am I here?" Mike asked. "Am I sick? Mom said you just wanted to talk to me..."

"She's right," Dr. Freeman replied. "That's why we're here. I want to get to know you."

"That's all?" Mike had trouble believing this. Who goes to an appointment just to talk to a stranger?

"That's all," she said, still smiling. "So, tell me some things about yourself, Mike."

"Like what?"

"Anything that comes to mind. Just talk about yourself."

Mike took a deep breath and focused on his own memories. He tended to lapse into the memories of the others when asked this question; talking about himself was much harder than it had any right to be. "Well... my name's Mike. I'm in sixth grade... I turned twelve last month. I want to be an actor when I grow up."

"What kind of actor?" Dr. Freeman asked as she wrote some more things on the clipboard.

"Either on stage or in movies. I don't know what I'd prefer yet," Mike answered. "I wanna be a character actor. The kind of actor where everyone calls you by your character's name. I like those. I like coming up with characters I'd like to play." He neglected to mention just what became of a lot of the characters he came up with. "I think I'd like to do comedies. Maybe I could do stand-up instead." He babbled on as she continued writing on her clipboard. Was she even listening?

"How do you like school?"

"Um... it's good, I guess," Mike said. "I really like English class. I like history, too. I don't like math, though."

Bah! Math! Who needs math? An old voice that reminded Mike of an elderly, grumpy relative that he didn't like very much echoed in his head. Back in my day, we didn't have fancy multiplication and division and fractions and what have you! If the number was too big to count on our fingers, then dagummit, it was too big to bother with!

Mike felt his mind fogging over again. He quickly pinched his arm to snap himself back to reality, before Chester could make his presence known to Dr. Freeman.

"Why did you just pinch yourself, Mike?" she asked.

"I didn't." It was a terrible lie, but she didn't question it. She simply wrote some more on that clipboard. Mike wondered what she was writing and if it was about him.

"Do you have any friends in school?"

"Not really," Mike answered. "There are a couple of kids I play with at recess, but no one comes to my house or anything. I don't even know all of their names. A lot of them don't stick around very long anyway."

"Do you know why they don't?"

Mike shrugged. This wasn't really something he wanted to talk about.

"What about clubs? Are you in any clubs at school?"

"I wanted to take drama class, but it was full. So I'm in gymnastics instead."

"Do you like it?"

"It's OK. It's good exercise." Mike hoped she wouldn't ask too many questions about his gymnastics classes, since he couldn't remember them. Every day he had it, the second he walked in and saw everyone practicing, Svetlana would immediately become excited and come out. Mike wouldn't come back until the class was over. He couldn't always tell who had taken over when he switched, but he could always feel Svetlana's excitement seconds before the switch, and really, she was the only one who would actively want to put herself through gymnastics.

"The other kids sometimes make fun of me for it," Mike continued, since that much he was aware of. It was something to keep him talking. "I don't know about the other gymnastics classes, but I'm the only boy in my grade that does it."

"Does that bother you?"

"A little." A lot. Horribly. He wouldn't even be in that class if not for Svetlana's insistence when it came time to pick a club class. Mike didn't know what he would have gone for after finding out that drama was full, but he was pretty sure gymnastics would have been toward the bottom of his list. Being mocked for a class he didn't even want just made things even worse.

"I'm sorry people give you a hard time for doing what you love, Mike. Just know that they're the problem, not you."

Mike nodded. While he wasn't exactly being mocked for what he loved, he could still appreciate the sentiment.

"How are things at home? Do you have any siblings?"

"No, no siblings. Just me and my mom. And a cat named Snow, but she's really mean and I don't see her much. She just comes out to eat."

"Do you ever see your dad?"

Mike pulled his knees up to his chest and wrapped his arms around his legs. In his head, his three most prominent personalities and a few of the more minor ones began to clamor. All of them spoke at once, but Mike couldn't understand a word any of them were saying as they all fought to speak over each other.

"No..." he mumbled to himself as he felt his mind fading out and shuffling between faded versions of the others. "No, guys, calm down, he's not here, we don't need to do this now, I want to stay right now, stop it-"

"Mike?" He could vaguely hear the doctor's voice, but it sounded distorted, as if everything was underwater. The people in his head were much louder than the outside world.

"Stop it, stop it, stop it-"

"Mike? Are you all right?"

"I said stop!"

Mike began gasping heavily as his own senses returned and his mind quieted down. His heart pounded as it normally did when he came out of that state. Did he switch? He remembered blacking out, but could never tell how long that was for. His eyes flicked to the clock. 4:17. He remembered seeing it at 4:16, so it couldn't have been that long.

"Mike? What happened?" Dr. Freeman asked, her brow furrowed. "Is there something I can do to help?"

"Dad moved out recently," he said, his breath still heavy and his heart still racing. Mike felt the need to talk, and to talk about something that only Mike would know enough to talk about. His brain still felt weird and he needed to remind himself of who he really was. "Mom told him to leave. I... I don't miss him. He yelled a lot..."

The doctor said something in response, but Mike couldn't make out the words. He took a deep breath and continued speaking about himself. Mike. He was Mike. He had to stay Mike for now. He could be someone else later, but this doctor wanted to talk to Mike.

"Not at me very much... well, he used to yell at me a lot. He... hit me a few times, too." Mike flinched at the memory, a memory which made the others start chattering again. After a few more deep breaths, he kept speaking. "Never hard enough that anyone noticed... but he did... so I stopped talking to him. I went outside or played in my room a lot. That helped. He never came to my room... if he couldn't see me, he just forgot about me. I was fine with that..."

The room went quiet again, but Mike wasn't sure if Dr. Freeman had no response of if he wasn't focused enough yet to hear her.

"He wouldn't leave mom alone, though... I heard them fighting a lot..." Mike started shaking as he went on.

"You don't need to talk about this if it's hard, Mike. Don't do anything that distresses you."

Mike kept shaking and breathing remained difficult, though he wasn't sure if it was what he was talking about or the constant chattering in his head that was stressing him out. But every time he stopped speaking and tried to take his mind off his own memories, another personality would try to take hold. Talking was the easier option. At least he could stay Mike.

"I got good at blocking it out," he said. "I know they fought a lot until the end, but for the last year, I don't remember very much of it. I'd hear it start, so I'd block it out."

"It's not easy to block out things that stress or scare you like that," Dr. Freeman replied. "It's good that you were able to. How did you keep your mind off of it?"

Mike took some more deep breaths. He'd talked himself into a corner. He couldn't even think of a good lie this time, and it would have been suspicious if he stopped to try. The chattering didn't help at all – why were they still chattering? Why wouldn't they stop? He had to keep talking. He had to keep focus.

"I... I would think about my characters," he said. "I come up with characters all the time, and when I get scared, I like talking to them or even acting like them. It helps..." Another deep breath. "At least, it used to help me... but I don't know if you'd believe what happens with them now. Mom doesn't. I never told dad."

"I don't believe you would lie to me," Dr. Freeman said. "Would you like to talk to me about it? What happens with your characters?"

"After a certain point, they turned... real. They're like real people, only they live in my head. They'll talk to me, tell me to do things, but I'm not the one thinking of things for them to say, they're doing it on their own... I used to go along with it and do what they told me, but soon they started telling me to do things that were mean or dangerous or against rules, and I didn't want to, so I told them no... so they'd... make me. I don't remember them making me. It's like... they'll tell me to do something, and I don't want to, so I say no. But then suddenly, someone will be yelling at me or crying because of something I said, or I'll have some new scrapes, or I'll be somewhere that I don't recognize, and I don't remember how it happened and I don't remember doing the things people say I did. Sometimes the people in my head will admit who did it, and sometimes I can just tell, but I don't always know. Like the time someone made me steal dad's lighter and try to burn down some bushes in the park. I don't know who made me do that. I don't remember taking the lighter. That day was weird... I was cleaning up after dinner, then my next memory was of me getting yelled at by mom for having a lighter. I don't remember going to bed or changing my clothes or anything like that. A whole day was gone and I don't know what happened to it. Stuff like that happens a lot." Mike looked Dr. Freeman in the eyes. "I thought a lot of people had imaginary friends, but when I talked to my classmates about theirs, they said theirs never told them to do bad things, except maybe minor stuff like taking a cookie before dinner. And now they all say they're too old for imaginary friends, so they got rid of theirs. But mine don't go away, even when I tell them to." He started shivering. "Is something... wrong with me? Am I doing something wrong?"

"This sort of thing is rare, but you're not the only one it happens to, Mike. I've had patients with this problem before. It's not your fault," Dr. Freeman told him. "Would you like to tell me about your characters?"

"There are a lot of them. I don't know how many," Mike said. "Some of them only talk to me every once in a while. I usually forget about them until they come back. There are a couple who only talked to me once. There are... three?... yeah, three. Three who are around pretty much all the time. They're always talking and trying to take over. I can hold them back sometimes, but they also have things that make them stronger. Once they're stronger, I can't do anything. They'll take over and there's nothing I can do about it. The others only get stronger if they're awake when their thing happens, but those three are awake all the time."

"What are the three like?"

Mike paused to think for a moment about who he'd like to describe first. "Well... first there's Svetlana. She's my favorite. I mean, I wish they wouldn't try to take over or talk so much at all, but if I've gotta have people in my head, Svetlana's not so bad. She doesn't yell at me or make people mad at me. She's the one who wanted me to take gymnastics... I don't think I'd be in that class if not for her. When they asked us to pick a club class, I marked down drama, then she noticed ballet and gymnastics and insisted that I make those my second and third choices. And since drama was full... I don't even know what goes on in gymnastics. That's all her." Mike stopped once more to think of what else he wanted to say. The others had finally quieted down, making this a lot easier. "I just wish she wasn't so risky. I've broken bones and gotten scraped up a lot because of her. She'll do things like climb a tall tree or go up to the top of the playground equipment, then I'll become me again while I'm up there and I'll panic. I know my body can get back down or land without getting hurt because she can do it, but I don't know how to make my body do thatand I can't force her out and get me down safely if she's finally exhausted herself. So I'll try to climb down on my own. Sometimes I make it. Other times..." Mike rubbed his knee. "I just started walking normally again last week after falling out of a tree. She decided she wanted to take a nap as one, fell asleep while she was in control, and I was the one who woke up. I had no idea where I was, panicked, and fell. Hurt my knee pretty bad. I wish she wouldn't do that so much. And sometimes she does complain about having to use my body, since I'm a guy and she's a girl. But other than that, I don't mind Svetlana."

"What makes her stronger?"

"Any opportunity to be active and show off her skills, really. Gymnastics class, tall trees, playgrounds, that sort of thing. She's not the kind of person to try to come out otherwise, not like the other two. She does constantly demand that I go do something active even when I'd rather do something else, but she's the easiest to ignore."

Dr. Freeman wrote a bit more on her clipboard. "What about the others?"

"Well, there's Chester," Mike said. "He's the earliest one I remember having. He's an old guy, and he doesn't do much. Just complains. There's really not much to say about him," Mike said with a shrug. "He's the one who tries to come out the most. Whenever he's upset about something, which is pretty much always. He tried earlier. That's why I pinched myself."

"So you really did," Dr. Freeman said with a smile. "Then why did you tell me you didn't?"

"I didn't know how else to explain it," Mike said quietly. He turned his head away from Dr. Freeman and started squeezing the ball he was holding a little harder. He shook his head and continued on. "I can keep him in when he's the only one upset, but when we're both frustrated about the same thing, I can't hold him back. He comes out a lot in school, usually when I'm being picked on or don't get something in class. Some kids think I'm doing a comedy routine and laugh at it because they think I'm trying to be funny. I don't mind that. I just don't like when it makes the teasing worse. He gets me in trouble for getting sarcastic with teachers a lot, too. And he yells at me a lot. So even though he's saved me sometimes, I don't like him much."

You don't like me? You ungrateful child! Back in my day, children respected their elders!

Mike ignored Chester's complaints.

"And there's one more?" Dr. Freeman asked.

Mike nodded. "The other one is... Vito." He gulped and took another deep breath as he started talking. Mike wasn't going to lie to Dr. Freeman about this last personality, and he just knew that Vito wasn't going to like it. "He's my least favorite... I hate Vito a lot, actually. He's rude." Vito immediately began yelling at Mike, but Mike did his best to tune him out. "I don't think he's ever done a single thing to help me. He's strongest when I take my shirt off, so he doesn't force his way out that much, but it's pretty hard to explain why I always wear a shirt to go swimming. And he made my life heck when I wasn't as good as holding them back without their strengths. He thinks he's better than everyone else, and he's always saying rude things to girls... I've gotten yelled at a lot because he said things to the girls in my class, but I don't even know what those things mean! He's also violent. Sometimes when he would take over during my parents' fights so that I didn't have to deal with It, he'd get frustrated by it, too, so he'd start breaking stuff. He destroyed a lot of my things and there's a dent in my wall from where he punched it once. And he gets me into fights a lot. See this gap?" Mike poked at the gap at the front of his teeth with his tongue. "Once, Vito got me into a fight by trash talking a guy from high school. High school!" Mike repeated for emphasis, visibly shuddering as he did. "And I was only eleven! Can you believe it?! And the guy actually agreed to fight me! I don't remember the fight, I just remember that when I got control back, I was alone and on the pavement and everything hurt. Vito just told me the story and laughed about how fun it was. Then I realized that tooth was missing. It was an adult tooth, too, so it's not gonna grow back. I'm gonna have this gap forever because of Vito. That's just another thing he's done to me. I really, really hate Vito. I'm just glad people don't see him much anymore, but I still have him in my head and I can never make him go away. He's probably gonna get really mad at me tonight for saying all this..."

"And that's all of them?" Dr. Freeman asked.

"They're the three main ones, yeah. There's also a fourth person who has been talking as much as they do recently, so he might become like them, but I don't know yet. He's new. He calls himself Manitoba Smith, and I don't know much about him yet. I don't know what makes him stronger or if anyone else has seen him. I just know that around the same time he started talking to me, that's when I'd start blacking out and waking back up far away from home, like in the middle of a forest. I think he's an explorer type? So maybe that's why I'm out there, because he wants to explore. I hate how he always gets me lost! And since I don't know him very well yet, I don't always know when he's trying to come out so that I can stop him, and I don't know what makes him stronger. He might go away soon, I've had others that were as loud as him but that didn't last very long,. But he might also stick around, since that's how Vito started. Or maybe he'll replace Vito. Anything can happen, I guess."

Things went quiet again, and Mike's eyes drifted back to the clock. 4:45. He'd been talking that long? Dr. Freeman made a few more marks on her clipboard, then turned her attention back to Mike.

"Mike, I'd like to talk to you and your mother together for a few minutes. I won't tell her specifically what you'd told me, but I've determined some things about you that I'd like her to know. I'll be able to help you. Please wait here."

Mike sat in place as Dr. Freeman walked out and closed the door. A voice piped up the second that Mike was alone.

What was that for, ya little brat? You have a problem with me?

Mike didn't answer. He couldn't tell who was talking to him, but judging by the words, it was probably Vito, just as Mike expected. Just ignore him, ignore him and he'll go away...

What was that about her helping you, huh? You wanna get rid of me? Is that it? You want her to kill me off?

Mike hugged his knees again and rocked, all the while mumbling under his breath, "Stop it, stop it, stop it..."

Answer me, Mike! I'm talking to you!

"Stop it, stop it... I'm Mike, I'm Mike, I'm the only one here..."

Answer me when I ask you a question, you little asshole!

Mike's vision blurred out, and the next time he was conscious, he was lying in the middle of the office floor with a pounding headache. He panted heavily as he pushed himself back to his feet. Dr. Freeman and his mother were both in the room with him now, watching him with expressions of concern. Mike didn't even remember them coming in.

"Mike, baby, are you OK?!" his mother asked. "We walked in and you were slamming your head against the wall!"

"Was I?" he murmured as he collapsed back into the chair, clutching his head in both hands. "I think it was Vito... he was the last one to talk to me before I blacked out..." He turned his head toward his mother. "Mom, Dr. Freeman says they are real, even if you don't think so..."

Dr. Freeman nodded. "That's correct. Mrs. Skinner, I've listened to Mike speak, and I'm certain that he's suffering from dissociative identity disorder, or multiple personality disorder."

"Multiple personality disorder? I've heard that phrase before," Mike's mother asked. "What does that mean, exactly?"

"People with MPD have several identities and will communicate with them or switch between them," Dr. Freeman explained. "It's very rare, and most commonly occurs in young children who are going through more stress, anxiety, or fear than they can handle. So, the developing mind creates other identities to take on the difficulties that the child isn't ready to deal with. These identities often outlive the stress, and the mind may continue to create new ones even after the need has passed."

"Mike is always saying that he likes creating characters, but I thought he just meant for stories..." Mike's mother answered. "I just thought he had a wild imagination."

"A wild imagination like Mike's and more stress than he was ready to cope with may have made something like this sound like the only reasonable escape to him."

"So, how do we fix it? Is he going to have to take pills or something?"

Dr. Freeman shook her head. "Treatment isn't so simple. We could prescribe medication for anxiety or depression if he feels like he needs it, but there's no medication to treat MPD directly. The only real treatment is therapy. I would like to see Mike frequently in order to help him. At least once every two weeks, although every week would be ideal."

"So, how long would we be doing this until I'm better?" Mike asked. "A couple weeks, a month...?"

"At least a few years, Mike. It's entirely possible that I'll be seeing you until you turn 18 and transfer you to an adult psychiatrist. Not all cases can be cured... I may only be able to make it manageable."

Mike slumped down in his seat. Seeing a therapist every week for the rest of his life?! He was already considered a freak in school because he acted so odd, and now he was discovering that he was officially crazy and would have to see a doctor for it, possibly forever. He would have preferred going to get a shot.

"I can send the information on this to his school. I'm sure his school has a psychologist he can speak with if he needs immediate help," Dr. Freeman continued to explain. "It will also help his teachers to know about his condition. It wouldn't be an excuse for bad behavior, but a little understanding can go a long way toward getting him the help and support that he needs."

"I'm sorry, Mike..." His mother's eyes had welled with tears, but that hadn't yet crept into her voice. "I should have believed you when you started trying to tell you about this... I should have gotten you to safety sooner... I'm so sorry, this is my fault..."

"It's not your fault, mom. It just happened. I don't wanna blame anyone..."

This is what finally started the flood from his mother's eyes. She reached over and pulled her son into a tight embrace, sobbing all the while.

"I'm sorry, my precious, I'm sorry... we'll get you help... I'm sorry you've been suffering... Dr. Freeman will help you, I'll help you, I promise... things have changed, they'll be much better now..."

Mike didn't know what to say to comfort his mom, and he was still much too numb to show much reaction to his diagnosis. Later, he'd cry and scream and jump violently from personality to personality in the privacy of his own room, but for now, all he could do was sit and stare as the news took its time sinking in. He stayed numb as his mother and the doctor worked out his future appointment schedule. It looked like this would be how he'd spend his Friday afternoons for the rest of the foreseeable future...

Since he had no true need to focus on what was going on around him at that moment, he turned his mind inward in an effort to work out what happened earlier.

"Why did you start hitting your head against the wall, Vito?" Mike asked quietly enough that the two women in the room wouldn't hear. "That wasn't like you."

Eh? What're you talkin' about? Vito answered. That wasn't me. Why would I do something so stupid?

"You were the one yelling at me before it started..." Mike pointed out. "And I know it wouldn't have been Chester or Svetlana."

I haven't yelled at ya since we got here, Vito snapped. Must've been one of the other guys in here. Sure wasn't me.

"But you called me a brat, yelled at me for trying to get rid of you-"

Nope. Wasn't me.

"Then who was it?"

How the hell should I know? I don't really talk to anybody in here. You're the nut who came up with some lunatic who would slam his head into a wall. I had nothing to do with this!

And with that, Mike felt Vito's presence fading for the time being. He knew he'd be back soon, but it was still nice to pretend that he'd gotten rid of Vito for good somehow.

Having at least attempted to settle business in his head, Mike shrugged it off and returned his attention to the doctor. She was saying something about how they didn't need to talk about his personalities every week and he could just use the therapy as a time to say what's on his mind, but Mike still wasn't fully on board with this whole thing. After a final handshake with Dr. Freeman and a cheery "See you next week, Mike!" from her, Mike quietly followed his mother out to the car for their silent drive home. A dark cloud had descended on the atmosphere between them and wouldn't lift until the next morning. Mike didn't know what his mother was thinking about all this... he just knew that he wasn't sure how he would deal with this. How was he going to face the kids at school on Monday? What would they do if they knew about his problem? No... no, he couldn't tell anybody. He would keep it his secret, and maybe with the help of this new doctor, he could have this thing taken care of soon and he'd never have to worry about this again.

Yes, that's what he would do. He would try really hard, his absolute best, and do everything Dr. Freeman told him to do, and with a couple of years and pure determination, he could have this thing beaten, easy.

There was no way this could last that much longer now that he knew it was a problem, right? No way it would last even into his late teens!

Angels with silver wings shouldn't know suffering. I wish I could take the pain for you...