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DISCLAIMER: This site is in no way affiliated with the Monkees or personal relations thereof. All fan fiction and fan art is intended for entertainment purposes only and no defamation of character is intended whatsoever. To break it down one more time: It's all just for fun, folks.

"Truth in Dreams"

Title: Truth in Dreams

Author: LadyLoveLonesome

Genre/Pairing: Mike/Peter

Rating: R

Warnings: Blood, violence

Disclaimer: Don't own the Monkees. Never have, never will.

Summary: Mike's subconscious is trying to tell him something using brutal tactics.

“Mike, go wake Peter up.” Davy said grouchily as he flipped his pancakes on the stove. He wasn’t too thrilled with the fact that he was now stuck with breakfast duty. Peter was no longer capable of the job ever since he managed to set their cereal on fire.

Mike weaved his way up the spiral staircase and entered Peter’s bedroom. He had expected to see the blonde bass player sprawled out on his bed, but it was empty. He checked the bathroom. No Peter. Mike returned to the bedroom, hoping to find any hint of where Peter had gone.

Suddenly, a piece of paper on the dresser caught his eye.

If you want him back come to 1459 Robert Ave.


- J

J? Who the hell is J? Mike’s leadership instinct was kicking in. One of his band mates was in trouble, and he had to find him.

As Mike descended the stairs, he tried to quietly scamper over to the front door, but his plan was quickly foiled.

“Where ya off to?” Micky asked.


Mike tried to formulate a lie in his head. “We need some, uh, some…more orange juice! Yeah, that’s it!”


Micky turned to look at the kitchen table, which had a full container of juice on it.


Mike called as he raced out the door before Micky could contradict his lie.

Mike drove around the city looking for the address. He drummed his fingers nervously on the steering wheel, attempting to keep his cool. He had no idea what to expect. Why would anyone wanna kidnap Peter? He thought.

His leadership impulse wasn’t the only thing driving his desire to save Peter. Lately he felt strange around Peter. He found himself staring at Peter’s tan, muscular torso on the beach. He dreamed at night of holding Peter in his arms, keeping the naïve bass player out of harm’s way. But this was real. Mike blinked away some tears that were lingering around his eyes and pulled into his destination.

1459 Robert Avenue turned out to be a storage facility. Mike was acknowledged by a fat, slovenly looking man in the office.

“Garage 61,” the man said before Mike had a chance to speak. He placed a set of keys in Mike’s hand.

“Er, thanks.” Mike returned outside in search of the designated storage garage. He took a deep breath before opening the door.

The room was completely dark, except for the light coming from the open door frame.

“Close the door,” a voice hissed. It sounded like a woman. Mike slowly shut the door, encasing himself in darkness.

“W-Who’s there?” he asked nervously.

A light flickered on in the middle of the room, and a woman with fiery red hair stepped under it.

“Hello Mike,” she said with a wicked grin. “Remember me?”


Mike gasped. Now the ‘J’ on the note made sense. “Why are you here? You and Peter broke up months ago.”

“I decided that I wasn’t done with him. I needed a toy to keep me entertained,” she chuckled.

“Where is he?” Mike asked. His nerves were starting to twitch with combination of terror and irritation.

“Over here.” Jillian pointed to her right and another light flickered on, exposing a limp body lying on the floor.

That body was Peter.

His clothes were torn, his chest barely rose and fell with each breath, and the little amount of skin that wasn’t occupied by cuts and bruises was a milky white.

“Peter!” Mike ran towards him.

“Stop!” Jillian demanded. Mike skidded to a halt. “I wouldn’t go near him if I were you.”

“Why the hell not?” Mike asked through clenched teeth. His anger was approaching boiling point.

“There is only one way to save Peter,” she explained. “Tell the truth and you can have him, just like in your dreams.”

“How did you…” Mike began.

“How did I know about your dreams?” Jillian finished. “That’s not important. What’s important is that you confess the truth.”

It was now clear to Mike that Jillian wanted him to say he was in love with Peter. “And what if I don’t say anything?” he asked.

“Then there is only one other option…some may see it as irrational, but I see it as fun…” She knelt down beside Peter and, with a swift flick of her wrist, drew a switchblade up to his neck. Mike gasped in horror. “Say it, Michael.”

He wanted to say it, but his conscience was giving him different advice. I don’t love Peter, he thought. It’s not right to love another guy…she’s only bluffing…“You’re bluffing,” Mike said involuntarily. It seemed that he had lost control of his own mind. He could hear himself saying things that he never dreamed of uttering.

“Try me,” Jillian said, tightening her grip on the knife.

“I’m not gonna say it.”

“Last chance, I’m warning you.” He remained silent. “Have it your way,” Jillian shrugged. With one quick motion, the knife started a fountain of blood from Peter’s throat. She ran away into the blackness, cackling evilly. Mike scrambled to Peter’s side and picked him up in his arms.

“Peter! Peter!” He cried, hoping that Peter’s eyelids would fly open and those caramel eyes would look back at him.

But Peter was gone. His eyes were lifeless, his body was growing cold.

Mike sat in the puddle of crimson liquid, cradling Peter close to his chest. For the first time in years, possibly even his whole life, Mike started crying – not just crying, but bawling uncontrollably.

“Peter…I’m so sorry…I thought she was bluffin’…” Mike said in between sobs. “Why couldn’t I say it? I’m a fuckin’ idiot…”

He dipped his head lower and planted a kiss on Peter’s still lips. “I love you,” Mike whispered. “Oh, Peter…Peter, Peter, Peter…”

“Mike! Mike! Mike!” a voice yelled.

Mike popped open his eyes to find Peter clutching his shoulders.

“Pete, you’re okay!” he yelled.

“Er…yeah,” Peter said, looking confused. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Dream…you…dead…blood…neck slit…” Mike rambled.

“Hey man,” Peter said soothingly. “Relax. It wasn’t real. You’re as white as a ghost.” He placed one hand on Mike’s bare chest and gently pushed him back on the bed.

“Pete, I gotta tell you somethin.’”

“What?” Peter asked.

“I love you.” Mike blurted out. He waited for any reaction from Peter, but he didn’t say anything or make a face. Instead, his lips began to pursue Mike’s. Their mouths were inches away from each other. Mike could feel Peter’s desired-tinged breath…

Thunder cracked like a whip and Mike sat up in his bed. He glanced to his right. Peter was sleeping peacefully in his own bed, completely unaffected by the weather outside.

Mike sighed as he realized he was back in reality, far away from his recent dreams. He had always heard from other people that dreams try to tell you what you really desire. It was obvious what he needed to do now.

Hours later, when the sun had permeated the bedroom, Peter began to groan and stretch. “Good morning, Mike.” He said, rubbing his sleepy eyes.

“Mornin.’” Mike replied. He cleared his throat. “Say, Pete…”


“…Nevermind.” Mike said. It was only dream, he thought, attempting to justify his cowardice. There’s no logic or truth in dreams, right?