#|( v. au. single father )( a mutant like me )|

[braindamxge-blog]

HE’S A SINGLE FATHER...

War between the mutants of Summerland and the militant Divisions continues whether David likes it or not. When being a mutant does more to decide his ALLEGIANCE than he’d hoped, he finds himself an active part of the Summerlanders’ struggle. Melanie uses him in exactly the way the parasite warned she would, but Ptonomy keeps him on a short leash. He’s a weapon, not a soldier. Something to be WIELDED, not someone with will enough to contribute, and the really sick part is what progress they all tell him he’s made. With nothing else to worry about, with no decisions to justify, he demonstrates remarkable CONTROL over his abilities, his illness. Turns out he makes a better tool than a patient, or a person.

Finding a CHILD during a raid on a Division compound changes David’s tacit consent to this arrangement. A few hours in Cary’s lab confirms what David had known the moment he’d picked up the baby: she’s a MUTANT. Though she’s far too young for her primary ability to have manifested, she shows signs of power immediately. David swears that’s how he’d found her tucked away in the compound. Her mind had reached out to his; she’d called to him.

The decision of what to do with the child falls to Melanie, as all decisions do. After an effort to find the baby’s parents goes nowhere, Melanie decides the child should be raised at Summerland. She frames the idea as ATTRACTIVE. Never before, by their knowledge, has a mutant been brought up by mutants in a community exclusively composed of mutants. But the more the other Summerlanders support the plan, the more appalled by it David becomes. He can’t comfortably align with the Summerland ideology at the best of times, let alone watch them indoctrinate an infant. So, David takes the child and leaves Summerland.

For some time, David DOUBTS he’s done the right thing. Suddenly he’s wanted by both sides, mutant and human, as he’s betrayed the Summerlanders and discovers very quickly the Divisions noticed they’d lost a baby. Beyond the POLITICS, he has a child, a daughter he names Levi. He considers leaving her at an orphanage, but realizes there might be something to Melanie’s instinct that a mutant raised by mutants would end up a happier person. With not much to go on apart from a STUBBORN determination to do right by an orphaned mutant kid, David raises little Levi Haller on his own.

[spectrumscribe]

one, two, step-

@rhi-draws-things three million years ago drew me my goatsona (goat persona) for my DnD group, and i was supposed to give her something in exchange, so uh sorry i’m late Rhi but here’s a Thing that i hope you like.

set in/based on Rhi’s excellent tmnt 2012 Fusion AU. an alternate universe where mutants have the ability to fuse with other mutants and also humans. its v good trust me.

Borne out of habit and repetition, there’s eventually a day that Mikey wanders into the barn specifically just to see Donnie, because he’s got nothing else to do and no one else he wants to talk with. Not that he really wants to talk, what with a weight of aimless uselessness sitting in his chest and a snarl of unhappy emotions waiting to spark into a right storm. He just needs… something. Something to do, someone to see who isn’t anyone inside the farmhouse.

Of course, Donnie is about as welcoming as he ever is these days. Crookedly slouched, absolute intensity on his work, no room for niceties or kindness. Just steely determination to fix things.

Donnie has been like that since they got here, and even worse since he diagnosed Leo’s coma as one that could be indefinite. Mikey has seen only scarce glimpses of his older brother, since Donnie can’t figure out how to sit still longer than passing out on the couch for a few hours. It’s a little weird, seeing Donnie behave so much like Mikey sometimes does. Honestly, it’s disconcerting, and it gives away just how really upset Donnie probably is about Leo, and their father, and everything.

It makes him a right asshole to talk with, too.

Mikey says hello anyway, and rolls his eyes at the curt greeting he gets in return, as well as the “go away, Mikey, I’m busy,” that follows right after.

“You sure you’re busy? Not just obsessively working on shit ‘cause you’re neurotic as hell?” Mikey needles, leaning on the desk beside Donnie and hoping to maybe start a good bicker. His brother doesn’t even look up.

“Mmm,” is all Donnie grunts. Oh, so he’s regressed to monosyllables? Nice.

Mikey pokes Donnie’s shoulder. His brother shrugs it sharply and keeps working. Mikey just about rolls his eyes out of his skull.

“Skill testing question: when was the last time you stood up, and if that number is not below five hours ago, how much feeling have you lost in your lower half at this point?”

“Mgh.”

“That answer just fills me with new knowledge, really. I feel all warm and tingly and shit. I might write a thesis paper on it.”

“Go away, Mikey.”

Mikey sighs loudly, pushing away from the table dramatically. “Look, I’m bored as fuck, so not I’m leavin’ until you stand up and at least attempt to take care of yourself.”

“I’m fine,” Donnie says, even though his voice is rough and his eyes bloodshot. Mikey frowns, watching his brother’s steady fingers keep working at the helmet-thing for April. Though his hands move fluidly, Mikey sees a serious slump of exhaustion to Donnie’s shoulders.

And not even a herd of wild horses could drag Donnie off to bed, not while Leo’s still asleep and Donnie has work he apparently has to do, even though he needed a break like, forever ago. Mikey knows his brother well enough to know no matter what he says… nothing is going to make Donnie go and actually take care of himself right now.

Desire for a good mock fight evaporates in Mikey, and he’s left feeling worn out again.

Mikey sighs to himself, watching his brother try to single-mindedly solve everyone’s problems in one go. A part of him is kind of jealous of Donnie’s sheer determination and near compulsion- at least he has goals, and drive to do meet those goals. Mikey has energy to burn, but nowhere to aim it on this stupid farmland. Playing with chickens and cooking meals only keeps him entertained for so long, but right now that’s all he knows how to do. Everything else is outside his capabilities.

Mikey misses home, misses their friends, misses their missing father and things being easy, at least sometimes. They’re all cooped up in the farmhouse together right now- him, Donnie, Raph and Casey and April- and yet it feels like there’s distance between them all, so long as the gap Leo left remains open.

Mikey’s lonely, honestly, and he knows his brother probably is too. Unwillingness to actually talk that out doesn’t erase it from being a thing.

Donnie has no energy to keep this endless workhorse drudgery up anymore. Mikey has too much energy to handle and not a single task left to spend it on. Neither of them is willing yet to actually talk about all the horrible stuff sitting inside them, but they’re both in serious need of closeness with someone, because this isolation feels like it could kill.

And then Mikey nearly smacks himself upside the head. There’s an easy solution to all of this.

“Hey, Donnie?”

“Mm? What.”

“Turn around.”

“What? No I’m working-”

Mikey grabs the back of Donnie’s chair and spins him around. Donnie barely lets go of his tools in time, unwillingly rounding with a scowl in place and his mouth already open to scold.

“Fuse with me,” Mikey says seriously, and Donnie’s mouth clicks shut.

“…why?” Donnie asks, giving Mikey a suspicious look. Mikey grins, grabbing his hand.

“Do it and you’ll understand,” He says cryptically, just to annoy Donnie, and hauls his brother out of the seat he’s probably been in for the last ten hours. Donnie stumbles, blinking rapidly and muttering about hypoglycemic attacks and the chances of him passing out mid fusion dance. Mikey ignores Donnie’s grumblings, and artfully corrals his brother into the dance.

Donnie drags his feet at first, annoyed and clearly at the end of his science-‘til-I-drop binge, but Mikey feels a tingle start in tips of his fingers as they fall into sync. It spreads up his hands and arms, from his toes up his legs- fluttering and warm and making him feel lighter than air. There are hints of sadder things, of heavy hearted emotions and pain, and those feelings from Donnie are evenly matched by Mikey’s. Neither of them is okay, neither of them is willing to talk about it. Not yet.

Fusion removes the need to talk.

Mikey laughs in surprise as Donnie abruptly spins him, his brother abruptly throwing himself 100% into the effort to fuse, and there’s Donnie’s familiar laugh; something Mikey hasn’t heard in weeks since they arrived at the farmhouse. It’s creaky in places but its real, and it makes a bubbly feeling burst in Mikey’s chest.

They spin together, drawing close as their feet slide and tap in perfect sync- they’re at opposite ends of the scale nine times out of ten, and then there’s times like this, where it’s all ease of movement and simple knowledge that the other knows the exact step they’re going to take next- where everything just makes clear perfect sense, and there’s no falter in their communication at all.

They’re the B-team for a reason, and it’s not just because their older brothers are sometimes jerks and get too easily exasperated with their eccentricities. It’s because they sometimes just click.

Donnie actually smiles, and it’s like months of stress lift from his eyes just with that expression, and Mikey mirrors the toothy grin with all the sincerity he’s got in him. It overpowers all the twisty awful emotions he’d had before this, and Mikey finally feels nothing but okay.

Donnie obviously feels the same, laughing freely as they dance, and against the echo-y rafters of the barn and mixed with the smell of old wood and hay and substances Mikey couldn’t even name- it’s amazing sounding, and it draws more exhilarated laughter out of Mikey.

Step, step, and twirl- they crash together in a burst of feelings and understanding and unconditional familial affection and love-

-and Monnie opens his eyes, all three of them feeling significantly less achy and awful than Donnie’s had, and from a much higher perspective above the ground. He yawns, feeling the urge to go and sleep off the fading exhaustion one part of him has, but the burbling energy the other half provides gives boost to the absolute determination he possesses, and then he doesn’t need to anymore.

Stretching his four arms above his head and behind his back, Monnie sighs happily as strength and vigor erases aches and cramps from bending over a desk and bedside. Good fucking god, why didn’t he do this hours ago, if not days? Weeks, he could have done this weeks ago, rather than sit around feeling miserable and tired and aimless and too wired to sleep at all. Why didn’t he? Everything is so much easier to handle now that he’s fused.

Both sides of him respond that it’s because he’s two parts of dysfunctional individuals with communication problems. Monnie tells himselves to fuck off.

He glances at the now very short table all of Donnie’s projects are scattered across, and finds a dozen new solutions popping into his head now that he’s got a fresh streak of creativity to add to the genius’s, and all the knowledge needed to articulate, refine, and execute the ideas. The daunting tasks of medical, mechanical, and economical problem solving are much less stressful, now that he’s got a thrum of excitement in his chest and broader perspective.

Of course… a repressed part of one half is calling to the restless part of the other half, demanding to be outside in the sun and getting his blood pumping. Part of him has been cooped up in this barn for weeks, and it makes the other halve jittery just to experience secondhanded. Monnie feels it thirdhanded and he understands both sides of the equation.

“I need to finish this, though,” Monnie mutters to himself, picking up his tools and the helmet and examining them, as well as absently starting to rearrange the desk into a manner that suits all him instead of just one half of him. He really does have so many things to get done- so many things, jeez- but the sun is warm and the wind is sweet and part of him recalls a very lovely climbing tree not far from the farm.

Admittedly, Monnie is as determinedly focused as he is impulse and whim driven. He needs to get work done, but he also needs to get out and stretch and re-fucking-lax, Donnie, you’re tying yourself up in knots like this-

-I know what I’m doing-

-wrecking your posture is what you’re doing-

-like you’re one to-

-talk, slouching so-

-much of the time over-

-videogames-

-desks-

Monnie shakes his head, quieting the brief squabble with himselves. His fusion remains solid despite the bickering, which is nice since it’s been ages since he was himself, and while he has occasional scattering days where a lot of messy and painful feelings make his emotions and opinions invert and turn sharp and terrible and hating, aimed at himself and himselves and everything- Monnie really, really does love himself a lot. Even if he finds bits of himselves annoying at times.

He’s made of two halves that click just right, sometimes, despite being such laughable opposites in so many ways, a perfect mix of them both… and that topic of thought leads Monnie to an idea.

“…strike a balance!” He tells himself triumphantly, setting down his tools and projects. “One- two- one hour of hiking, and then work for a few more, and then dinner prep and another walk? Yeah, that seems fair.”

Both parts of him are in total agreement that being away from the farmhouse will be good; getting away from the oppressive silence and failure that lingers in the upstairs levels, choking and painful to even think on. That will ease the continuous worrying Leo’s coma causes for everyone.

Which Monnie isn’t going to do, because he has a tree to climb and a forest to explore with new eyes and so very many things to accomplish after that.

Monnie steps away from the desk, humming pleasantly to himself an aimless but upbeat tune as he walks towards the barn doors. They open easy as anything for him- he has twice the strength of either side of him- and Monnie is bathed in the hot afternoon sun as he steps out.

The wind is sweet, the more indoors-y half of him finds delightedly, and he laughs to himself as he squints up at the blue, blue sky. It really is such a lovely day, and being himself makes it seem even lovelier.

Raph is on the porch currently, fiddling with what looks like his sketchbook, and staring at Monnie with something between exasperation and confusion. Monnie waves cheerily, and turns the motion into a quadruple flipoff as he absconds from the farmhouse lawn. Raph had been snappish and unpleasant to Mikey this morning when he just tried to say hi, and Monnie feels absolutely justified in flipping his brother off and explaining nothing of why he’s fused.

The forest welcomes him and the jaunty steps he takes speed up as it does. The trees are taller and thicker than anywhere in NYC, a hundred birds and small animals are just nearby, and the earthy rich scent of everything speaks to a nearly buried part of his brain.

It feels wonderful. The tug of duty and responsibility and guilt and love remains, tying Monnie to the farmhouse despite how much he just wants to run and run and never look back, but he lets none of those things seize hold of him.

Monnie will go home later, finish projects and make dinner for everyone- later. For now, he has a tree to climb.

[braindamxge-blog]

a starter for @opheliajumped he’s a single father ; a new england café

They’d agreed to meet at a NEUTRAL location, but David doubts how neutral a café can possibly be. He chooses a table at the edge of the outdoor seating area, holds his four-year-old on his lap, and orders lunch for two as if he’s meeting a good and CONSTANT friend. Levi reaches for the wedge of bread on David’s plate and crams it into her mouth before David offers her a spoon and his side of mac’n’cheese.

And then Astoria sits in front of them. David chokes on a sip of water. It’s like she’d just APPEARED, and if David didn’t know better he’d think she’d developed some new mutation. “That’s still-- so impressive,” he splutters, and SMILES in spite of himself. Levi stares at the woman like she’s never seen another, macaroni halfway between bowl and mouth. “That was you, right? You made it so I didn’t notice you coming?” A thought occurs to make his smile FALTER. “Or am I-- numb to the world at this point?”

[braindamxge-blog]

a starter for @suburbanrelapse he’s a single father ; Sage London’s motel room

He’s used to feeling persecuted, and had even grown used to BEING persecuted, but he’s still adjusting to the idea that he might actually be some sort of criminal fugitive, a child abductor no less. Not that Melanie Bird had any LEGAL claim to Levi, nor did the Divisions keep her locked in their lab for any ethical purpose, and David had lost a lot of time wondering if abducting an abductee still made him an abductor, but the FEELING persists.

     “London?” David calls through the motel room door. “Or-- DOLLFACE, it’s David. Haller, David Haller--” Which maybe isn’t something he should announce. He’s too exhausted to even glance down the hall, but his arms tighten PROTECTIVELY around the little girl strapped to his chest. “Doll, I need your help. I did something-- stupid, and it’s catching up.”