Chapter Text
Everything about the Grand Nexus Hotel is overwhelming, from the garish decorations to the flashing lights to the obnoxious cheering. It all crawls underneath Donnie’s skin, making him feel weird and unbalanced.
Someone shouts right next to him, and he barely has time to register sharp teeth before he’s scurrying after Draxum.
Any other day, Donnie would be itching to bolt. He’s itching to bolt today too, but there was a turtle yokai fighting in the Battle Nexus yesterday. Draxum thinks it could be one of the lost turtle mutants.
One of Donnie’s lost brothers.
And really, what’s a little extra sensory input in the face of that? They could protect each other, and wrap each other’s wounds when Draxum gets too frustrated, and maybe he’d like science, just like Donnie.
It’d be nice.
The bellhop they’re following motions them into an elevator away from all the people, and the weird tension in his limbs dissipates a bit. It never leaves completely—especially not when his battle shell hasn’t left his back in days—but it’s an improvement.
The elevator rick-rackets up in a way that feels vaguely unsafe. Donnie risks a glance at Draxum and the bellhop. Neither of them seem concerned.
The doors slide open to reveal a desk backed by massive floor-to-ceiling windows. The buildings beyond the glass glitter with light—well below the level they’re on, like the whole city could be seen from here.
There’s an entire world out there. Oh, what he would give to explore it.
Donnie shifts his gaze away from the window. He shouldn’t be thinking thoughts like that. He owes Draxum everything. His place is here.
There’s a woman with purple skin and silver hair. Big Mama, probably, but she doesn’t look anything like the ruthless monster Draxum described. In fact, she looks the most human-like of anyone in the room.
“Baron Draxum! How scrumulent to see you again.”
Draxum’s jaw ticks in the way it only does when something, or someone, annoys him. And he has ranted at length about Big Mama before. “Big Mama. I believe you have something that belongs to me.”
The words make something ugly ping in Donnie’s chest, but he’s not quite sure why. Emotions were never his strong suit though.
“Oh? And what would that be?”
Draxum’s hand lands roughly on Donnie’s shoulder, dragging him forward. “One of my soldiers.”
Donnie is not a fan of that. Please, remove your hand. Like right now preferably. It feels bad.
“One of your soldiers? I’m sure you're referring to the turtley-boo in my Battle Nexus, but he’s certainly not yours.” Her eyes darken, and her whole posture shifts in a way that makes Donnie want to leave.
“I disagree. I’m the one who made him.” Draxum releases him, moving to grab the bundle strapped to his back. “Regardless of semantics, I didn’t come empty-handed. I’m here to propose a trade.”
Every word out of his mouth sounds like a growl, and that never bodes well. Donnie will make it through though. He can do this, just needs to let them finish all their posturing, and he’ll have a new brother. Easy peasy.
She hops back onto her desk, legs crossed. “Well, I would hope so. Big Mama doesn’t like to give her favorite things away to rude addle-sniffers. He’s a fighter you know—a strong desire to live, that one.”
“A fighter? He barely scraped through the battle yesterday.”
It’s true. The turtle that may-or-may-not be Donnie’s brother was thrown around like a ragdoll. It was only after he was smacked all over the place that he was able to rally himself enough to knock out his opponents.
He’s probably stuffed in a cell somewhere, all bruised up. Donnie’s heart pangs. He can relate.
“He may be a little rough around the edges, but he’ll get over his nerves soon enough, and nothing gets the crowd more woozy-faddled than an underdog. We may be able to shake our hands on something though.” She leans forward. “The one next to you is interesting. A matching set, perhaps?”
Donnie stiffens. He wants to get his maybe-brother. He does not want Big Mama’s attention.
Draxum scoffs, and Donnie has to pretend it doesn’t hurt. “Him? Interesting? Hardly. He’s the most useless of the bunch. A soft shell, can’t even fight.”
That’s not fair. He’s spent years perfecting technology to make him better, that can make him useful. His back is a mess of constant pain from the hunk of metal he rarely takes off, and his eyes sag from working through sleepless nights, all to make him something worthwhile, something not useless.
Anything but useless.
He clenches his fists, but remains silent.
“All the better: the Battle of the Underdogs. Or rather, brothers, shall we say? They do look so similar, after all.”
Wow. Obviously, the threat of being sold into a fighting ring is problematic, but they look similar! He has a maybe-probably brother, and they look similar!
“This one’s not for sale.”
Great. Cool. Good ol’ Draxum’s got his back. Big Mama doesn’t seem as pleased as Donnie though.
“Phooey. You better have quite the offer then. I am rather fond of my own greenie-boo.”
Draxum smiles. “I’m sure you’re going to like it.”
He tosses the cloth-wrapped bundle to her feet.
Big Mama crouches down, deft fingers undoing the ties holding it together.
Inside lay a set of mystic weapons that Donnie knows were painstakingly collected. They shimmer with power.
He glances at Draxum. Is he really planning on giving these away?
“Treasures, aren’t they?” Draxum says smugly. “Each has its own ability, all sure to make a splash in the Nexus.”
Big Mama traces along the sword’s ridge. “They are just fantamptuous.”
“So, we have a deal?”
She stands in one swift motion, a shadow on her face making her look significantly more calculating. Menacing.
“I would just adore adding these doo-dads to my collection.”
Draxum’s eyes narrow. “But?”
“But fancy weapons don’t matter if I have no fighters. The truth is, Michelangelo is leagues better than the rest of those flim-flams. I could add in all the razzlers I want, and it won’t matter if the fighters are all dodders.”
Michelangelo must be his name.
“You really think one measly fighter is worth more than all this?”
Big Mama leans back. “Well, you certainly seem to think he is.”
The expression Draxum makes next is one Donnie’s intimately familiar with. It’s the one that says I’m about to start hitting things, so get out of the way. Roar, I’m angry.
(Donnie may be paraphrasing a bit.)
She’s right though. Battle Nexus has been rather lackluster lately, but Michelangelo has all those flips and tricks. That’s worth more for ratings.
“What if we could get you stronger fighters?” The words rush from Donnie’s mouth, and he squeezes his eyes shut so he can’t see what expression Draxum’s making now.
“I’m listening.”
“We’re, um—Draxum’s working on more mutagen. It can create yokai. It created me and, uh, Michelangelo.”
“Hm. Is this true, Draxy?”
“It is,” Draxum growls.
Sure, with just one major problem. They don’t actually have the mutagen. Some dog-cat thing stole their Empyrean. Donnie is promising something they don’t even have.
Oh, tonight’s going to hurt. Tonight’s going to hurt so bad.
“And it’s something you’re willing to part with?”
Donnie can feel Draxum’s glare.
“Yes.”
She pauses, as if weighing the offer, then springs from the desk. “You’ve got yourselves a deal.” A nod of her chin sends a bellhop scurrying to take the weapons from Draxum. “Come back with this mutagen, and the turtle is yours.”
Wait,” Draxum says. “I want to see him first. Make sure he’s not damaged too badly.”
Donnie winces. Michelangelo’s fight was not pretty.
“I suppose I can arrange that. Follow me.”
He slumps with relief. He can handle whatever Draxum decides to do, as long as he gets to have his probably-definitely-brother.
The world around him goes distant, the conversation tuning out like a distorted radio. That’s okay though. He did what he needed to do, he can check out now. It gives him time to focus on his breathing, secure in the comfort of his own mind. A moment to calm down.
He blinks, and they’re in the elevator. Blinks again, and the doors are opening. Blinks again, and they’re standing in front of a giant purple portal and woah Donnie would love to take a look at how that baby works. Then they’re through the portal, and he can’t actually see an arena, but a crowd roars somewhere above them. It sounds like a storm, thousands of raindrops combining into a torrent that drowns everything else out.
It makes his skin start crawling again.
Big Mama takes off down a hallway without checking to see if they’re following. She leads them through a series of turns that are almost certainly designed to confuse.
The farther they get, the darker the air seems. It’s not anything quantifiable—nothing’s covered in dirt, and the fluorescent lighting still burns his eyes—but something’s off. Maybe the air is a bit too stale.
Then they reach the cells, and it is so much worse.
What must be hundreds of yokai are crammed into a long line of tiny rooms. The one closest to Donnie lies curled up in a corner, motionless. Another slams into the bars as they pass. Far too many eyes stare out, hungry and rabid. These yokai would not hesitate to tear him to shreds.
What if Michelangelo is like that? It leaves a bitter taste in his mouth, but the evidence is right here. This place makes people desperate. Feral.
He could probably deal with a feral brother though. Maybe a feral brother would keep him safe.
After a short eternity, she opens a door at the end of a hall. Inside is a singular cell with a blanket-covered lump on the floor.
“Michelangelo,” she calls.
The lump flinches, and Donnie’s lungs stop working again. That lump is his only chance at family.
The blanket shifts, and a head pokes out.
“Big Mama,” he rasps, then he’s off like a shot, pressing up against the bars on his knees.
Holy Einstein.
He’s like me.
Big Mama wasn’t entirely correct when she said they look alike, but Michelangelo matches Donnie in a way only another giant mutant turtle could. They both have three fingers on each hand, and two toes on each foot, and their skin is almost the exact same color. Michelangelo seems smaller and rounder, but they’re so clearly the same.
Donnie aches and doesn’t quite know why.
“Big Mama.” Michelangelo’s desperation is like static in Donnie’s ears. “Please, I’m sorry for whatever I did. Please don’t make me do that again. I’ll be better, I promise. I’m sorry.”
He’s battered and covered in bandages. Donnie can’t help but drink in every detail. Michelangelo looks on the verge of tears. Frantic. Young.
Younger than Donnie.
Something clicks. This is his little brother.
The world rocks on its axis, knocking all the air from his chest. He has a little brother. He has a little brother.
Nothing could stop him from rushing forwards, sliding to his knees in front of Michelangelo. It gives Donnie a perfect view to watch the shock and confusion flit across his face when he tears his gaze away from Big Mama to stare at Donnie.
Michelangelo leans forward the slightest bit, and Donnie finds his words stuck in his throat. He hunches low enough that he’s looking up at Michelangelo, and is struck with the feeling he’s waiting for judgment.
Please, let me be enough.
Michalengelo looks to Big Mama. “What?” His voice is small. Broken.
“Oh, Michelangelo.” She crouches down next to them. “It’s nothing personal. Just business.”
“What? What’s that supposed to mean?” His expression turns ugly, but when Big Mama reaches a hand through the bars to cup his cheek, he immediately presses into it.
Look at me. Stop looking at her. I’m here.
“I’ve made a deal. You’ll understand one day, my dear.” She pulls away, switching to face Draxum. “Bring me the bugs, and he’s all yours.”
“What!” Michelangelo shoots up, and now Donnie is truly kneeling at his feet. “No. No, please, I’ll be better. Whatever you want. Please let me stay with you.” The words trip over each other on the way out his mouth.
Big Mama isn’t paying him any attention. She’s talking with Draxum. She’s selling to Draxum, and for the first time, the action feels rotten. They’re talking about Michelangelo like he’s not right in front of them. Like he’s not a person.
“Please,” he repeats, his whole face crumpled.
Donnie’s used to this treatment from Draxum, but this feels different. This makes Donnie’s blood feel hot.
He stands up too, blocking Michelangelo’s view. Donnie’s taller than him. “It’s okay. You’ll be okay.”
The words are too simple, and so far from enough, but he doesn’t know how to do better.
Michelangelo knocks his forehead against the bars, looking a million miles away, and that’s something Donnie’s familiar with.
He snakes a hand through to rest on top of his head, pressing down lightly. It doesn’t feel great for Donnie—he’s in one of those moods where he doesn’t like touch—but Michelangelo presses up into it, so Donnie focuses on being steady. Strong.
He can see the moment Michelangelo snaps back into the present because then he’s finally looking at Donnie. It’s amazing. It’s devastating.
“It’ll be okay,” he promises again.
“Donatello,” Draxum snaps. Him and Big Mama are already waiting at the door. Waiting on him.
Donnie rips himself away from Michelangelo to follow on their heels. He sneaks a glance back just before the door closes.
Michelangelo is back on his knees.
They make it out back the way they came, and Draxum waits until Big Mama is out of sight to grab Donnie’s arm and drag him the rest of the way out the hotel.
“What were you thinking!” he shouts.
It was obvious what he’s thinking, in Donnie’s personal opinion. He closed the deal. That doesn’t matter though, and Donnie knows it. Draxum’s upset Donnie undermined him, that Donnie has offered up his life’s work. Donnie would be upset too.
“I’m sorry,” he mutters.
Draxum’s eyes flare, and his grip on Donnie’s arm tightens as he yanks Donnie closer. “I’m going to make you sorry if you can’t fix your mess.” Draxum towers over him. With how close they are, Donnie needs to crane his neck to look at him. And he’s still touching Donnie. He’s touching Donnie, and it’s a Bad Touch, and Donnie wants to be anywhere but here.
“I can. I’ll fix it. I can do it.” He holds his breath. Let me go, let me go.
In the space between one heartbeat and the next, Draxum’s anger seems to cool. He turns resigned, dismissive. He uses his grip on Donnie to sling him to the floor. The concrete is harsh. Cold. Donnie peers up, and Draxum looks like a titan. “Don’t come back until you do.”
Draxum disappears through a portal, leaving Donnie there. It’s like all the warmth in the world goes with him. Sure, it usually feels like Draxum’s scalding him, but Donnie doesn’t like the chill either.
His arm stings, right where Draxum was holding him. He puts his own hand over the angry red marks. His grip is the other way around, so it almost looks like their fingers are interlaced. Almost, except Donnie only has two fingers, and they’re much too large.
Donnie flops back with a sigh.
He’s confident he’ll be able to find the dog-cat Agent thing that stole Draxum’s Empyrean. Teleportation leaves behind a distinct trail that he should be able to track.
He pulls up his wrist monitor, flicking around the different settings. Draxum has never appreciated the fine science of technology, more preoccupied with (Donnie shudders) biochemistry and magic.
He hits a final button, waits through the calibration, and is rewarded with pings on the scanner.
Donnie smiles. Technology always has his back.
He heaves himself up, starting up at a slow pace. This is going to be a long one.
——
It takes the better part of the night to track the thing down. It’s slippery, and quick, and can teleport, which is so unfair because Donnie’s been trying to figure out teleportation for ages.
When he finally corners it in some old abandoned building, he’s at the end of his patience. The thing looks exhausted, but so is Donnie, so any sympathy is lost.
He takes a few menacing steps forward (and yes, he’s aware that his brand of “menacing” leans more “mad-sciency”). “You,” he seethes, “have been such a pain in the shell.”
It shakes in response. Donnie doesn’t feel bad. He doesn’t.
“Now be a good little cat-dog thing, and get in the bubble.” He throws one of his patent-pending energy cages at it. A glowing barrier wraps itself around the Agent, completely encasing it in purple.
Donnie takes a moment to crouch down next to it and wait for his breathing to not come so hard. Chase-scenes are so not his thing. It’s odd to think such a little thing can cause so much mischief.
“Alright, little guy. Time to go home.”
It panics, throwing itself around, but Donnie’s tech holds.
“I’m sorry, but you’re the one stealing Draxum’s stuff. What did you think was going to happen?” He sighs, climbing to his feet and picking it up. “Come on.”
This is it. This tiny thing represents everything Donnie’s been wishing for. All he needs is to get it back to Draxum, and just like that, Donnie’s going to have a brother. He doesn’t even really know what you do with a brother, but he’s excited to find out.
Of course, Donnie’s luck chooses that moment to fall through.
Heavy footsteps thud somewhere behind him.
Donnie freezes.
“Let it go.”
In its ball, the Agent writhes. There’s a burst of light every time it lunges into the energy surrounding it, sending out flashes just bright enough to illuminate the edges of the large figure stalking towards him.
The very large figure.
Donnie clutches the ball to his chest. It’s his only chance to save his new little brother. He’s not giving it up for anything.
“Nope. No, thank you, actually. I’ll just be heading out now.”
He slips a small device from his utility pouch.
“Hey, no, I’m not just gonna let you—”
Donnie gives it a light toss, immediately turning to shield his eyes from the flash-bang. The noise pierces through his ears into his skull, drilling in a sharp pain that leaves a high-pitched ringing to encompass him in its wake. He blinks his eyes open, starbursts flitting across his vision regardless of how he’d taken cover.
The Big Guy stumbles around, clutching his head. Donnie takes the moment to really acknowledge how weirdly shaped he is. He’s larger and stockier than any human Donnie’s seen, and his back has a massive lump that he can’t quite identify in the dim light.
A yokai then.
It makes sense Draxum’s not the only one after it. Empyrean is rare. He’s not going to stand around here and wait to see who else turns up.
He bolts out the door, aiming for a fire escape.
Get to the roof, lose the Big Guy, make a portal. It’s easy, it’s three steps, it’s—
A large hand wraps around his ankle when he’s only halfway up the ladder, and Donnie kicks out wildly, trying to hold on to both the ladder and the Agent. His foot makes contact with something, and a grunt bypasses the ringing in Donnie’s ears.
Taking the opening, Donnie scrambles up. The rungs dig into his hands, and he bangs his knee throwing himself up onto the stairs.
Shit, shit, shit, shit—
It’s hard to tell how much of the clanging is Donnie and how much of it is his pursuer.
“Give it back!”
No!
“Stop! Chasing! Me!” Donnie pants back.
Then, the world tilts around him with a crash, and a sharp pain laces up his leg. The Agent goes rolling, and Donnie reorientents himself to find his leg has fallen through a hole in the platform.
Shit!
His ankle is grabbed from the level below. He thrashes against the grip, but the movement turns the pain white-hot. His head bangs on metal as he spasms. He needs to move. He needs to get up.
His vision clears, and he’s staring at something green and red.
Their eyes meet, and Red’s anger turns to confusion just long enough for his grip to slacken. Donnie’s wretches away, adrenaline carrying him up the stairs, snagging the Agent as he goes.
“Wait!”
“Go away!” Donnie rolls onto the roof with a groan. He has a feeling he’s also looking pretty green and red right now. God, he’s going to need so many tetanus shots after this. Can turtles even get tetanus?
He fumbles for the portal emblem. He should be out of here, like, yesterday.
“Wait! Please.” Red lurches to the roof as well, but freezes as soon as he sees Donnie. “Holy shit,” he breathes out.
Donnie freezes too. The Big Guy/Red/Pain-In-Donnie’s-Shell is a turtle. Just like him. Just like Michelangelo.
Red reaches out one of those massive hands, and the way he does it is so gentle and hopeful, but his eyes shine with grief. He’s looking at Donnie like Donnie is the answer he’s been looking for. “Leo? Is that you?”
Donnie wants to scratch his skin off to escape his gaze. He’s no one’s answer.
“Who’s Leo?”
“I—You have to be though. You have to be,” Red mutters to himself. “Unless… Mikey?”
“Who’s Mikey?”
Red’s chest heaves, looking for all the world like Donnie just broke his heart.
Donnie should move, take advantage of the distraction.
“I’m sorry, you just look so much like—” He chokes, and Donnie is horrified to see his eyes glistening. No, stop it. Don’t cry. He’d give anything to not have to deal with that. “I had brothers. I’ve just never seen anyone else look like us.”
Red looks empty, like his mind is a thousand miles away.
Donnie turns away. Not his problem. The emblem is a familiar weight in his hand as he traces a glyph onto the roof. The portal opens, and his bones sag with relief. Time to get out of here.
Except, Donnie’s never been able to turn his brain off. He likes to pick at things until they make sense, and everything about this interaction is telling him to figure it out.
As his foot hovers over the portal, he pauses.
“Mikey… Mikey wouldn’t happen to stand for Michelangelo, would it?”
Red’s head snaps up. “Yes. Oh my gosh, yes. Do you know him? Is he okay?” He takes a step towards Donnie.
“Back up,” Donnie snaps. He prefers to stay out of grabbing distance.
Red complies, holding his hands out placatingly. “Okay, yeah, whatever you say.” He’s clearly eyeing the portal about to take Donnie, but this desperation is something Donnie is familiar with. He’ll say anything to get Donnie to give him what he wants. And Donnie can work with that.
“You said he’s your brother?”
“Yes. He’s my little brother. Please, if you know him, I need to find him.” The words are too raw for Donnie. Instead, he decides to focus on logic.
Michelangelo—or rather, Mikey—is Donnie’s brother because they were mutated together by Draxum. But there were two other turtles. And if this is Mikey’s brother, then that means he must be Donnie’s as well. And if Red is one of them, then Donnie should take him back to Draxum.
He looks at Red, then down to the bruises on his own arm in the shape of Draxum’s hand.
“Who did that to you?” Red’s brow is furrowed, but his expression is wide open. Concern. Care.
It makes Donnie feel a certain way, but he’s never been good at recognizing his own emotions.
“It doesn’t matter.”
Donnie’s curious. He wants to stay here and learn more. Another part of him says it would be so easy to trick Red into following him back to Draxum.
A third, secret part of him doesn’t want to bring Red anywhere near Draxum.
His foot edges towards the portal. Maybe he can just leave and pretend this never happened.
“Mikey’s going to be fine,” Donnie promises. It’s like every ounce of determination in his body has solidified into that one fact. “I’m going to make sure of it.”
Red must catch on because he reaches out again. “No—”
But it’s too late because Donnie’s already falling back into the portal and letting the light overtake him.
He collapses as soon as he’s through, and Donnie’s body lets him know it’s upset with him.
Everything feels like one big bruise, and then of course are the actual bruises on his arm and knee, and his head pounds, and his ears ring, and, oh yeah, the scrapes and gashes up his leg, and wow, that sure is quite a bit of blood—
Donnie jerks his gaze away, bile rising in his throat.
Okay. Need to get that sorted out.
He heaves himself to a seated position, but then the world goes all twisty, and he’s catching himself on his elbows.
Weak. Useless. Get up. If you collapse now, no one’s going to come save you.
And maybe on a different day, Donnie wouldn’t care so much. Maybe on a different day, he’d let himself lie here for a little bit. But today is today, and Mikey needs him, and Donnie made a promise.
With gritted teeth, he pushes himself back up, not giving time for his body to give out again. He is getting up.
He sways on his feet, but braces himself against a wall. Maybe he should have brought Red with him after all.
Donnie recoils at the thought though, which is weird because he wants nothing more than to bring Mikey home and keep him safe, but his instincts scream to leave Red behind. It’s something to think over later, but he doubts he’ll be able to figure it out. It’s less-than-logical, and that’s where Donnie flounders.
He stumbles forward, one step after another. All he needs to do is make it to the medbay and slap some bandages on. Then he’ll be peachy.
His plan is derailed when he only makes it a few steps into the base before being noticed by Draxum.
He strides over to Donnie, and rips the Agent from his arms. “You actually got it.”
Draxum holds the Agent up to his face, but the Agent isn’t looking at Draxum, it’s looking at Donnie, and their eyes meet, and Donnie feels bad—
“Told you I would.”
Draxum’s eyes flare, but he’s back in a good mood, so he only cuffs Donnie on the back of his head. “Don’t act arrogant.”
Donnie squeezes his eyes shut and pretends like Draxum didn’t just knock whatever equilibrium Donnie’s found out of whack again. Please stop spinning, world.
“Sorry.” Would it be rude if he just slips past Draxum? He hasn’t been dismissed yet, but he's kind of dripping blood, so maybe Draxum could make an exception? “Um, do you think I could, um—”
“Don’t stutter,” Draxum sneers, and it doesn’t feel good, but he’s already told Donnie that a million times, so it really is Donnie’s fault.
“Right. Sorry. Um, medbay?”
Draxum sighs. Donnie’s disappointed him. When isn’t he though?
“Yes, go on.” He waves Donnie away with a flick of his hand, already focused back on the Agent. The Agent is pressed back as far away from Draxum as possible in the little bubble Donnie put it in.
Donnie scurries by before the approval is retracted.
Wound-care doesn’t take too long. He slathers on ointment and does a few neat little stitches, and then his whole leg is wrapped up. The bruises are fine on their own, and he takes a few pain meds for his head, and by the end of it, he’s still completely battered, but he does feel a bit better once he’s done downing a juice pouch. So. Success?
“Donatello!” Draxum calls.
Donnie limps his way back over, and Draxum is already opening a portal, a jar of oozesquitos under his arm.
He walks through without waiting for him, and there’s a spike of something hot in Donnie’s chest. I’m hurt, can’t you see I’m hurt? Why don’t you care?
Donnie shoves those thoughts away. They have no place here.
He steps in after Draxum back into the Big Nexus Hotel.
If he thought the place was overwhelming before, he’d been overreacting. This was overwhelming.
The bright lights are the same, but this time, they seem to dance and merge like the world’s trippiest kaleidoscope. Everything tilts, but it turns out the world’s not tipping, Donnie is, and he tries to close his eyes, but he suffocates in the dark, and then that goddamned ringing decides to drown everything out, but it’s not doing a good job because he can still hear everything, and it’s so loud and why is it so high-pitched—
He stumbles after Draxum, focusing only on the backs of Draxum’s heels. This is a good strategy. It’s efficient, it’s obedient, it works.
Or at least it does until Draxum stops and Donnie doesn’t realize, and he ends up crashing right into Draxum’s back.
Draxum shoots him a withering look.
Shit, yep, back it up, Dontron.
He staggers a few steps away.
They somehow make it up the elevator into Big Mama’s office, but Donnie’s too busy trying to reign his senses in to notice until they’re already there.
And.
Donnie must be out of it more than he thought because that is one giant spider lady. He sneaks a glance at the faces around him, and everyone else seems okay with it, so. Alright then.
“Baron Draxum! How splendiferous. You’ve brought it?” Something about Big Mama being a spider makes it seem like she’s practically drooling.
“Of course I have. Now where’s my turtle?”
Big Mama sighs. “Never any time for pleasantries with you. Very well then.” She claps twice, and someone comes to take the bugs from Draxum.
The sun starts to rise past the windows, pink and distant. It’s been a long night. The reminder of how long he’s been awake makes him feel incrementally more tired. No rest for the wicked, eh?
A door opens, and Michelangelo is dragged through. He’s hanging almost completely limp between two yokai twice his size.
Draxum scoffs. “Can he not walk himself?”
“Nothing a little rest won’t fix, Draxy.”
Draxum nods and jerks his chin at Donnie. It sends him rushing to fit himself underneath Mikey’s arm.
“Hey. Hi. I’m here.” It feels important to let him know, but Mikey doesn’t react, eyes despondent. It stings a bit—Donnie really doesn’t like being ignored—but Mikey is pretty out of it right now. Maybe he’s too tired to look up?
Donnie tries sticking his face lower, right in Mikey’s line of sight so they’re almost nose-to-nose. It doesn’t help.
In the background, Draxum and Big Mama are wrapping up pleasantries, so he shepherds Mikey forward.
Donnie can do this because he is strong, and capable, and going to be the best brother the world’s ever seen, but his leg was barely putting up with Donnie’s weight, let alone Donnie-plus-Mikey. Maybe this would go smoother if they had another brother, like Red. Red could probably carry both of them.
They don’t though, so Donnie makes do, following Draxum to the elevator and down to the main floor. Maybe it’s the shock, or maybe he feels the same connection with Donnie that Donnie feels, but Mikey’s feet stumble along with him.
“You’re not a hallucination, are you?” It’s whispered so softly that Donnie can only hear it because Mikey’s mouth is inches from his ear.
“No.” He’s struck with the realization that, for all Donnie knows about Mikey, Mikey knows nothing about him. “I’m Donnie.”
“Donnie?” His brow furrows, like he’s confused.
“Yeah. Donnie.”
“Oh.”
He seems a little more present than before, so Donnie tries to make himself as solid as possible. Steady, just like when he put his hand on Mikey’s head through the bars. His muscles are traitors. They shake, they hurt, but none of that matters.
“Where are we going?”
Donnie glances down at the bruises and bandages decorating Mikey’s limbs.
He swallows hard, ignoring how his leg burns. “Away.”
It sounds less certain than he would like.