#except it started storming halfway and i just managed to duck into my favorite little chinese restaurant

[carlyraejepsans]

chinese cuisine truly is banger after banger after banger babygirl who does it like you

[wroughtbetwixtfanfic]

A Place To Call Home, Ch 4.

Fandom: Rosewell, New Mexico.

Summary: A canon divergent take on Roswell, New Mexico, and the relationships between Isobel, Noah, and Rosa; later parts will shift the focus to Michael and Alex, as well as Michael and Noah. What is it like to share a body with another alien? Can broken trust be mended? Do the ends really justify the means?

Rating: M.

Tags: Canon divergence, minor character death, not really character death, body sharing, polyamory, hurt/comfort, addiction problems, sickfic, revenge, fix it, friends to enemies to lovers, lovers to enemies to lovers, Noah is complicated, cw: dubious age stuff for a little bit considering Nasedo/Noah is who-the-hell-knows how old.

Word Count: 2333

Love, Nasedo had always thought, was often a weakness.

It felt good, there was no question about that. Every time they saw Rosa, there was a giddy, bubbly feeling that rose in their chest, and it felt as if electricity was running through them every time Rosa looked at them with that smile that she reserved only for them. Isobel was happy. Nasedo was happy. But it was that happiness that bred complacency. And  complacency? Complacency was dangerous.

"We'll tell her," Isobel decided the night after their second date, "if it gets serious."

They had gone to two movies in two weeks. Nothing else had happened. But they both knew, even if they hadn't talked about it, that they were already hopelessly attached. It was an unfortunate mechanism built into their biology; their species, while not necessarily monogamous, formed deep relationships with others after an emotional connection. Those connections were often lifelong, and they were not easily broken. In many cases, they lasted even beyond the death of the person. It wasn't anything to treat lightly, and Nasedo knew-- as Isobel knew-- that  'serious' was just around the corner. That was, if Rosa felt the same way.

If. 'If' was the only thing between their secret, and potential disaster.

It was the concept of everyone else finding out that was Isobel's true fear. Early May, Max almost saw texts from Rosa when he borrowed Isobel's phone for something; the next day, Isobel broke down before history class, and Nasedo steered them out to the bleachers. It was a warm, sunny day, and he stretched out with their sunglasses on and earphones in, listening to Isobel's favorite music. They were finally starting to relax when a shadow blocked out the light.

"Whatcha doing? You're supposed to be in AP History."

Nasedo cracked open an eye and glowered at Max. Although Nasedo had sworn to protect the prince, and would do so if only for Isobel's sake, he found the boy an annoyance. "You're blocking my sun."

"You get one more truancy, you'll be banned from the prom."

"I don't care about prom."

"Okay. Who are you right now?"

Oh, if only Max knew. Nasedo gave him a little goodbye wave and put the earphones back in, smiling as Max walked away with a frown marring that  pretty face of his. The brief amusement was short-lived. At some point, Isobel was going to have to say something to her brothers. If they were going to exist together for long-term, perhaps for their whole lives, it wasn't a secret she could keep forever. Michael already looked at them in a way that made Nasedo suspicious. Michael was a firebrand, reminding Nasedo of himself; he was angry, violent, chaotic, and too smart for his own good. It was only a matter of time, Nasedo was convinced, before Michael figured them out. And without a doubt, he'd tell Max. He told Max everything.

Unfortunately, Max had been right. Principal Markham pulled them into her office, banning Isobel from prom. Nasedo sighed. Isobel would fix things later. He took them home after school, locking them in their room to make up the homework they'd missed. Stupid rules. They had a perfect 4.0 GPA, who cared if they missed a few classes?

Isobel's parents, apparently. The minute they heard what happened, they started in on the snooty lectures and pointless threats. Nasedo nodded and muttered some platitudes. Whatever would get them to shut up. He was relieved when nighttime fell, and he was able to get ready for bed. Isobel hadn't returned; he couldn't blame her. Well, sometimes she needed a night, and he was content to curl up with ice cream and a trashy novel. It was a few minutes past 10pm when Isobel's phone buzzed.

I need you. Crashdown, roof.

Rosa. Nasedo rolled out of bed and threw on some clothes, slinking out the window and into the night. He rushed to the Crashdown, climbing the fire escape to get to the roof. No one was there. Perching under the sign, Nasedo gazed up to the sky and waited. Soon, he sense the familiar presence he'd come to treasure. Rosa hopped up to sit next to him,  letting out a long, defeated sigh.

"I'm so glad you're here. I had such a crap day."

Nasedo smiled as Rosa twined her fingers with his. "Me, too. But, hey, it's over now." He lifted his hand, bringing Rosa's with it, and pointed to a collection of stars. "Look. I found my favorite constellation. It's a man and a serpent. Maybe the man's killing the serpent, maybe the serpent's killing the man. You can't tell where the man ends and the snake begins."

"What's it called?"

"Ophiuchus."

Resting her head on Nasedo's shoulder, she let out a soft hum. "I love it. Where's Pisces?"

"There." He pointed to the constellation. "Is it your sign?"

"Mhm. It looks like an arrow."

"I'm sorry I missed your birthday this year. We'll have to do something special next year," Nasedo said, before realizing what that implied. "I  mean, if..."

"Izzie?"

"Yeah?"

Grinning, Rosa leaned in and kissed Nasedo on the cheek. "Thank you."

Blinking, he touched the spot where her lips had been. Nasedo opened his mouth to say something, anything, but suddenly they were kissing for real. Rosa had grabbed the front of Isobel's jacket and tugged them together; Nasedo closed his eyes, kissing her back. Her lips were warm, gentle, and she smelled of patchouli. Her hair was soft under his touch, and she smiled against his mouth as he trailed his fingers through it. Oh, it felt perfect. It felt right. But then she was pulling back, murmuring something that Nasedo barely heard.

"We should go before my dad comes looking for me."

Nasedo stroked her cheek. He didn't want to go, he never wanted to go, but it was true enough. Isobel would be furious if they got discovered. "Will you be alright?"

"I will now." Rosa's cheek were flushed as she stood and gave Nasedo's hand a light squeeze. She ducked her head, eyes bright. "Goodnight."

"Goodnight, Rosa."

Heading down the fire escape, Nasedo was halfway down when Rosa popped her head over the side of the building. "Hey! Movie night tomorrow. Your choice."

"Last House On The Left?" Nasedo suggested. Rosa loved horror movies. "Text me what time your shift ends."

"It's a date."

By the time Nasedo got home and got back into bed, his heart felt light as a feather and filled with warmth. Maybe love could feel like fireworks for him, after all. Isobel was back in the morning, muttering to herself about not getting the first kiss. It was good-natured, of course. Everything was... fine. It seemed like, just maybe, life was looking up and everything would work itself out in the end. All that was left was one tiny little thing.

Telling Rosa.

"I don't feel comfortable kissing someone who doesn't know who she's kissing," Nasedo said as they got ready to head to the Crashdown. 6pm, time to pick up Rosa. "It's not right."

So, the plan was to go to the movie, get some dinner after, and then take Rosa to the roof and tell her there. It wasn't totally private, but it was quiet and would give both parties an easy way to escape if necessary. Hopefully, it wouldn't be. They had both waited so long to  tell someone, they were all but bouncing in anticipation by the time they got to the Crashdown. They could do it. They would do it. It would  be okay. Except...

... Max. Max, who was supposed to be off with friends, was right there.

Isobel turned to run back out before Max could see, but it was too late. He shouted to her, waving her over. Nasedo got shoved out of front, the opposite of their usual way of handling tings. Was it because Isobel knew how much Nasedo disliked Max? Most likely, but damn it he at least needed to see and hear what was going on. By the time he  managed to crawl his way back in, it was just in time to hear Isobel pretend to not know Rosa, and rush out of the cafe towards Max's car.

"What did you do?" Nasedo hissed. "Isobel!"

"I panicked! She brought up our date right in front of Max, and I... Oh, god. What did I do? How do I fix this?"

"Go back in there and apologize!"

But Max was already coming out of the cafe, and Isobel had to fake wanting to go home. Once they were there, she tried to text Rosa. No reply. Rosa wasn't at any of her usual places the next day, and she wasn't at school on Monday. Isobel curled up on their bed and cried; Nasedo could feel their heart breaking, but he knew it was probably nothing compared to what Rosa was feeling. Isobel wrote a longer email, explaining that she panicked because she wasn't out to Max yet, and was worried that it would get back to Kyle-- Liz's boyfriend and the school's biggest homophobe. She was sorry, terribly sorry, and would do anything to make it up to Rosa.

A whole week went by, with no word. Prom loomed. Isobel managed to mind-bend her way back into the principal's good  graces, and ended up going to the dance with Max and Michael. Isobel and Nasedo figured they could have some fun and try to numb the sadness for a little, but then Max opened his mouth about leaving Roswell, and Isobel fell apart. She stormed away, finding a dark corner to huddle into; Nasedo eased his way into control, just as Michael approached.

"You okay?" he asked, offering a cup of punch.

Nasedo turned his head away from it. "I'll be fine. I need a moment."

For a long moment, Michael said nothing. His eyes met theirs, and there was some emotion in Michael’s expression that Nasedo hadn't quite noticed before. Something he couldn't identify. Whatever it was, Michael just shrugged. "Look, I don't know if this is your scene right now or not. If you want to go, I'll cover for you."

Nodding, Nasedo headed for the second exit, the one away from Max. He'd have to thank Michael later. For now, he knew what he wanted to do. What he needed to do, and Isobel had been too nervous to try. He headed towards the Crashdown. It looked closed, but the door was still open. At first, he didn’t see Rosa, but then she came out from the back with a knapsack in hand. When she saw him, she froze.

“Izzie...” Rosa trailed off and narrowed her eyes. “We’re closed.”

Nasedo took a step closer. “I came to apologize in person. I know I screwed up, Rosa. Please, can we talk?”

“What’s there to talk about? I don’t want to be your dirty little secret, Izzie. I thought I’d be okay with it, with us keeping things hidden,  but... But it really hurt. I don’t want to be something you’re ashamed  of. We both deserve better than that.”

“I’m not ashamed of you. You are amazing, and I want nothing more than to be who I am with you all of the time. I love you.”

“You... Izzie, you can’t just say that if you don’t mean it.”

“I mean it.”

Silence fell over them both as Rosa stared up at him, eyes wide. Finally, she managed to sputter out a reply. “I was going to leave town for a while. There’s this guy, he says he could help me stay clean. It’s been really hard, and I just... I just need someone to be here for me.”

Nasedo felt his stomach churn. “A guy?”

“Not that kind of guy. His name is Valenti. He’s kind of a father figure to me, you know? I thought if you didn’t want me here...”

“I do want you here. I want you to be with me.”

“I want to be with you, too, but I can’t hide forever. It’s not me.”

“So run away with me instead.” Nasedo blurted out the thought before he could think. “It’s less than a month until I graduate. If you can hang on until then, we can leave here. Start a new life somewhere else, somewhere better. You and me.”

Rosa slowly set down her knapsack. “Really? Are you sure?

“I am.”

“What about Max? Michael?”

“They’re leaving after graduation, anyways. Even if they weren’t, we... I need to make my own path. I want you by my side on that path.”

“Well.” Rosa shook her head, sitting down on one of the bar stools. “When you make an apology, you really make an apology. Oh Izzie, what if it doesn’t work out?”

“Then we’ll be friends and laugh about how silly we were, but it’ll be far away from here.”

“And we just have to keep this up until June?”

“Yes, and I’ll give you anything you need.”

“Like, love notes?”

Nasedo couldn’t help but smile, a little. “If you want them.” He reached out, taking Rosa’s hand in his. “I know it sucks to have to hide, and I’m  sorry I hurt you. Let me make it up to you. If you’re still mad at me by graduation, you can always go see this Valenti guy. Right?”

Rosa sighed and gave a playful roll of her eyes. “I suppose I can try to forgive you for acting like a bitch. Kyle is a homophobic ass... But how are you gonna make it up to me? Besides heartfelt letters of affection?”

“Do you trust me?”

“Ignoring your temporary lapse in human decency, yes, I trust you.”

“In that case...” Nasedo took a deep breath. Now or never. “I have a secret I want to share with you. Something I’ve never told anyone.”

“What kind of secret?”

“I think it’s better if I show you.”

[richiefuckfacetozier]

Chapter 11: Piece of My Heart

Story: It’s Not My Fault

Commission by @kseniadraws

Title - Piece of My Heart by Janis Joplin

Also on Archive of Our Own

For other chapters - | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | 24 |

This chapter is told from Richie's perspective and anything in italics is Richie's thoughts.

Richie woke up spread out on his bed in just his boxers. His head felt groggy and his body exhausted in a great way. He had easily had the best sleep in weeks.  Did I dream that Eddie and I got busy last night? We definitely didn’t have sex but he still blew my fucking mind.

He slowly rose out of bed, grabbed his Rolling Stones band shirt from the floor then walked out the door to his bathroom.

He stopped in the middle of the hall because his house smelled delicious. Someone was cooking an incredible breakfast.

He bounded into the kitchen and stopped abruptly in the door frame. Eddie had his back to him, cooking bacon furiously. There were eggs, hash browns, French toast, fruit, and bagels. He was wearing Richie’s favorite blue sweater and it went to his thighs. The sleeves were rolled up 3 or 4 times. He also wore a pair of old pajama pants that did not fit Richie but looked great on Eddie. Everything looks perfect on Eddie.

Richie’s mother was drinking coffee and reading a book, her breakfast plate halfway finished. Richie’s jaw opened in shock.

“Am I in an alternate universe?” Richie blurted out.

His mother looked up and rolled her eyes. “Hello, Richie.” Then went back to eating.

“Hello mother,” Richie responded slowly, “If that is your real name. You seem to be looking...sober.” His mother shot him a nasty glare but did not retort.  

“Good morning, Rich!” Eddie said cutting through the tension with extra cheeriness. He did not turn to look at Richie which made him anxious. How do I play this? Be cool. Don’t show you are in love with him or he will kill you.

“Morning, DUDE. Making breakfast for my mother? She’s a married woman, Eddie. Even if the ass is never around.” His mother scoffed and Richie saw Eddie’s shoulders tense. He went to stand next to Eddie and picked a piece of bacon straight out of the pan. “OUCH FUCK!” He dropped the bacon and cradled his fingers to his chest.

“Richie! You idiot!” Eddie turned off the stove, grabbed Richie’s hand and pulled him over to the sink. He shoved Richie’s hand under the faucet and ran warm water over it.

“Should I grab anything?” His mother asked awkwardly.

“I just stocked your first aid supplies in the cabinet over there.” Eddie pointed behind him. “There is burn cream and bandages inside.”

Eddie inspected his hand as they kept the water running over it. “What’s the damage Dr. K?”

Eddie clicked his tongue in annoyance, “Imbecile disease and a burn. The burn we can treat. The disease not so much.”

Richie laughed and reached across the counter with his not burned hand to grab a piece of French toast. “That’s alright. I’ve lived with the disease my whole life.” He shoved it in his mouth and immediately groaned in delight. “This tastes fucking amazing.”

“Here.” His mother handed Eddie the supplies, picked up her plate of food and left the kitchen.

“Helpful bitch.” Richie mumbled.

Eddie did not respond but his expression softened. He turned off the water and dried off Richie’s hand. He glanced at the kitchen entrance then brought Richie’s hand to his mouth to kiss.

“You alright?” Eddie whispered his cheeks tinted pink. Richie smiled then kissed his cheek quickly, which only made them turn redder.

Richie sighed, “Hey Eds?”

“Don’t call me Eds. I don’t call you ‘Chee’.” Eddie said wittily.

Richie did not answer right away, his mouth had gone dry and his eyes were scanning Eddie obviously. Eddie looked at him with a raised eyebrow waiting for him to say something.

“I was just so turned on at the thought of you calling me ‘Chee’ that I completely forgot what I was going to ask you.” He responded.

Eddie glared at him and let go of his hand. “I’m not fucking calling you ‘Chee’. Get out of my house.”

Richie laughed, “This is my house!”

“What’s your point?” Eddie huffed out. Richie knew he was not actually mad because he made a plate of food for him.

“Thanks! Everything smells fucking amazing. I don’t think I have ever seen this much food in my kitchen in...ever.” Richie began shoving food into his mouth barely taking time to chew or breathe.

“Slow down, Richie! You are going to make yourself vomit.” Eddie grabbed a plate for himself and sat across from him. “And eat fruit, it’s good for you.”

“Yeah yeah.” Richie snagged a banana and peeled it slowly. He made the hardest contact with Eddie as he did it. Eddie’s eyes widened. Then he licked the side of the banana slowly bringing his tongue to the top and took a vicious bite out of it.

Eddie’s voice shook as he said, “I have officially decided you are never coming near my dick with your mouth. Honestly, I don’t know if I want you to kiss me ever again.”

“We’ll see,” Richie smirked. “Oh! You know what we should do today?! Practice driving! Since we have MY car now.” Richie said ‘my car’ with so much pride, it made Eddie smile.

That smile faltered a bit as he answered, “Oh...um...about that…” Eddie began hesitantly. “The others tried to teach me and it went horribly. I had a panic attack just about every time. Even made Ben cry.”

“Shit Eddie. That’s hilarious.” Richie put eggs, bacon, and potatoes in between a bagel. He took a comical bite with almost all the food falling out.

“I cannot handle you.” Eddie shook his head.

“Wont no unless ve try.” Richie said with food spitting everywhere.

“Attractive,” Eddie said dryly.

Richie swallowed quickly, “I think it will be different with me teaching. I’m calmer than the rest of them.”

“I don’t think I would use calm to describe you. Undiagnosed ADHD probably. Calm, not so much. But we can try it though.” Eddie shivered and clung to the sweater a little tighter. “Fuck, I am so cold.”

“Me too. Mind if I use your thighs as earmuffs?” Richie grinned at Eddie’s horror.

He managed to choke out an indignant, “Richie!”

“We haven’t seen each other in two weeks. I have about 50 plus pickup lines to catch up with.” Richie ducked as Eddie threw a bagel at his head, which made them laugh until their sides hurt.

They kept eating and enjoying each other’s company. Richie began picturing this as what living together would be like. After they went to Vermont, he wondered where he and Eddie would end up when they graduated next year. Even when they were just friends, he always loved the thought of them being together forever. Would we get a house? Or an apartment in a city? Do we go to the same college? I may not even go to college. Could we be together in that way? Like a regular couple. We are two guys in love but what’s next…

“Did you hear me Richie?” Eddie’s voice slashed through the daydream. Richie shook his head apologetically.

Eddie gave him an exasperated expression but continued anyway, “I restocked your kitchen this morning with food and most of your house with cleaning supplies. I was thinking we should clean it up. It is looking pretty shitty.”  

“Can we do it later?” Richie whined like a 5-year-old. “I want to hang out, we haven’t hung out in forever.”

Eddie tapped the top of the table with his hand contemplating then sighed, “Alright, we can hang out. Do you want me to call the rest of the Losers?”

“No, I see them fucking plenty and school starts up again tomorrow so I will see them then. I want to hang out just us.” Richie brought his hand forward to hold Eddie’s small one. Eddie glanced at the kitchen entrance again but relaxed into the touch. The ring he gave Eddie for his birthday was still there on his pinky. I wonder what it would be like for it to be on his ring finger. Probably would not fit because it’s so small and...did I just legitimately think about marriage to Eddie?

Richie’s eyes flicked to Eddie’s brown eyes. He always loved looking into them because they were so unique with silverish grey flecks sparkling in them. He loved when they turned dark like storm clouds any time he was angry. Or horny. Hee hee.

Richie was about to bring his face forward to kiss him but Eddie shook his head and removed his hand. “Sorry, Rich.”

“Me too.” Richie said in frustration. It drove him crazy that they could not be affectionate except behind closed doors. What he would give to just hold Eddie’s hand in public or kiss him whenever.

“Alright, well, I need to go home and change. Also, to check in with ma, so she knows I am alive.” Eddie picked up their plates and started washing the dishes.

“I’ll quickly shower and drive you over.” Richie stood behind Eddie placing his hands on his hips.

“Richie…” Eddie warned.

Richie smirked and moved to flush his body against Eddie’s back.

“I’m serious...” Eddie tried to wiggle out of the grasp but Richie was too strong.

He lowered his lips to Eddie’s ear whispering, “Call...me…’Chee’ and I’ll stop.”

“Not on your life.” Eddie put the plates down and went to spin his body around. Richie put his hands over Eddie’s arms trapping him up against the counter.

“Your mother could fucking walk in!” Eddie angry whispered struggling to free himself.

“So what if she does?” Richie argued. “She already knows about me.”

“But not about me and I don’t want it to get back to Mom!” Richie let go of Eddie at that. Eddie spun around glaring up at him.

“So how long until you tell your mom?” Richie asked boldly. Eddie’s eyes widened in confusion. “Next month? Next year? When we graduate? When we move in together? When we get married and have kids? Never?” He said every question mockingly in about as nasty a tone as Richie could make. It was working because Eddie looked like a beat up pup.

Richie turned and left the kitchen. He all of a sudden felt mad and upset at himself. That was cruel. I shouldn’t have said those things.

“Rich, wait.” Eddie’s nervous voice called from down the hall.

“I’ll be out in a couple of minutes.” He said harshly as he rushed into the bathroom and closed the door.

The drive to Eddie’s house was not silent but there was obvious tension between them. Richie tried cracking jokes but none of them quite landed correctly. Eddie would laugh at them except it was like he could not really hear him and was just going through the motions.

He parked in front of Eddie’s house and Richie went to unbuckle his seat belt to go with him but Eddie stopped him.

“Babe, can you um…stay in the car. I just...you know how Mom can be…” Eddie was stroking Richie’s arm in a soothing way.

The earlier rage was bubbling to the surface again. “Sure, whatever. I already gave her some good loving last night. Oh wait, that was her son. Easy to get them mixed up.” He tried to smile to show it was a joke but he knew it came out a sneer.

Eddie punched Richie’s shoulder hard, “Beep beep, asshole.” He opened the door and slammed it shut.

Richie rubbed the now bruising spot on his arm watching Eddie march into his house. I need to cool it or else this day is going to be shit. We literally go two weeks without seeing each other and it’s like I don’t know how to talk to him.

Those two weeks were just as painful for Richie as he knew they were for Eddie. Stuck in his house, desperately forcing his mother to eat food or drink water. He would talk to her constantly even when she told him to shut up and go away. On a particularly drunk night, she said Richie would be better off without her. This confession scared him shitless, he tried to get ahold of his dad but his work had no idea where he was fucking around. Richie just wanted to be held by Eddie and told everything was going to be alright but instead, he was trapped in a personal hell. He wanted to tell Eddie all this except the burden belonged to him and him alone.

Eddie came back bundled up in a big coat. He opened the door and went to hand over Richie’s sweater but Richie pushed it back toward him.

“Rich, I’m not taking your favorite sweater.” Eddie demanded.

“I want you to have it my twizzler.” Richie said softly gazing at Eddie apologetically.

“Ok.” Eddie paused for a moment, then removed his winter coat and sweater to put the blue one instead. They grinned at each other, Eddie still standing outside the car.

“That sweater looks great on you...as a matter of fact, so would I.” Richie wiggled his eyebrows which made Eddie’s nose wrinkle in disgust. “God, you are so cute.” Richie said in wonder.

“Shut up...” Eddie mumbled but a blush was sprinkling his cheeks. “I like that the sweater smells like you.”

Richie beamed at him letting his irrational anger ebb away. “So! Let’s start your driving lesson!” Richie got out of the car and headed over to the passenger side.

Eddie stared at Richie then at the car in alarm. “Now?! No, no, I’m not ready.”

Richie stood in front of him smiling. “There is no ‘ready’ or ‘not ready’ with driving. You just do it. Let’s go! To the driver's side with you.”

“Fuck me…” Eddie sighed.

“Maybe later.” Richie replied laughing at the glare Eddie shoots him.

“If this doesn’t work...I mean, who gets this anxious driving? what is everyone going to say?” Eddie took a step closer to Richie as if he wanted to be physically comforted but he stopped himself from touching Richie.

Richie quickly pushed Eddie’s bangs to the side to give some lite contact then removed his hand. “I think it's time I tell you what people are saying behind your back...‘Nice ass!’”

Eddie tried to look angry but broke into a huge smile. “You are an idiot.” Then trekked over to the other side of the car. Eddie sat in the driver’s seat trying to adjust the seat, steering wheel, and mirrors to his exact liking.

“You are so fucking tall, it is not fair.” Eddie complained as he brought the seat much closer to the pedals.

Richie grinned at his struggle, “I like being taller than you. Makes me feel like I can protect you from anything. Even though you are usually the one protecting me.”

Eddie raised an eyebrow, “Protecting you from what?”

“Myself.” Richie shrugged.

“I don’t know Richie. Remember when I spilled popcorn from the balcony of the movie theater onto Bowers' head? You were the one that poured soda after so it looked like it was your fault.” Eddie recalled. “You have always protected me.”

Richie barked out a laugh, “That was a fucking fantastic day! The look on his face was priceless. But you protect me from my own mouth and accept me for all my glaring flaws.”

“When you love someone, you barely notice they have flaws.” Eddie admitted biting his lower lip subconsciously.

Richie felt his heart clench and could not take it anymore. He put his hand on the side of Eddie’s face and brought their lips together. Eddie let him returning the kiss but broke away quickly glancing out the windows to make sure passersby had not seen them.

“And when I am going through shit...like now...you try to help.” Richie breathed out slowly still holding onto Eddie’s face to ground himself. “The only reason I felt safe leaving the house today was because Mom actually ate food. She was drinking coffee, Eds?! Without added whiskey to make it Irish. I honestly thought I walked into someone else’s house.”

“She was a lot nicer to me than last night.” Eddie smiled anxiously. “That may have been because I handed her Tylenol and water the minute she walked in. Then fixed her a plate of food fast so she would not argue.”

“She probably doesn't remember last night and oh my god...you asshole.” Richie smiled. Eddie grinned mischievously which confirmed his suspicions. “You used to do that with me!”

“You were starving yourself!” Eddie complained.

“Listen, I just went a couple days without lunch in 9th grade. It wasn’t a big deal.” Richie shook his head.

Eddie pointed his finger threateningly, “No, you went without lunch practically every day for 2 years because your family couldn’t be bothered to stock your fridge.”

“Well, my job at the record store helps pay for my lunches now.” Richie shook his head. “I can’t believe you tricked my mom the same way you used to trick me. Put food in front of a hungry person before they can refuse.”

“You Tozier’s are easily manipulated.” Eddie joked. Richie’s face fell a little. “I’m sorry. That wasn’t meant to be mean. Rich...I…”

“Eddie, it’s fine. It is true. My mom is manipulated every day staying with my dad.” He looked out the window and added darkly, “Drinking herself into an early grave.”

Eddie took his hand. “Hey,” he waited until Richie slowly met his eyes, “We will figure this out. Together. No more doing it alone shit. Promise me?”

Richie nodded slowly.

“Great! Now, show me how to drive this screaming metal death trap.”

They started out slowly driving through the neighborhood. Things were going alright even though Eddie was extremely tense. He was doing a really good job but kept arguing with Richie the whole time. Richie ignored him and just continued giving instructions which Eddie obeyed automatically.

“Turn left here. Don’t forget to indicate.”

“Oh god oh shit oh Jesus…” Eddie repeated under his breath.

“You are doing so well, Eds.” Richie reassured.

“No, I’m not. I am so bad at this. I hate it.” Eddie turned the wheel slowly as he crossed the intersection and made a perfect left turn.

Richie smirked, “If you're feeling down, I can feel you up.”

“Why can’t you be serious?!” Eddie whined as he kept driving through the streets with no problem.

“Oh! I got another one! Are you a parking ticket?” Richie looked at him seeing if he knew what was coming. Eddie kept his eyes forward as Richie said, “Cause you’ve got fine written all over you.”

“You are a monster.” Eddie groaned.

“Hey, I’m pretty and you’re cute. Together we’d be Pretty Cute.” Richie grinned delightedly.

“Alright, that one was actually nice.” Eddie said begrudgingly.

“I would tell you a joke about my penis, but it’s too long!” Richie had already started to laugh as he said the last terrible pickup line.

“Fuck you, Richie! GOD!” Eddie yelled.

“Ok parallel park into that spot there.” Richie pointed to the curb.

Eddie shook his head, “This is not going to work Richie, you are just too distracting and...”

“Great parking job, Eds!” Richie cheered.

“You aren’t listening to me, Rich!” Eddie claimed.

“Alright, put it in reserve and backup.” Richie coaxed. Eddie immediately did what Richie asked still rambling on. “And put the car in park! You did it!”

Eddie ceased talking and looked at his parking job. It suddenly occurred to him that he had driven, done an unprotected left turn, parallel parked, and backed up perfectly.

“Richie! You are a fucking genius!” Eddie squealed with delight.

Richie shrugged, “It was all you. I merely gave directions.”

Eddie leaned over grabbing Richie’s face to capture his lips in a kiss. Successfully driving seemed to make Eddie euphoric. He broke contact to climb over the console and straddle Richie’s lap.

“Holy shit Eds!” Richie said excitedly. “I'll need to teach you things more often.”

“Shut up and kiss me.” Eddie breathed.

“Fuck yeah,” Richie kissed Eddie hard and when Eddie moved his lips to Richie’s neck he moaned. He reached up under Eddie’s shirt, his cool hands on Eddie’s bare sides. Eddie unbottuned Richie's shirt preventing him from thinking straight, he could only breathe. They found themselves getting lost in making-out. Forgetting where they were. Just being normal teenagers for once.

Eddie eventually slipped back into the driver’s seat. Richie slowly buttoned his shirt back up. They were quiet for a little bit, then Richie laced his fingers with Eddie’s. “Hey,” Eddie looked over at him with a smile. “I missed you so much during this break.”

“I missed you too, Richie.”

Richie shook his head, “No, like. I miss you all the time. When you are gone, when you talk to someone other than me, when you fall asleep first...it is hard to explain. So even if it did not seem like it, I really did miss you these past two weeks. I love you, Eds.”

Eddie’s eyes welled up as he leaned over and kissed him softly on the lips. Then he patted Richie on the chest, “Dude,” he said, “I just have to tell you that you buttoned your shirt wrong.”

Which in Eddie Kaspbrak language clearly meant, ‘I love you, too. Maybe forever.’

Mature Ending

@sammy8675309 @slashpalooza @ohheydatsme @dandeliontozier @reddie-brasil @takemetothetide

[spectrumscribe]

These Days

Inspired by both my utter salt for the current brother-brother dynamics in canon, and the song These Days by the Black Keys.

Previous part, first part, and AO3 version of the series.

Chapter summary:

The youngest child is always the last. The last to learn things, the last to grow up, and the last to find their place in life.

That should not include being the last to be respected, or heard, or loved.

——————————————————————

Part Four.

Mikey’s throat burns, itchy and hot. Or maybe that’s his head. Or maybe it’s just both of them at the same time.

His fingers tap restlessly against the wooden counter, his feet starting to jitter too. He’s supposed to be listening to someone else, but right now all he can hear are echoes and memories knocking around his head that just won’t stop.

He swallows thick and bitterly, and tastes his own anger. It’s like bile on his tongue and he hates it just as much as he hates the scenes playing through his head.

Raph’s hands, Leo’s words, vice versa and combined, and Donnie’s listlessness, the blank way he’s always opting out, always drifting away just when Mikey needs him most, and he hates those things so much, but he also hates how Donnie does that because he can’t handle what’s been said and done to him, and how Mikey’s sometimes the cause of him doing that he’s not blameless and how it all still hurts, all those things, and they’re both so fucked up and it’s not fair because they left they left and this shouldn’t be bothering Mikey anymore-

“Michelangelo?”

Leatherhead’s gravelly voice snaps Mikey out of his spiraling, infuriating thoughts, and he blinks back to where he’s supposed to be

They’re in Murakami’s shop. Leatherhead carefully squeezed into the room to lean halfway onto the counter, enjoying soup and sushi as he visits with a fellow old man and the rest of them. Mondo darting around behind the counter with Murakami, dressed in his apron and cooking clothes specially fitted for him, showing off what the old chef has been teaching him the last few months. Mikey sitting at the counter, spacing out and building up stupid, pointless anger that he should’ve just left ignored.

All of them are staring at him.

Mikey violently shoves away his anger, and gives them an innocent look. “Sorry! Yikes, I totally zonked out,” Mikey says, wincing comically as he rubs the back of his neck. “What’d I miss again?”

Leatherhead gives him a measured look, and replies, “We were just wondering if you would also like to try Mondo’s new dish.” He gestures one large hand at Mondo, who’s holding up a bowl of soup from the pot he and Murakami have been attending to this whole time. “I’ve had a sip, and it’s very good. I highly recommend it.”

“Is something troubling you, Michelangelo?” Murakami asks, turning his head towards Mikey, and it feels like the older human is staring at him despite having no sight. “You’ve been awfully quiet tonight, most uncharacteristic of you.”

That’s right. Murakami is right; it is out of character for Mikey to be quiet around people. He just can’t shut up, ever, because he’ll run his stupid little mouth until his voice is hoarse or someone shuts him up by force. Raph had done that, usually. Whenever he got sick of Mikey’s words, sick of Mikey’s opinions, sick of Mikey-

“I’m a little tired, I guess,” Mikey says with a shrug, keeping his swells of anger well and hidden. No one needs to hear those things. They’re… not him, not okay to show to people.

Anger is gross. It hurts people and it hurts for Mikey to have. Better he just never show it at all.

Leatherhead’s hand on his shell is welcomed, because it gives Mikey something to focus on that’s not his own stupid, stupid emotions. “If you are too tired to stay out much later, we can leave,” Leatherhead offers with a rumble. “You are going through a very trying time, Michelangelo. We won’t ask you to push yourself unnecessarily.”

The obvious and warm comfort leatherhead is extending to Mikey gives him the strength to push down the anger, to shove it far far far down where it can’t touch him anymore or poison his thoughts. And he smiles for his friend. “Nah, I’m good,” Mikey says, normal and bright again. “It’s actually ‘cause I’m so craving some of that soup there, so gimme gimme, Mondo!”

Mondo beams, and brings over the bowl and platter to Mikey. “I’ve been workin’ on the recipe for weeks, bro,” Mondo says proudly, squaring his small shoulders and presenting the dish. His thick tail waves happily behind him as he does. “Mr. Murakami’s been great about it, too. I didn’t even know about half the ingredients he showed me!”

“That is because they are spices, and most Americans do not seem to know about those things,” Murakami says with a laugh.

Mikey grins, and takes the hot bowl of soup off the platter to sip from it. Spoons are kind of useless for him pretty often, because most ones are so teeny tiny in his hands and never manage to hold all the food he needs them to and hey, maybe there really was something  to his brothers always saying he has a big mouth.

The soup burns his tongue a bit. Mikey swallows it anyways, because it burns less than the resurging anger in him.

But if he doesn’t acknowledge it, doesn’t speak it, it’s not actually there. And he’s sticking to that.

“Delicious, more please!” Mikey exclaims, holding the empty bowl out to Mondo. He hadn’t even tasted it, really. He’s not tasting much of anything right now.

Mondo beams again with all his little white teeth, and rushes off to fill up Mikey’s bowl. At least Mikey’s friend is happy, even though he doesn’t have parents either. They’d tossed him out the moment he’d shown his mutated face, and Mikey… still feels kinda bad for the guy. Sure Mondo’s got the Mutanimals, and Leatherhead is an A++ old man to chill with, but… it ain’t anything close to having a mom or dad. Mikey doesn’t know how Mondo could lose that and keep going-

Oh wait.

Yeah he does.

For a moment, grief overtakes the anger, and Mikey swims in his rush of sheer loss.

His dad, tall and forever untouchable, always there always strong always watching- unbeatable. Except no he wasn’t. He got killed, same as anyone else could, and he wasn’t actually always there, wasn’t always watching, wasn’t always… his dad.

His dad had been more so his Sensei, and Mikey had never been his favorite student. Ever.

Well, there goes his grief, and in its place-

Hello, anger, Mikey thinks dark and bitterly, long time no see.

And he swallows it all back down again, and does his best to ignore and pretend and space out in the right way that’s expected of him. He plays at being the Mikey he’s supposed to be- bright, cheerful, silly, perfectly happy all the time- and doesn’t let slip again for the rest of the night.

He hates being angry, and he hates showing it even more. Especially to his friends. They don’t deserve that, not when they’ve stayed with him the whole while since he and Donnie broke up their family. Anger hurts people, and Mikey doesn’t want to hurt any of his friends. At all.

But maybe he doesn’t hide it as well as he thought- which is weird, because none of his brothers have ever noticed- and Leatherhead stops him as they part for the night.

“If you will not talk to me about what’s troubling you,” Leatherhead says, keeping his voice low enough the still talking Mondo and Murakami can’t hear. “Then please talk to Donatello, at least. Your brother will listen, Michelangelo. It’s what family is for.”

A momentary, and very inappropriate, bubble of laughter tries to escape Mikey. Yeah, right. When did any of his brothers listen to him?

Donnie does, has been, he’s trying, Mikey reminds himself forcefully. Donnie is trying, and it’s just Mikey’s who’s not speaking about some of his crappy thoughts.

Maybe he should try talking about the anger, just a little.

“I… guess,” Mikey says finally, awkwardly skirting having to outright admit he’s got something bothering him. “I dunno. If Donnie’s up for it? Maybe.”

Leatherhead gives him a great big hug, just for that, and Mikey tries to hold onto the affection of that gesture rather than the squirming emotions in his chest.

Mikey exchanges fist bumps with Mondo and Murakami before he goes, and he grins like he doesn’t have weird exhaustion and aches tugging at his body. He heads back to the station, following the new paths he’s been familiarizing himself with for quickest travel from their new home. It’s late in the night, nearing morning, and even though Mikey doesn’t really want to…

He’ll give talking a shot. He’s talked about other hard stuff, mostly with Leatherhead, so how much harder could this topic be? Never mind that he hates even thinking about it, right down into his bones, and never mind that he doesn’t think Donnie even knows how angry Mikey can get.

Never mind all that; they’re on a fresh start, a blank slate, a brand new adventure where it’s just them and they actually talk instead of poking and snapping all the time.

Mikey brings up his confidence with shaky force- it’s getting harder to do that lately and he has no idea why- and ducks into his new home to share something with his brother. Something he’s been ignoring and hiding and pretending doesn’t exist at all for a long, long time.

The smell of alcohol hits him immediately.

And then he finds his brother. And Casey.

And Mikey can’t compute the situation he’s seeing before him.

And then the anger comes back, bright and hateful, and Mikey barely, just barely bites it all down into submission again.

Donnie brought Casey into their home, without telling Mikey. He got drunk and then passed out with their friend, the one night Mikey was really going to talk to him. He trashed their living room that Mikey helped build with him, like it didn’t mean anything at all.

Donnie is well and truly asleep, and Mikey stands alone in the dark with bitter, bitter anger on his tongue. His brother won’t be listening to him at all tonight, obviously.

Mikey snarls without sound, and storms out of the living room. Leaving Donnie and Casey to the fun they’d gone and had without him, and carelessly slamming his door shut behind him.

He crawls into his bed without bothering to brush his teeth, or get Donnie and Casey into actual places to sleep, or even covering them up with blankets so they don’t freeze on the floor-

-and he ignores all those things he should be doing, and instead tries not to let the twisting, snarling knots in his chest keep him awake all day.

    Mikey wakes up the next evening, and feels like a dick.

It’s not Donnie’s fault Mikey was having a crappy night. He didn’t know Mikey was going to try talking about gross stuff he’s never even hinted about before. And heck, like anyone can keep Casey from doing what he wants, including worming his way into your home and starting a party.

Donnie and Casey are still passed out where Mikey left them last night, and he sighs at the both of them. There’s only a faint hint of his residual frustration, and it’s easily enough ignored. He starts by waking Donnie up, and from there he does his best to forget he’d ever been so mad at his brother.

Mikey starts poking at the mess Donnie and Casey made, while the two of them go have a private moment as Donnie sees Casey off, and he finds a mostly still full bottle of alcohol.

He stares at it, lying on the carpet with its cap on and most of its liquid safely inside. He considers it for a moment, wondering what he should do.

Then he picks it up, and puts it in his room before Donnie comes back. Why he does, he’s not really sure. It probably has to do with the dull buzz of hurt he’s still got; because even though he’s trying not to be, he’s frustrated Donnie called Casey over and had a party together without even bothering to text it was happening.

Mikey feels left out and more than a little ignored. He hasn’t felt that in a few weeks, and it’s not a fun thing to feel again.

It feels too much like how it felt at home, in the lair, with their brothers, with their father- and Mikey shoves the hurt anger deep, deep down into himself and forces his brain to forget about it.

Donnie didn’t do it on purpose. Probably. Casey tended to whip Donnie into all sorts of moods and frenzies, and who could focus on anything else when hurricane Jones was blowing through? Not Donnie, that’s for sure.

And then Casey calls Mikey, when he’s wandering the kitchen and looking for any other leftover alcohol, and Mikey suddenly feels like even more of a dick.

“He says it’s his fault your- fuck, that he’s the reason your dad is dead,” Casey says in a low, harsh voice; putting stones and glass in Mikey’s stomach. Gone is Casey’s vagueness from earlier, the maintained hungover humor that he and Donnie have been sharing. Maybe he hadn’t been as out of it as Mikey had thought. “He cried all over the place, Mike. All over��me, and you know it’s bad if he’s done that. Did you know about any of that shit?”

Mikey’s head is kinda tilting a direction he doesn’t like, and he has to swallow around a lump in his throat. “No,” He says, somehow still steady. “I didn’t know that… at all.”

“Well. He spent like half the night talking about it, so I think it’d be a good idea you make ‘im talk about it again. Other stuff, too. Bad stuff.”

“What bad stuff?” Mikey asks, and a part of him doesn’t want to hear the answer. And he’s right, he doesn’t want to hear about how Donnie’s been keeping all these things in; blaming himself for their dad’s death, Leo’s coma, and countless other things Mikey is pretty sure he had no control over. And yet, Donnie had said it was all his fault, and slapped a claim over some of the worst shit that keeps Mikey awake most days.

Donnie hadn’t been having a party with Casey. He’d been having a vent session that should’ve happened months ago.

Mikey wonders why Donnie never told him the things he’d told Casey. He wonders that, while listening as Casey rambles on about things Donnie had said, about things he’s going to go yell at their brothers, and Mikey arrives to a conclusion.

Donnie still doesn’t trust him, doesn’t think Mikey could handle hearing those things.

An insidious whisper in his brain says it’s because Donnie thinks he’s too stupid to get it, too much the youngest brother to understand big things like self-blame and grief and shitty thoughts.

Mikey stomps on that thought and ignores it.

He takes Casey’s advice, after hearing what his friend swears is just the bare bones of what Donnie’s got all smushed up inside him, and corners his brother immediately. They are talking, and then they are hugging, and Mikey is going to show Donnie he’s perfectly capable of handling this.

Except.

He’s not sure he actually can.

Because when Mikey finally gets Donnie onto the couch, listening and waiting, and he actually hears what Donnie has to say… he falters.

Mikey hadn’t known about any of these things, hadn’t even thought they might exist. Hadn’t thought about how much pressure they’d been placing on Donnie, or how Leo’s words and their father’s words and all of their words had hurt him so much. He’d known it’d been hard, but…

He hadn’t known just how hard it really was. Not entirely.

Maybe Mikey played a part in those things- twitchy and ignorant and just doing whatever the hell he pleased because hey, he was always getting scolded anyways, what was one more brother yelling at him- but largely it’d been their brothers. Their father.

And Mikey’s anger burns.

Because Donnie, who is always tall, always unfaltering in his dedication and hard work, is just too wrung out to give much more. He says in a wavering voice that there’s just not enough of him left. And he’s hunching over his knees, words tumbling out fast and painful, and the way his voice cracks is breaking Mikey’s heart and nearly his control.

Donnie is missing his mask and has bags under his eyes and looks pale as they physically can be and is just so sad. And Mikey isn’t sure how to fix that. He isn’t sure how to respond to Donnie’s words, his stories about how long he’s been alone and hurting and feeling like no one loved him, and Mikey’s sadness and anger and whirling confusion fight each other in his head.

Regret makes its way out of the fight, and Mikey pulls Donnie into the tightest, most loving hug he can manage while he represses every other thought he’s been having. Donnie’s abrupt break down is the priority right now, not Mikey’s steadily growing anger issues.

Donnie actually sobs for a bit, and it’s the worst sound Mikey never ever wanted to hear. Donnie is just so broken sounding, the way he’s talking about always feeling tired, and always wishing things would just stop for a while so he could actually rest for once. He’s shaking and still crying and Mikey can’t do anything other than cling tighter to his brother and say he loves him, and he’s sorry.

It takes a while, and a lot of very tight clinging on Mikey’s (useless) part, and then Donnie drags himself back together enough to wipe away his tears. He manages a weak smile at the lame sounding reassurances from Mikey- “Don’t worry, Dee. If you’re really that tired, I swear I’ll do your half of the dishes tonight.”- and then, with Mikey’s encouragement, goes to make a phone call he really needs to.

They don’t talk about Mikey at all. Mikey doesn’t try to bring his own emotions into things, period.

Donnie can’t handle that, not right now. Mikey’s stupid feelings aren’t big enough to need talking about yet; and they are stupid, because why is he bothering with stuff that he’s already kind of talked about with Leatherhead, and then sworn he wouldn’t think about anymore.

Donnie’s got his own problems, and he’s the one in need of help right now. Not Mikey. Mikey won’t put yet another burden on Donnie’s shoulders, not after hearing about all the other ones that’ve been making him into atlas.

Mikey’s fine on his own, so he’ll keep to himself what he’d wanted to talk to Donnie about.

    Mikey gets more nightmares than he wants to admit.

He’s always had a super active imagination, and it shows in just how vivid and detailed his dreams can get. Sometimes it’s neat, and he enjoys being able to recount every step and turn his dream self takes while he sleeps.

But sometimes it sucks. Really, really sucks.

Like dreaming he’s back in that moment, on that night, and watching his dad fall off a building and not get back up.

Mikey can’t jolt himself awake, even though he knows he’s dreaming, he knows this is just a stupid memory, and he has to watch his dad fall and hit the ground with a horrible, horrible thud and he’s too slow, too slow to do anything, because his dad’s chest is already torn open and gushing blood and he’s not even breathing anymore he’s just gone and they’re too late too late and it was all pointless and he was just too slow-

And Mikey’s lungs falter as he falls out of the nightmare, and he can’t do anything other than cough and gasp for a solid minute.

He’s crying. He’s crying and everything hurts just as much as it did in that moment. The realization that his unbeatable father had been beaten, and that he wasn’t coming back this time. Splinter is gone, and they won’t be getting anymore miracles.

Mikey used to think everything would work itself out, no matter what happened. They’d always find a way, always beat the odds. Always go home together. Always have their dad.

In the end, they lost to the odds, broke their home, and buried their father.

Leo had said they’d won the battle, ended the war. In Mikey’s opinion, he thinks they lost it completely.

After all, what did the Shredder have left to lose at that point? Karai didn’t want him, the Foot had abandoned him, and it’d just been him and his hench-guys. Mikey and his family are the ones who lost everything, not the Shredder.

Mikey sniffles, and wipes his tears onto his pillow. Turning into the dull comfort he gets from having privacy to feel like shit, and sheets that still have a slight scent of his old room.

He considers for a moment, going to Donnie and asking to talk about their dad, about how he misses Splinter even though he’d been so absent in the last few years, but Mikey doesn’t move to get up.

Donnie is still recovering, and it’s just a stupid dream, just some stupid feelings.

Mikey’s nearly an adult now, he can handle some dumb nightmares on his own. He has for… years. Since the war had started to get bad. He hadn’t gone crying to his brothers for- mockery, scorn, dismissal- for comfort then, and he won’t now. Especially since Donnie is still precariously balanced with his own issues.

Mikey rolls over; smearing the last of his tears onto his pillow, and shuts his eyes to will himself back to sleep.

    Mikey keeps out of Donnie’s way for a while, but also circles his brother and does whatever Donnie needs him to.

Whether it’s taking a bit more of their shared chores, or being extra quiet that night, or just stepping out of the station for a bit to go burn off aggravating energy so he doesn’t bother Donnie- Mikey does it, and tries to be everything he hasn’t been over the years.

He wants to be a good brother, especially right now. He wants to mend the relationship he has with Donnie, and make it stronger than before. No more driving Donnie into break downs, please. Mikey’s seen enough of that for a lifetime and then some.

Sure, Mikey is still struggling with nightmares and frustrations and anger, but he’s got a handle on that. No sweat, he’s been doing this long enough now he’s an expert.

Except.

Text messages still come from their brothers, even though Mikey has noticed they’re slowing down. But it’s still enough. And with the weeks still pilling on- six, six weeks now and counting- they’re getting more desperate. More angry.

Raph is so mad at him, so scared for him; he wants them both back home and safe again. Where he and Leo can watch out for them.

Raph is also confused, and wants to know what the hell they’ve been telling their friends. Apparently, none of their friends want to talk to Mikey’s brothers anymore, and Raph and Leo just don’t get why.

Mikey reads a text that’s damn close to a plead, begging Mikey and Donnie to reply and at least call them- and Mikey has a horribly inappropriate moment of sharp laughter.

The laughter happens again when he finds a text from Leo, talking about how disappointed their father would have been, the two of them running away without explanation and turning all their friends against their brothers.

It happens a third time, when Raph leaves a breathlessly furious voicemail, about Casey and April turning on him and Leo and how Donnie and Mikey are still missing- and Mikey just can’t anymore.

He throws his phone across his room, not giving two shits about the sound of hitting the wall, and barks one more laugh before breaking into a muffled scream.

He’s just so angry at them all.

They don’t even see it, and its right in front of them, and they still don’t see it. They don’t get that they hurt Donnie, hurt Mikey, and that no, they’re not coming home no matter what their brothers plead and yell at them. That their dad was a neglectful asshole who only ever paid attention to them, and Mikey is having a hard time balancing that jealousy with his grief these days and it’s just turning into one big mess of anger.

He used to be so good about keeping his emotions under control. Only the happy ones were ever allowed out, or the sad ones in the right moments when it was okay to cry and whine a bit. Not anger. Never anger.

Raph gets to be angry, but not Mikey. Mikey has to be the happy one, the silly one, the stupid one-

Mikey bites his lips hard, and muffles his furious scream into his hands.

Why is it suddenly getting so hard to keep the anger out? Or rather, keep it in. Why is it suddenly such an issue to control a stupid, hurtful emotion he doesn’t even like having?

So his brothers still want them back. So they’re still looking for them. Great, good for them.

Mikey’s head is buzzing with anger, and he has nowhere to aim it, so it just keeps buzzing.

They don’t get what they did. Raph and Leo. Can’t tell or acknowledge it even with their whole friend group being pretty clear about things. Mikey doesn’t think they’d get it even if he screamed it in their faces.

They want them back home, ‘safe’ with them and under their watch again. The thought makes Mikey’s scales crawl and bile rise up in his throat. Because no. No more.

And maybe their father would’ve been disappointed- so what? He was always disappointed in Mikey anyways, getting distracted and unable to follow what was happening and just being a general nuisance that interrupted Splinter’s time with Raph and Leo. Mikey doesn’t care right now what their father would’ve thought- he’s dead and he can’t give Mikey infuriatingly distant looks of disappointment anymore.

Mikey misses his dad, misses his brothers, misses how things used to be-

-but right now, he’s more so angry about all those things, and tries to keep silent as the rancid emotions claw at him for release.

He doesn’t let them get that release.

He shoves his phone back under his bed, again, and has to ignore it for three days straight just to get his head back on right.

    “It wasn’t your fault, Donnie. You can’t keep blaming yourself for it.”

“Za’naron wasn’t your fault either, so you can’t blame yourself for that if I can’t blame myself for- for Splinter. Dying.”

“…that was different.”

“It wasn’t really you.”

“A part of it was, though. I’m the one who gave in.”

“Yeah. Well. I’m the one who didn’t listen when I should have. So guess we can both blame ourselves a bit.”

“Donnie…”

Mikey hovers out of sight, practicing his ability to not be, and listens to his brother and April have the same conversation they’ve been having over and over the last while.

He hears April sigh, and shift on the couch. “This isn’t healthy, Donnie,” April says gently. “You can’t keep holding onto those things, or… it’ll never get better.”

“I can and I will,” Donnie mutters stubbornly. “Because they’re true.”

“They’re not-”

“Yes they are! I’m the one-”

“You’re one kid, one person, and you had no control over what happened to master Splinter. It’s not your fault; it was never your fault.”

Donnie falls silent for a moment, and it’s a drawn out sort of silence.

“Then why…” Why do I feel like it is?

Donnie doesn’t actually say the last part, but Mikey hears it anyways. It kinda sucks how clear he can hear it, and Mikey doesn’t know what to do about it anymore than he has the last week of trying to get Donnie to feel okay again.

Donnie sighs, and it’s an exhausted sound. Mikey looks up at the ceiling of the hallway, and thinks quietly that Donnie doesn’t ever not sound exhausted.

“…I don’t have an answer, Donnie,” April says in a hushed voice. “But I know it wasn’t your fault.”

And there’s the sound Donnie’s been making on and off lately, soft and broken. Mikey shuts his eyes and tries not to hear it too well.

Donnie’s crying again, in quiet gasps as he tries to not, and Mikey opens his eyes as April starts to shush his brother. Whispered things about how they’ll get through this, it’s not Donnie’s fault, and they’ll work it out somehow, some way…

“It’s okay, Donnie. Just let it out. I got you. I got you…”

Mikey takes the moment to peek into the living room, still silent and invisible. April’s got Donnie in a hug, and Mikey’s brother is hiding his face in her shoulder. April’s words and hug already seem to be calming Donnie down, and…

She’s doing this so much better than Mikey had. April knows what she’s doing, and Mikey doesn’t. She knows what to say, what’ll calm down Donnie the quickest, and… just knows how to be a better support in general.

And Donnie seems to trust her more, too. Letting this out every time April asks him to, without complaint or protest. He’s always ready to talk to her, but not…

Not Mikey.

Mikey swallows something too close to jealousy for comfort, and turns away from his brother and friend.

They deserve some privacy. He’d just been listening in for a moment, checking in on how their latest talk was going.

But April’s clearly got this, so Mikey leaves them to it. He’ll go do some quiet exercises, maybe a run above ground for a few hours. He won’t be such an annoyance if he gets rid of his excess energy.

He takes his skateboard with him as he leaves, going through the second exit so he doesn’t disturb April or Donnie. Mikey’s got his standard equipment on him too, nunchucks, smoke bombs, etc., even though the paranoia of his brothers finding them has started to ease off.

April and Casey both know where they are now, and Mikey is seriously considering bringing Leatherhead around sometime soon; so unless someone actually shows his brothers, and Mikey doubts any of their friends will, Leo and Raph aren’t finding the station any time soon. If they could’ve, they already would have.

That comfort is a small one, though. Because eventually- and that eventually hangs heavy in the air sometimes- he and Donnie will have to talk to their brothers, if only to bring closure to the shit that drove them all apart.

Mikey doesn’t know how he’ll handle that. He doesn’t know how to approach the idea at all.

But him not knowing how to do stuff is normal enough, right?

Right.

    The station is occupied at the moment, so guess that means Mikey needs to shove off for a good while. Enough time for April and Donnie to wrap up their conversation and for Donnie to pull himself back together.

Mikey skates aimlessly for a while, not really thinking of anything in particular. He doesn’t really notice until he’s getting close, but he’d unconsciously drifted towards the Mutanimals’ hideout as he went. Mikey considers his options for a moment, and then starts heading towards Leatherhead and Mondo’s location in earnest. Spending time with the two of them should make it easy enough to shove his dumb mood aside; it’s always easier to do that for other people, instead of just himself.

He kicks his board up into his hand, and ducks in through the main entrance of the hideout. It’s not locked up, so that obviously means Mikey’s allowed to come in. His mood lifts the closer he gets to the inner rooms, and he manages to put a near spring in his step as he heads in.

Then-

He hears a voice that makes him freeze.

His heart stops and his fingers go numb, and he stands there like an idiot deer in the headlights; stuck in the last doorway into the center room of the Mutanimals’ base.

His skateboard slips from his hand. It clatters against the floor too loud to be ignored.

Raph turns around, following the sound and forgetting the conversation he’d been having with Slash.

Everything slows down, and Mikey can’t breathe.

“Mikey?” Raph says, eyes going wide. Then- “Mikey!”

And Mikey is already running by the time Raph even moves his feet.

He doesn’t even bother grabbing his skateboard, he just runs, and he doesn’t look back. Because he knows if he does-

He might listen to the things Raph is yelling after him. He might not be able to keep running away.

Raph’s voice echoes through the streets as Mikey runs, and neither of them are even trying to be stealthy anymore. There’s no reason to beyond ordinary humans maybe hearing them, and when isn’t there yelling in New York? It’s just normal, so normal no one even cares that there’s yelling outside their apartments- so why should Mikey?

With that hysterical thought in mind, Mikey pours on the speed and does his best to disappear. He blocks out Raph’s calls after him, and narrows everything down to his path ahead.

“Mikey! MIKEY! Just wait a second- where are you going?!”

Away from you! Mikey thinks, shrieks, inside his panicking mind, and then does.

He throws down a bunch of his smoke bombs, and disappears.

He leaves Raph coughing and cursing in the street below, while Mikey climbs into a boarded up building. They’re in one of the less attended to districts, so there are plenty of these buildings to find. Mikey replaces the boards across the window once he inside, and makes it look as though nothing has touched them since they went up.

He steps away from it when he’s done, tunnel vision draining away. He feels shaky in a way he hasn’t since he was fifteen and new to life or death situations. Like he’s a newbie all over again, just as inexperienced as the night he and his brothers first went out on their own.

Raph is still yelling outside. Hollering after Mikey and demanding he show himself.

Mikey takes a few more stumbling steps back from the window, and then recovers enough to become silent again.

The building he’s in looks like it used to be an apartment. Probably. All the rooms are stripped down and there’s no carpet on the rotting wooden floors.

Mikey doesn’t go farther than the back wall of the room he’s in- a kitchen, maybe- and ends up slumping against the far wall. Sinking to the floor and suddenly finding it hard to breathe.

Raph is still yelling. Still looking.

Mikey doesn’t think he’s got the concentration right now to sneak away, so he does the next best thing.

He goes quiet, and stops existing.

He stares at the window, boarded up but no sound proof, and waits for the yelling to get closer. He waits with his pulse thrumming in his ears, and lungs trying to take heaving breaths that he won’t give them.

Mikey should be standing, ready to flee, but he can’t get back up. He just sits there on the floor, and stares at the window. Terrified.

Oh god he’s so scared. And he’s such an idiot.

He should’ve checked in with the Mutanimals. He should’ve called ahead and said hey I’m dropping by, any chance the brothers I’m kind of hiding from right now are around? Yes? Thanks, I’ll make sure to avoid them. It would have been just that easy, and yet- Mikey hadn’t done it. One stupid little step, just to make sure he wouldn’t come face to face with his brother.

He’s an idiot. A complete and utter moron.

Raph’s yelling has stopped, finally.

Mikey stays where he is, curled up tightly around his knees and staring at the window as he internally berates himself.

Mikey’s not sure if he actually breathing anymore.

He isn’t sure if he wants to.

The minutes without Raph’s yelling tick by, and slowly, Mikey unwinds enough to think outside his fear and self-incrimination.

That was too close. Way too close.

He’s a fucking idiot, running around blindly like there aren’t still people looking for him. He’s always too careless, too thoughtless. Just like his brothers always told him he was.

Mikey’s made up of too much stupid and not enough caution, and he almost blew everything. If Raph had caught him, then everything he and Donnie have been building up would’ve been ruined.

Such. An idiot.

Mikey lets his head fall back against the wall that’s decades older than himself, and shuts his eyes. Listening to everything around him, and waiting.

He doesn’t manage to move again for a long while. His legs won’t respond until he’s thoroughly, thoroughly sure that his brother is gone. And then it’s just him and his shitty thoughts, all the way home.

    He doesn’t go looking for Donnie when he gets back. April is gone, he knows that much from the absence of talking in the station, but he’s not going to go to his brother. Not yet.

He’s got enough voices telling him off for his dumbass mistake already, all up in his head where he can’t escape them.

A lot of them sound like his brothers.

Mikey slams his bedroom door, because he can and he feels like it and Donnie isn’t the type to go looking for reasons behind slamming doors. It’s just a sign of which part of the house you should be avoiding right then.

And that curdles Mikey’s stomach. The thought that even though they’re working so hard to change, he’s still using the same tactics they did at home. Still acting like their siblings.

Well, too late to un-slam it now. He’s already gone and done it. Just like he went and nearly got caught. Just two more mistakes he can’t take back.

His t-phone has been pinging with texts nonstop, one or two calls going straight to voicemail. Mikey doesn’t bother looking at the messages, and turns the thing off completely. It goes under the mattress right after.

He sits in his room, by his bed and with only one lamp on, and isn’t sure what to do next.

He has to tell Donnie. And even if he doesn’t, Donnie’s probably already gotten a rush of texts from one or both of their brothers about it. Donnie probably already knows, and is probably already angry at Mikey.

Well fuck him; Mikey’s already angry at himself. He doesn’t need anyone else yelling at him, because he’s got plenty in his head as is.

The anger bubbling in the back of his throat makes his head hurt, and Mikey shuts his eyes. He puts his head between his hands, and pushes hard against the sides of his skull. The dull buzz in it keeps up, and he just ends up feeling like he’s got a headache.

He drops his hands, and stares at the wall across from him. Shame and frustration join the anger, and he starts to feel twitchy.

He’s such a fucking idiot. He knew it before this, and he knows it even better now. The whole experience is just a repeat of every other fuck up Mikey’s ever made, and hey, it’s even worse this time because he’d been actively trying to not fuck up the last while.

Before he didn’t care. Because that was normal and he couldn’t escape it no matter what he tried. He cares a lot more now, because he likes not being yelled at all the time; likes not getting smacked over the head or insulted every time he so much as breathes.

He likes spending time with a brother that’s not constantly angry, or disappointed, or annoyed at him. One that doesn’t treat him like he’s useless or a hang on or just the moronic youngest brother that no one wants around.

But it looks like that’s about to change.

And maybe he deserves that, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t hate it.

Mikey’s hand brushes something hard and cold underneath his bed, and he looks down. The bottle of tequila, which he’d previously wrapped up in a wad of towel he’d left in his room, is peeking out from under its hiding space.

Mikey looks at it, and considers what he should do.

On impulse- because that’s all he ever does, acts on stupid stupid stupid impulses- he pulls it out and uncaps it.

If Donnie can drink, then so can he. And if his brother doesn’t like it, then whatever. Mikey’s already going to be in shit, so might as well add one more thing for Donnie to yell at him about.

The first sip makes him choke, because it tastes like the stuff he uses to clean the kitchen.

It burns all the way down, and Mikey coughs for a solid few seconds as his eyes water.

He takes another sip anyways.

Mikey drinks most of what was left in the bottle- which was a fair amount, considering how much Donnie and Casey had seemed to have drunk- and then sits in his room feeling even shittier than before.

It’s not fair. Why is that he’s the fuck up? He’s not the one who was always shouting at people or ordering them around. He’s not the one who put all his attention into two sons and not the others. He’s not the one who gave unsubtle looks of disappointment or slipped barbs into his words every time he spoke about one specific person. He’s not the one who hits people.

Mikey’s not the one at fault for all that stuff. He’s not the one who did all that. And what did he do to deserve all that shit anyways? When had he fucked up so horribly that no one could even talk to him anymore without insulting him?

Why did his brothers hate him so much? Mikey didn’t do anything wrong, he just is how he is and he can’t change that. Couldn’t then and can’t now and won’t, because what’s wrong with wanting to think about nicer stuff? What’s wrong with wanting to lighten the situation when everything is a great big pile shit constantly, and none of them have had a night without fighting in years?

What the hell is so wrong with Mikey that everything he says has to get shut down or ignored? At what point did everything he said just become nonsense to everyone else? At what point did he get designated as everyone’s verbal and physical punching bag?

Fuck them. Fuck them all.

Mikey’s head aches with all the fury he’s channeling, and he’s not sure when he left his room.

It figures that Donnie comes out of his lab, for once, just in time to meet Mikey in the hallway.

Donnie has his phone in his hands, and he looks up at Mikey with wide eyes. Mikey knows what Donnie’s going to say before he does, and Mikey glowers at his brother.

“You- you almost got caught?” Donnie asks, and they both know there’s no need to give context to that statement. Donnie’s lips go thin, and he closes a hand around his phone. “Mikey, that was way too close. Are you-”

“Shut up,” Mikey bites out, cutting his brother off from almost definitely saying ‘are you stupid?’ “I know already, don’t bother telling me off for it.” His head feels wrong and soupy with anger and alcohol, and he just doesn’t have any filter left. “Just- just leave me alone! I know I fucked up!”

Donnie looks at him, rising out of a half hunch. He spots the bottle Mikey had forgotten he was still clutching. “You’re drinking the tequila” Donnie says, lips tugging downwards, and there’s the disappointment Mikey was expecting. “Mikey, you shouldn’t be doing that. It’s-”

“It’s what?” Mikey barks, because he doesn’t care, he’s already going to be in trouble and he doesn’t care if he gets in more for talking back. “It’s stupid? Thanks, I kind of already knew that, so piss off!”

Donnie is looking at him with apprehension now, and slowly crossing his arms. “No, I was I going to say that it’s a depressant, and it’s not a good thing to be drinking when you’re not emotionally balanced. Mikey, that wasn’t a good idea.”

Mikey’s laughter comes out of his throat in a way that hurts, and he does not care. “You always say that about- about whatever I decide to do,” Mikey says, biting and furious and so far beyond giving a shit. “All of you do! You all just shit on me for everything I sug- suggest doing, and then you call me stupid for even thinking the ideas! So fuck you, fuck you and your long- long stupid words, I don’t give a shit anymore!”

Donnie’s eyes are wide, and his mouth has dropped open. “Mikey, is that what you think I’m-”

“I don’t care what you’re on about, I don’t care!” Mikey cuts him off, swinging his arm through the air in a harsh gesture. “None of you ever cared what I was on about, so why should I give a shit about you?”

Donnie’s arms come uncrossed, and Mikey takes a quick step backwards to get out of range. Bad idea, because everything tilts as he does, and he stumbles. Mikey feels that Donnie is still looking at him, and he knows if he looks back he’ll see disappointment, maybe annoyance, maybe any of the other countless looks his brothers always give him when he’s acting particularly stupid.

“Mikey, we should sit down,” Donnie says, slow and careful like he’s trying to explain things to Mikey in a way he’ll get it. Like he’s an idiot. “If you need to… talk about this, we should.”

“You never listen, none of you do,” Mikey mutters, and he, acting on impulse for the umpteenth time tonight, tries to bring the tequila to his lips.

Donnie’s hand stops his rising arm.

Mikey snarls, and yanks his hand away. Or, tries to, but Donnie’s hand has formed a vicelike grip on his arm and won’t let go.

“Mikey- Mikey stop and think for a second, this isn’t helping, you’re just making it worse-”

Always worse, he’s always just making it worse and screwing things up because he’s an IDIOT, because he can’t get anything RIGHT-

-never thinks never plans never does anything except make stupid stupid stupid mistakes-

-no wonder none of them wanted him around, they all think he’s useless and a nuisance and just plain stupid-

“Shut up!” Mikey shouts, yanking against Donnie’s grip again. He hates being held in place, he hates being held against his will, he hates it when people grab him like this because it’s always followed by a- “Let me go! You don’t- you don’t even care-”

“Mikey, just let me talk to you, we’ll- we just need to sit down, you’re not making any sense-”

“You always say that!” Mikey screams, still unable to free his arm, still stuck in place and unable to escape- “All of you! You- you all think I’m an idiot! I’m not; I’m not an idiot so stop talking to me like I am-”

Donnie’s hands grip tighter around Mikey’s arm, and just get tighter even as Mikey tugs and tugs and tugs to get away, and-

“Mikey- just listen for two seconds-”

-Mikey’s other arm is still free-

“-I’m just trying to help you-”

-and Donnie still won’t let go, and he’s still yelling everyone’s yelling and Mikey can’t get away.

He gives one last yank on his arm-

-it doesn’t come free-

-and he raises his other arm, and-

-Donnie’s voice and hands and everything too much too much-

-Mikey’s fist makes contact with Donnie’s cheek.

The tequila falls out of both their hands, and hits the floor with a dull thud. Its open top spills what was left of it onto the throw carpet they’d laid out in the hallway.

Its making the spot by Donnie’s feet wet. The spot where Donnie’s feet are, which lead up to his legs, which lead up to his shell-

-which is on the floor, because Mikey hit Donnie hard enough he fell over.

Everything slows down, as Donnie stares up at Mikey. Eyes wide with shock, and confusion, and hurt.

Mikey can’t breathe. He can’t breathe. His hand hurts and he can’t breathe.

Donnie slowly raises a shaking hand to his cheek, and blinks at the pain of touching it.

And Mikey-

Mikey howls.

He fucked up.

He fucked up he fucked up he fucked up he fucked up he fucked up hefuckeduphefuckeduphefuckeduphe is the fuck up-

Donnie’s eyes go even wider, and he struggles to stand up fast enough. “Mikey, Mikey no-”

Mikey stumbles back- out of range out of reach- and his scream cuts off as he does- shut up shut up no one wants to hear- and he runs.

His door slams behind him, and he locks it with numb fingers. Shaking fingers. Fingers that can make a fist that he used to hit his brother.

It’s not the same as training. It’s not the same because he’d done it outside the dojo, outside a spar, outside of a battle, during a real fight between them and with intent to hurt.

Donnie’s own fists hit the door the second he’s locked it, and Mikey hears the knob shake as his brother tries to get inside. Donnie is yelling and Mikey can’t hear any of it, his heart and mind already too loud as he backs away from the shuddering frame.

“Mikey- Mikey please, open the door. Open the door- I know you didn’t mean it, so please-”

Mikey shakes his head at the door, and keeps backing away until his shell hits the wall. He slowly, agonizingly slowly, sinks to the floor, and sits. And stares.

His hands are shaking still. He can still feel the impact of punching Donnie.

Mikey inhales sharply, and feels like something is cracking.

Nothing changed. He left with Donnie and tried to do better and nothing changed. He’s still a fuck up, they’re both still broken, and he hit his brother.

He got angry, and let his anger out, and someone got hurt.

Someone always gets hurt when anger is let out. Usually it’s Mikey who gets hurt. Usually it’s Raph who lets it out.

Mikey let go of his control, and Donnie got hurt.

He’s just like his brother. He’s just like Raph, except worse, because Mikey was actually trying.

And Mikey feels sick.

“Mikey! MIKEY! Open the door! God damn it- OPEN THE DOOR-”

Mikey puts his hands over his mouth, and feels burning tears spill out of his eyes.

Donnie’s wide and hurt eyes play through his mind again, and a choked sob finds its way up his throat.

“Please, oh god, please open the door Mikey. Please, please open the door-”

Mikey can’t move and won’t let himself move.

He’s not opening that door. He’s not opening it or exposing Donnie to- to Mikey again.

Donnie’s stopped banging on the door, and there’s nothing making sound anymore except for Mikey’s hyperventilation.

He still can’t breathe. He’s sucking in air and he still can’t breathe.

There’s nothing except that for a long, long moment, and then Donnie’s cracking voice comes through the door again.

“Mikey, please. Open the door. I’m- I’m scared of what you’re thinking right now. Please… I know you di-didn’t mean it-”

Donnie’s voice breaks and Mikey feels something in him do the same.

“…oh god, I don’t know what I’m doing. Fuck- Mikey, I know you didn’t mean to. I’m so- I’m so sorry I held onto you like that, I-I-I was panicking, and you were upset and I… I didn’t know what else to do, Mikey…”

Mikey stifles a sob, and feels like he’s swimming in guilt. Drowning in it.

“You’re not an idiot, I nev- I wouldn’t- I’m sorry, Mikey. Oh god I’m so sorry. Please, please open the door. Please…”

Donnie is crying. He’s crying and it’s a sound Mikey never, ever wanted to hear again.

“...I’m sorry… Mikey, I’m so sorry… please open the door… I’m sorry…”

Mikey can’t take hearing that, can’t take hearing the hopeless desperation Donnie has in his voice. He just can’t.

He’s already done too much damage as it is.

Somehow, somehow, Mikey drags himself towards the door on numb legs, and fumbles with the lock.

He gets it open, and Donnie is there. Standing and staring, and blinking thick tears out of his eyes.

Mikey’s own tears respond in sympathy, and fall down to dampen his mask even more. “I’m sorry,” He says, hoarse and shaking and so, so sorry. His breathing hitches and he feels himself crumpling. “ ‘m sorry.”

Donnie takes a sharp inhale, and the sound conveys so many things all at once, emotions and thoughts and actions-

-and then he grabs Mikey in a hug.

Mikey’s arms, without his permission, grab Donnie back and don’t let go.

They take a few stumbling steps backwards, and somehow make it to the floor against the hallway wall. It’s just the two of them tangled together, stubbornly stupidly refusing to let go of each other. There’s no one else here to see anything, or make judgements, or be angry at anyone.

It’s just them, and Mikey’s big brother is still holding onto him like a lifeline that’ll disappear the moment he lets it.

And Mikey sobs.

 He mashes his face into Donnie’s neck and shoulder and sobs. Because he’s so sorry, he’s so so so sorry. He didn’t mean to, he didn’t want to, he’d never do that- except he did and he’s sorry-

“Shh, shh shh shh, it’s okay, Mikey its okay, I’m fine it’s fine-”

-he’s not him, he’s not him-

“You’re not, Mikey you’re not Raph, you’re just-”

-no he worse he’s a fuck up that none of them ever wanted, ever liked, ever loved-

“-you’re not, you’re not a fuck up. I- I love you and you’re not a- shh shh shh, you’re not, I swear you’re not. Mikey, Mikey look at me, look at me.”

Donnie’s hands turn Mikey’s face upwards, and for a moment Mikey’s instincts scream at the sudden touch, but it’s just Donnie. It’s Donnie. And his brother is looking at him with nothing but concern and grief and love.

“Mikey, you’re not- you’re not stupid, or a fuck up, or-” Donnie breaks off, blinking gloss out of his eyes. “-or unwanted. You’re my brother and I love you, I’ve always loved you. Every- every damn second of our lives, I’ve loved you and I never felt otherwise.”

Mikey stares at his brother, trying to process the words Donnie is saying. “Then why-” Mikey’s voice breaks and his eyes blur even worse. “-then why did you always- always call me an idiot, or- or stupid, or tell you didn’t want me- me anywhere n-near you-” He can’t see anything at all and everything hurts. “-why did all of you say that you didn’t want me-”

Mikey’s voice gives out, and he starts sobbing again. Thick and horrible tears rolling down into his mask that he shoves out of the way to mash at his eyes and wipe away his stupid, stupid weakness-

-and Donnie’s arms just pull him closer.

Mikey just sobs harder, words and thoughts tumbling out as he cries. And Donnie just keeps holding him.

His brother is making shushing sounds, running a hand up and down Mikey’s shell while he does. Mikey thinks his brother is saying things like “I always wanted you” and “I’m sorry” and “Mikey, I love you, I love you-” but Mikey’s head and heart are too loud to let anything real come through.

Mikey just keeps crying and crying and crying. Until he’s done.

Then they sit there, cramped in a desperate two way clutch. Mikey’s vision finally clears itself, and his head and eyes and pretty much everything else hurt.

He can see the spilled tequila, all the way at the end of the hall. And then he feels sick again.

Distantly, he feels Donnie’s arms tighten around him again as his breath hitches in a half sob.

Even more distantly, Mikey thinks about how none of his family has done this is years. He loves Leatherhead, downright adores his friend, but it’s not the same as getting a cuddle from his brothers. From his father.

Mikey doesn’t remember the last time his dad even hugged him.

That brings another fresh wave of grief and anger and sorrow up from his core, and Mikey shudders as he tries to shove it all back down. “Why didn’t- why didn’t dad- why didn’t he love me?” Mikey chokes out. “Why didn’t any of you love me? Al-always calling me stupid, or- or telling me to leave, or saying you didn’t want me around- and he never- he didn’t even expect me to do well at anything, he just- just waited all the time for me to fail-”

“I don’t know, I don’t know,” Donnie says, low and fast, clutching Mikey closer. “But I’m sorry. Mikey, I’m so, so sorry. You’re great. You’re amazing. You’re smart and good and I love you, okay? Don’t think otherwise. Please, please don’t think otherwise. I can’t- I don’t- I don’t know what to do, Mikey. I’m- I’m just sorry and I don’t know what to do anymore.”

Donnie presses a kiss to Mikey’s forehead, a gesture he barely feels, and his brother says “I’m sorry, I’m so, so sorry, Mikey-” in a hushed voice, like it’s a prayer. Donnie says it again and again, and Mikey just turns his head into his brother’s shoulder and lets himself be held.

They don’t leave the hallway for a long time.

    “…I had a handle on it,” Mikey says, hours later and with a voice that hurts. Shame is still running a throbbing tempo behind his eyes, in pulse with his headache. “I. I don’t like being angry. I don’t even like having anger; let alone… talking about it.”

Donnie’s quiet presence, on the other end of the couch, leaves the air open for Mikey to continue. And he does. “It’s… it’s nasty, and it makes me feel gross, and…” Mikey blinks away memories that rise up. Memories from before they’d left. “People get hurt when you- when you let it out. ‘s why I never do. And besides… Raph’s the angry one. I’m the… stupid one.”

“You’re not, though,” Donnie says, and that’s one of the few things he’s said while Mikey gets things out. “You’re just as smart as the rest of us, and Raph’s just an asshole.”

Mikey scoffs. “Not as smart as you.”

“That’s-” Donnie sighs, and shifts his position on the couch. “That’s different. We went over that already.”

Mikey ducks his head, and can’t look at his brother. Another thought rises up in him, and he speaks it. “How come you didn’t talk to me about…” Mikey waffles between how he should address their deceased parent. Splinter? Sensei? Whatever. “…our father. How come you talked to Casey and April, but not… me.”

Donnie is quiet for too long, and Mikey’s stomach twists. He knew it, he knew it- “It’s because you don’t think I’m smart enough to get it, right?”

“Wha- no!” Donnie exclaims, starting out of his silence. Mikey still won’t look at him, even as his brother moves closer. “Mikey, I didn’t want to talk to anyone about that. I- I just- Casey made me, okay? And April is… April. She asked, and he forced me to, and it’s just…” Donnie seems to search for the right words, for once, and it takes another beat before he does. “It’s just different with them, alright? And it’s nothing to do with you. It was just… easier, somehow. And… truthfully, I never wanted any of you to know what I thought about our father. Especially you, Mikey.”

“…why especially me?” Mikey asks warily. He’s not sure if he wants to hear the answer, or any of the following insults.

“Mikey, could you look at me?”

Mikey lifts his head slowly, and cautiously meets his brother’s eyes. Donnie looks tired, red eyed in a different way than normal. But he’s also giving a weakly encouraging smile.

“I didn’t want you to know especially… because you were the only brother I had left,” Donnie says, and his smile nearly slips for a moment, in turn with the flash of regret and grief in his eyes. “I didn’t want to- to tell you what I’d caused, if you hadn’t figured it out already, because I didn’t want to lose you too. I- I thought if I told you, you’d… stop wanting to be here with me.”

Mikey blinks, and finds himself shaking his head in jerky shakes. “No- no I’d- I wouldn’t leave you, Dee,” Mikey says, because he wouldn’t, not now not ever- “I wouldn’t do that.”

They’ve already lost so many people; he couldn’t turn his back on Donnie now.

“I know,” Donnie says, wincing in on himself. “But tell that to my anxiety.”

A part of Mikey knows he’s supposed to laugh a bit at that, maybe crack a joke of his own… but he’s all out of that stuff right now. He’s too tired.

He can do something else, though.

“I don’t blame you,” Mikey says, abruptly enough that Donnie seems confused for a second. He pushes on anyways. “I don’t blame you for Splinter dying, or what happened to our family. So don’t think I do, or ever would.”

Donnie just stares at him for a long breath, and then his shoulders slowly slump. In relief, not despair. It’s so much better than the slump he has when he’s given up.

“Okay,” Donnie says, and Mikey can hear the resounding relief in his brother’s voice. Donnie nods his head, and blinks away wetness in his eyes. “Okay. Thank- thank you, Mikey.”

The last part comes out as a whisper, and Mikey nods slowly. He thinks Donnie is also exhausted from all the emotional feelings talk, and Mikey is right there with him. No more of that tonight.

“Can we just make dinner and go to bed now?” Mikey asks, wondering vaguely if he’ll be told off for changing the subject to food. “I think I’m all talked out.”

“You? Talked out? I never thought I’d see the day,” Donnie says with a soft laugh, only for it cut off when he sees how Mikey is shrinking on himself.

“Yeah, ha, I never do shut up, do I?” Mikey mumbles. Always talking, always rambling, always going on and on about things no one even listens to him say…

“That’s not what I meant,” Donnie says, and his hand reaches out to grab at Mikey’s- only for it to stop just before touching. Hovering there. Donnie looks at Mikey, and Mikey hears the silent question.

Mikey opens his hand, and lifts it to meet Donnie’s. Their hands clasp together tightly, and Donnie says, “I’m sorry. That wasn’t supposed to be mean. I won’t say it again.”

“…thanks,” Mikey says, swallowing down his tremulous thoughts and emotions.

Donnie’s hand tightens around his, and slowly pulls Mikey close enough for a hug. Mikey lets himself be pulled over, and wraps his arms around Donnie as his brother does the same to Mikey.

“I think that food idea is a good one,” Donnie says after a beat. “I’m pretty hungry, actually. I don’t think I ate tonight at all.”

Mikey scoffs quietly, and thumps his head against Donnie’s shoulder. “You suck at taking care of yourself, Dee. Gonna waste away one of these days.” Mikey knows that one is toeing the line, because they don’t need to actually say it to both know that if they’d stayed in the lair… there would’ve been a real chance of that happening.

Mikey hugs his brother a little tighter, and tries to push away that image.

“Mgh, don’t I know it,” Donnie mutters. He turns his head, and Mikey feels a soft kiss to his forehead. “Think instant noodles and easy vegetables would be good? I don’t have enough energy for real cooking.”

“Sounds good to me,” Mikey agrees, and he starts to pull away from their hug. Donnie stops him though, with a gentle grip on Mikey’s shoulders. Mikey glances up, and meets his brother’s eyes again.

“For the record, and from now on,” Donnie says, strong voiced and with certainty. “I don’t think you’re stupid, and I’m never calling you that again. Ever. As far as I’m concerned, the word is gone from my vocabulary now and forever.”

That startles a laugh out of Mikey. “Now that is just stupid,” Mikey says, disbelief and some kind of achy emotion running through him. “You can’t just delete that word; you use it on, like, half the problems we deal with.”

“I can and will and have,” Donnie says stubbornly. Then, tone shifting to something softer, “Mikey, I’ve made a lot of mistakes. Particularly with how I treated you. I need to make up for it, and if giving up one word that’s done more damage than I ever thought it would is something that’ll help, then I’ll give it up and never say it again for the rest of my life.” He smiles, and there’s a hint of humor to the expression. “Besides, when have you ever known me to go halfway with anything? It’s all or nothing here, and I’m going to give my all.”

Oh.

Mikey can’t find a response to that. He can’t do anything other than nod shakily as something warm and painful and loving fills up his chest, and nearly makes him start crying again.

Scratch that, he already is.

“Oh, Mikey,” Donnie says gently, and wraps Mikey in another hug. “Shhhh, it’s okay. Just let it out, it’s okay.”

Mikey sniffles pathetically, and hides in his brother’s shoulder for a while longer. He stifles the last of his tears, and somehow pulls everything back together enough to push past the old pains and breaks in himself, to look at the new things taking their place. The warm things brought to life by having his brother say that he’s sorry, and that he’ll do anything to fix what’s happened to Mikey, and how Mikey now feels like he really matters. To Donnie. Like he’s not just the brother their family never wanted, or the screw up youngest no one ever listened to. He feels like he’s loved.

It’s not a feeling he ever wants to lose again, and he tries to say that, only for it to come out incoherent and rambly. Donnie just shushes him and says he knows, he knows and they won’t. Never again.

No more hurting and being hurt.

No more.

    The tequila bottle is smashed with vigor and vengeance. Mikey whoops as he hears the glass shatter against the wall of the tunnel. It’s a good sound.

“I am never letting Jones anywhere near us with that toxic liquid ever again,” Donnie says in a matter of fact tone, accompanied with a disgusted sniff. “It brings nothing but misery and tears to anyone who drinks it.”

“True that,” Mikey says, hands on his hips and feeling much better just for that small act of destruction. Sometimes, he supposes, anger is allowed out if you do it right.

As he has come to discover- and is no longer allowed to ignore- bottling it all up and not speaking about it all just makes things ten times worse than they need to be.

He and Donnie had a talk about that. A very long talk. A talk that took all night and well into the day, mixed in with all the nasty things Mikey has been keeping locked up inside and pretending didn’t exist.

It’d felt like pouring murky water out into the open, filled with all the rotting thoughts Mikey had inside him. All the emotions and memories he’s been ignoring for so long.

Donnie hadn’t had answers for some of them. The ones about their dad and why he never seemed to expect anything of Mikey at all, and the ones about Raph and Leo and why they always treated Mikey like a useless piece of junk no one wanted.

He’d had some though. Mostly for himself, and those answers were mostly apologies.

Mikey countered a lot of the apologies with his own, or insistences that that specific moment or interaction he had been an idiot, or annoying, or was just being a general fuck up-

But Donnie had very, very sternly told him to shut up when he tried that, and to stop saying those things.

“And that includes thinking those things, Mikey,” Donnie had said, still stern. “If I’m not allowed to think shitty things about myself, then neither are you.”

Mikey had tried to counter that, but hadn’t been able to.

Well, no harm in that. If they’re instating a ‘no shitty thoughts about yourself’ rule, then it’s a good one. Mikey even wrote it onto the fridge whiteboard, displayed with their other new rules.

Most of them are about minding each other’s spaces and needs, and some are about which subjects have to be talked about specifically. They’re both guilty of bottling things up, and whoops, looks like they’ll have to police one another about doing so.

Mikey doesn’t mind that rule too much, and Donnie doesn’t either.

It’s a good rule. It’s a rule that makes sure they communicate when they’re feeling particularly bad, and makes sure they go to one another for support for those moments.

Donnie hasn’t made fun of Mikey’s issues once the whole while. Even when Mikey started talking about the dumb nightmares he gets, Donnie had listened intently, and given nothing but reassurances afterwards. No mockery in sight.

Mikey still catches himself waiting for a verbal or physical blow sometimes, but that’s getting to be less and less. He kinda hopes it’ll be not at all sometime soon.

Everything else is great though! They’re both talking and spending time together, they’ve got awesome friends who are doing everything they can to support the two of them, and they’ve got a home all to themselves; one that’s full of plants that make everything smell great and furniture they picked out themselves and new memories they’re building together.

Now that Mikey has most of his anger out, (most, because he doesn’t think he’ll ever get it all out), and his skull isn’t buzzing with repressed emotions all the time, he thinks it’s the happiest he’s felt in a long, long time.

All good things! He’d like it if things would stay that way, at least for a while.

He’s tired of fighting. Tired of dealing with one crisis after another. They had a talk about that too, about being tired of things like that. And about why Mikey suddenly couldn’t control himself so well anymore. Why all the anger came crawling out, even though he’d put so much work into pushing it all down.

Funny thing about trauma, if you stand still long enough for it to catch up, it will. And then the whole game changes.

No more war means no more distractions, and that means they can’t ignore the things that happened over the years any longer. Kind of hard to do that when there’s nothing left to deal with, other than the pieces leftover.

Emotionally speaking, they’re both kind of really fucked up. Mentally speaking too. It’s going to be a long time before that’s not a thing anymore.

But whatever, they’ll get through it. They always do, so why would this be any different? Especially since they’re both going to do their absolute best to be the support they need.

It’s just them now. No dad, no big brothers. They’ve got friends but it’s just not the same.

They’ll figure this out, through talking and googling things and making a lot of tea and popcorn for movie marathons. All good ways of figuring out why something hurts so much, and then moving away from the hurt.

They’ve got this. They’re the B-team- and that’s their name now, not their brothers’ for them, they’re taking it back and making it their own- and they’ve totally got this.

They’ve got each other, and they’re not letting go of that.

Mikey skips back into the station, because he can and no one will make fun of him for doing so, and heads towards the kitchen to grab a couple sodas. Donnie’s setting up the TV for another movie night, because they don’t have training and don’t want to do training anymore. They can decide what they want to do and no one else gets a say in it.

It’s a pretty awesome feeling, that one. Sure they got all sorts of unresolved issues still hanging in the background, but freedom still tastes like freedom and Mikey loves it.

Mikey opens the fridge, grabbing the six-pack of mini-Sprites they nabbed from the grocers the other day. And of course, he pops open the freezer to get kitty from her home. No way could he forget the third member of their household on a movie night.

Ice cream kitty mrowrowrow’s at him as he takes her out, and it’s a bit of a challenge to balance her while she squirms in her newest bowl. He keeps her steady though, and heads back out through the drapes with the first round of snacks for him and Donnie.

“You ready? I’m so hyped to see this movie,” Mikey says as he sets kitty on the coffee table. Said coffee table has taken a couple beatings lately, and he pats a couple scuff marks on its surface. Good coffee table, great job keeping up with their emotional drama. He should get it a doily as reward.

Donnie isn’t answering him, intently focusing on his phone as he stands motionless by the TV. Mikey’s own phone has remained under his mattress since he put it there, so Donnie’s been the only one seeing the messages from their brothers.

“Donnie?” Mikey asks, standing up straighter. “Hey, something wrong?”

Donnie finally hears him, and looks up from his t-phone.

Mikey’s good cheer disappears when he sees the expression on Donnie’s face.

“Mikey,” Donnie says, breathless and quiet. “We have to go back. It’s Raph.”

Continuation.

[belladonnachaos]

Why us?

Day 6: Write an angsty tear-jerker that will make everyone cry. This is time for all you angsty pieces of lovely rose petals.

PS: This late again, so sorry but hey it was so worth it.

Warnings: Shooting, guns, death, blood, children dying, explosions, more death and tissue warning.

 3rd Person POV:

   Gunshots could be heard echoing throughout the media hall, screams of terror rang out as everything ran for the exits which were blocked off by the people who were gleefully shooting at everyone. Men, women and children alike ran with no purpose other than hide and hopefully survive. Bodies laid on top of each other and puddles of blood which covered the whole floor, blood splattered on the walls from the fatal neck wounds many were hit with.

  This wasn’t suppose to happen here, we were supposed to be safe from the violence. Where did it go wrong? Why would they do this? Why would they want to hurt innocents, children, those that can’t fight back?

  Bang. Bang. Bang. It was all they could hear over the screams of the terrified and dying, among the racist/sexist slurs thrown about. Jack glanced back to the five kids he had managed to take with him when the expo hall was storm, he regretted not taking more. The youngest with them was a three year old who came with his mom to see his favorites, a mom who took bullets for him in the first wave, he wasn’t talking or making noise at the moment. The oldest one was a 17 year girl who acted quickly taking three kids and two adults with her, making them in total 12 who came out of the expo hall. She had been helping Jack navigate the building, as they moved around to find a clear safe place while keeping those with guns behind them. The other two adults kept the kids quiet and blinded when passing the bodies, taking that burden to allow Jack and the girl to lead them away safely. Unfortunately everybody they pass was beyond gone, not a soul was left alive, making the scene even more tragic.

  Unseeing eyes that pleaded for help, that spoke for help, of hope, of someone to  save them, judging them for not coming sooner to save them. Save them. SAve them. SAVE them. SAVE THEM! But they couldn’t,breaking Jack heart as they all looked away, not crying, can’t crying because it will set off the kids and it's not something the need right now. Soon they came across an empty room which had two door, perfect for hiding and escape if everything blew up on them. Inside they went, looking for a place to hide the kiddos while they talked about what to do. However the small break from the warzone outside mean that their brains were up for overthinking about those they left behind.

    Where could they be? Where they safe? Where they dead? Would I ever seem them again? I wish Mark, Ethan, Tyler, Bob, Wade and all the ladies as well are safe? I truly hope they made it out with those that ran out when the bullets flew? Could Signe be among them? Or would she be among the bodies that now littered the expo hall? No. No. No. Stop that brain, she has to be alive, she was alive, I just know it.

    He had been on the floor while the panel went on, Mark, Tyler, Ethan, Wade, Bob and himself, microphone in hand as they got questions for the Q&A. Wade was on the other side of the expo hall while the other where on stage, answering the questions while goofy off. Laughter filled the hall, contagious laughter that made everyone laugh until their sides hurt, one final moment full of happiness. Until it was shattered by the banging of the main doors to the hall, the storming of strange people dressed in black clothing and armed to the teeths. Without warning they had let out a storm of bullets at them, hitting everyone from kids to adults alike. Everyone started to head for the other exits, a stampede of scared humans who panicked from what was happening. In the chaos ducking from sight but looking around Jack searched for his friends and girlfriend but finding no one. Screams filled the air as well as the coppery smell of spilled blood, which jumpstarted Jack’s mind. He quickly ushered kids and adults to his direction, heading for the stage which was void of life only having blood splatters. Spying none of his friends or girlfriend he quickly escaped with the others, dodging bullets and losing more people on the way.

   I think I saw one of them in the crowd with scared eyes. Maybe I cowardly escaped without them. But I did try to look for them without getting a bullet in my chest. I did try, you can’t blame me for wanting to leave, I’m not any good dead. Wait, the sounds of bullets seized, are they gone? Is the police here? Are we save? Can we go hom- BOOM!

   A mini explosion could be heard and felt throughout the building, from the police or those with guns who knew. But soon mini explosions could be felt or heard through the building. The rattling of the walls and doorways cause the kids to cry out in fear, even some of adults had tears running down their faces, fear filled eyes looking around in despair. Shuffling and voices could be heard through the door in between the explosions, they were found and they had to move quickly. The girl and himself quickly gather the kids and others, heading for the door that had no noise activity. Existing they quickly saw  another hallway that seem to be empty so they head to that direction.  Moving quickly, each carrying one the youngest, to stay on high alert, having mentally vowed to protect these kids without regard to themselves. But in the hallway there was silhouettes of other people, danger or friend, who knew. Except,-

  “Sean is that you?” whisper the shadow person, who sounded like Signe. He could only hope it was her, he run to them and to his relief the body he held in a tight hold was her’s. The had a small moment with each other, hugging as if the other will disappear, kissing to memorize their face and whispering sweet nothing in their ear. But alas they had to part for there were more with Signe, friends and strangers alike. Mark, Amy, Kathryn, Wade, Molly, and strangers that ranged from kids and adults, who all looked worse for wear. Mark looked as if he had recently cried, eyes filled with unshed tears, cheeks blotchy and red from either crying or holding in sobs. Concerned fill Jack as he tried to reach for Mark but both Amy and Signe shook their head, Wade gathering the other mand in a hug, giving him comfort as he looked at Jack with a we’ll-tell-you-later face.

     She’s alive. She’s alive. She’ alive. SHE’S ALIVE! I knew it. I knew it. I just had to believe. Mark is so sad. I wonder what happened. I wonder what happened to Bo,b, Mandy, Tyler and Ethan, they don’t seem to be with the group. Wade is practically holding Mark up, it seem as if he has no will to go on. I only seen him like after Sep- no I refuse to believe that. I must be hopeful, for them, for Mark.

 Finally they slowly headed out of the hallway into the battlezone media pit, stands destroyed and tipped over, bodies laying in weird positions from where they got hit by the bullets. Thankfully it seemed empty of those with guns, so making a hard decision they had to cross the pit without somehow being noticed. The needed to get to the other side in which there could hopefully be more emergency exits for them to leave the dreaded place.

 They were halfway through the pit, navigating through a maze of bodies and stands that had fallen or were destroyed in the mass panic, when a bullet stuck one of kids in the middle of chest. The kid only had a moment to widen his eyes before he fell to the ground in a growing puddle of his blood. The blood was a stark contrast to the white and neon green septiceye shirt he was wearing. Another bullet whizzed by, missing Wade by an inch. This quick made the rest of them start to run, going in a zigzag motion to avoid the person who wanted to killed them like a hunted animal. Molly, Signe, Amy and the unnamed girl quickly grabbed the younger kids, running as fast as their bodies allowed them to. Wade helped Mark up and grabbed the hand of the sibling of fallen kid, who ironically had a red shirt with a golden crown. Sean helped the other behind them, rushing them along so they would end up hit, he even quickly grabbed the man next to him who almost fell when he was hit on his arm. They all headed to a tiny hallway or room they didn’t know what it was but if it could shile them from the bullets, it’s perfect. They were almost there, almost there until Jack decided to look behind him.

    Oh that poor kid. Why did it have to be him. He was too young. He didn’t have to died to the bullet of some asshole who took pleasure in shooting up innocents. Almost there, almost free from all this. Just a little bit longer. Oh shiet, no way. I can’t leave her there.

   Right in the middle of the pit was a small child of about two years old, who was crying and wondering around as if lost, she was in the path of guy was trigger happy. The one who was shooting them and killed the kid in front of them. Quickly making up his mind, run up to Signe, kissing her hard as he gave her one last kiss, running out her and Wade’s reach, who tried to keep him with them. He ran as fast as he could, pushing his body as hard as it could take him before it gave out on him. He reached her right as a hail of bullets came down in direction. He had enough time to take her in his arms and turn his body. Shielding and taking the bullets for her, he felt his body burn from the pain of the many bullets in him. The force of the bullets and of how fast he was running took them two into a small shelter of a fallen stand.

    She’s safe. She’s safe and will live another day. I’m glad I got to her. It’s ok if I’m dying, at least I got to safe her. She just has to make to the others. They have to take her and themselves to the exits, hopefully they aren’t block.

    Aware that he was dying and in burning pain from the bullets, he somehow wasn’t crying or screaming. He had one more thing to do before he gave in. He had to get the little girl to the other. They weren’t too far away but far enough that he couldn’t just hand her off to them. So he did another crazy thing before this annoying darkness overtook him for good. He somehow picked her up, got himself from the floor  and started to walk toward them. He could hear shouts from behind as the people with guns realized he was alive. He finally reach them, giving them the girl when he was hit by more bullets making hims fall in front of them with blood gushing out of his body. Signe was uncontrollably sobbing, trying to reach him but Amy held her back. Molly was silently sobbing, being held by Wade who was holding a loudly sobbing Mark. The other also looked at him sadly, knowing what he did was heroic but tragic. Soon they left from the area, not what to leave him behind but they had to. As they left Jack took his last shuddering breath, eyes sliding close on a bloodstain face. Red and green was the last he saw as his last breath left him, green hair stained with his blood having fallen in his face.

I love you Signe, have a wonderful life.

[inthesummerswelter]

recipe for disaster: chapter nine

Even though Penn’s the one with the culinary background, Ashton doesn’t even come close to burning down the kitchen. In fact, he’s quite proud of himself when he’s well-on his way through a recipe card for chicken soup that he found in one of Penn’s gran’s recipe books.

He’s got one hand propped on his hip, occasionally flipping the pages in his philosophy text, stirring the pot gently simmering on the stove-top with a wooden spoon in the other, and he’s whistling.

Huh.

He’s oddly…happy.

Maybe the domestic life suits him.

Carefully pouring in the bowl of chopped carrots that he’d prepared after deconstructing the chicken – which, to be quite honest, was an experience and a half, considering he had a hand up the bird’s ass for a few moments – he closes the book quickly to prevent any broth from splattering onto the pages.

Letting it go for a few minutes, he ducks down, pulling the refrigerator door open and scanning the contents before reaching forward and grabbing a bottle.

Ashton ladles out the soup into one of the flower-painted bowls she got from a vintage market last summer and sets it on a tray he’s laid out. Reaching up now, his hands find a tumbler and fills up the glass.

He nearly trips over Cardy on his way to Penn’s room, but he bumpers off the wall and sails through the doorway without any incident.

“Here we go!” Ashton practically trills. “Your gran’s chicken noodle and some ginger ale to settle your tum, since you were saying it was hurting earli—the fuck, Penn?”

He’s caught her half out of bed, aimlessly flopping her lower half as she tries to shimmy up a pair of completely shapeless chef’s trousers up over her hips. Penn’s face is sweaty and flushed from exertion, and he sets the tray down on the clear patch on top of her dresser before rushing over to push her back down into the mattress by her shoulders.

“I’m not sure if you heard me the first time, Penn, but you’re not going to work today. You’re ill, and you’re going to make yourself pass out again if you don’t stop all this.”

“Christ, Ashton, I know what I’m doing, okay! I’m only going to stop by for maybe a few hours to make sure everything’s going smoothly, and then I’ll come back! I’ll swear it on my greenhouse, okay?”

Her face has desperation written all over it, but Ashton’s shaking his head. “I already called twenty minutes ago and explained the situation to the maître de, who said he’d pass the message along to the chef in charge right away. Even if you go, they’re not going to let you in, Penn.”

He walks back over to where he left the tray and carries it over to her bedside table. “Besides,” he adds, “the sooner you get better, the sooner you can go back.”

Huffing out a sigh, Penn ceases her struggle with the unflattering polyester bottoms and starts a feeble attempt at now kicking them off her legs. Ashton suppresses a grin.

He’s won this round, at least.

“Here, let me help you.”

They manage to untangle the trousers from around her ankles, and he tosses them into the laundry hamper in her closet before helping her swivel her legs back under the sheets.

“God, Penn, you’re all sweaty!”

The girl in question rolls her eyes at him. “Good to see you can still state the obvious. Toss me a new shirt, then turn around, and I’ll change.”

He raises his eyebrows right back at her. “Two things could happen if I do that. One, you might leap out of the window to get to work or some stupid shit like that. Or, two, you might pass out on me again from the effort. Look, your hands are shaking right now.”

Pulling out a tee-shirt that strangely looks like one of his own, bleach mark near the collar and everything, he sits on the edge of her mattress and makes a grab for the bottom of the sticky pajama top she’s got on now.

However, before he can make any forward progress, her hand shoots out and grips his wrist with surprising speed.

“Let. Me. Do. It.” She grits out the words through clenched teeth, the flush in her cheeks becoming even more pronounced.

“Penn. Don’t be so stubborn. It’s not like I haven’t seen you in just your bra before.”

He makes another grab for the hem of the sweaty shirt she’s still in, and this time, his hand gets smacked away as she hisses out, “Ashton, I’m not wearing a bra.”

Oh.

Oh.

“Oh. Um…” he clears his throat awkwardly, sure that his face is approaching the same level of redness as the maroon fabric clutched in his hand.

Penn takes the clean tee-shirt from him and flaps her hand. “Just...uh...turn around. I’ll lean on your back if I start feeling faint or something.”

Quickly swiveling and swinging his legs on the bed so he’s sitting cross-legged, he stares up at the roadmap of cracks in her ceiling as he makes a concerted effort to try not to focus on the sounds of rustling cloth behind him. Halfway through, though, Penn keeps her to her word and ends up resting her back against his, using his shoulder as a pillow for her head as she softly pants out, ever so close to his ear, “Nearly there.”

Christ. His hands find sections of the comforter to clutch until his knuckles go white.

Finally, after what feels like an eternity and a half, even though he knows it couldn’t have been more than five minutes or so, he hears Penn flop back down on the mattress and mumble something that he assumes is a go-ahead for him to turn around again.

She’s got her forearm thrown over her face, covering her eyes, and he nudges her with his knee. “You should try to get something in your stomach, okay? I slaved over a hot stove to make this soup for you, so at least try a bit.”

Sighing, she pulls herself up into a slouched position against the headboard, pulling up her voluminous duvet to cover her up to her waist. “Give it here, then.”

Ashton passes her the tray, after taking off the glass of ginger ale to set it on her side table. “Now, even if it tastes like shit, I want you to lie to me and say it’s the best thing you’ve ever tasted.”

Penn grins at that as she brings the spoon up to her mouth, and he carefully watches her for a reaction. She takes another sip, and then another, before she speaks.

“Y’know, this is good enough that it might even give George a run for his money.

“George?” he asks, even as he grins at the compliment.

She waves her hand around a bit, while eating some more of the soup. “One of the chefs at the restaurant that specializes in soups and stews and chowders and bisques and those kinds of things. Looks like a monkey a bit, but a nice bloke all told.”

“Are you the only woman in that entire restaurant?”

She goes to answer, but then starts coughing again. Reaching forward to take the bowl from her, Ashton passes her the glass. “Take it easy there. Have some of this, too.”

After she drinks perhaps a third of the cup, he takes that from her as well, feeling her forehead. It’s both clammy and exceedingly hot at the same time, and her face looks red as a sunburn.

“Tell me,” he says, “why you’re so determined to go back to work when you’re obviously quite under the weather? Your well-being is worth a little bit more than one day off the job.

Pursing her lips, Penn folds her arms across her chest. “It’s not that simple, Ash. And, it’s really kind of a long story.”

“I’ve got time. No classes today.”

“...Okay.” He’s surprised at how quickly she acquiesces. Must be the illness talking. “It all started when I was right about two or three years old…”

    One of Penn’s first memories involves her grandfather’s favorite folding chair and a colouring book. Specifically, a colouring book featuring fanciful black outlines of princesses and castles and dragons, waiting to be scribbled over crayons wielded carelessly by her small, chubby hands.

It’s not so sunny under Pop’s chair, which is why she had squirmed under there in the first place. Getting sticky in the heat did not make for much fun.

She babbles along, making up songs on a whim, and shrieks with laughter as her grandfather reaches under his chair, newspaper folded in his lap, and scritches across her sides, tickling her.

(“Is there a radio down here? I can’t hear it clearly enough! Better turn up the volume!”)

Gran strolls out onto the patio, giving her husband a kiss on the cheek and a fresh cuppa. She peeks under his chair, reclips Penn’s fringe back in a sparkly barrette, saying, “Now, can’t let your hair get in the way of your art, can we? Oh, this looks gorgeous!”

Penn beams back up at her, pressing her palm flat on the rough paper and pushing it over to show her all of the colouring she’s managed to complete.

Except the page she’s proudly displaying gets torn out of her book with a resounding rip! and her older sister stand in front of her, picture in hand.

“Prissy! Give it back!”

Miriam turns to glare at her other granddaughter. “Priscilla Rose! What possessed you to do such a thing?”

With a six-year age gap, Priscilla already looks down on Penn from a significant height, nose turned up in distaste. “Mummy says you’re not allowed to colour such ridiculous things.”

Tears well up in Penn’s eyes, and Priscilla rolls her own in turn. “Don’t be such a baby, Penelope. This isn’t even that good. You’re never going to be an artist anyway.”

Ichiro Bunting snaps his newspaper closed, and Penn’s never seen him this furious. Without one word, he storms into the house where her parents sit with her brother over brunch, discussing the best medical programmes in Great Britain. Never mind the fact that her brother is only thirteen.

Her sister huffs and marches back towards door to the house, dress flouncing and paper crinkling in her small hands.

Penn’s sobbing right now. At only three years old, she’s still not really sure why Prissy is always so mean to her, and why Pierce is always so cold to her and why Daddy only reads really boring books to her and why Mummy insists that she sit like a lady.

There’s yelling coming from behind her, in a strange voice that sounds like her grandfather’s, but warped and fed through a loudspeaker, and her daddy’s speaking too, in that odd tone, but Gran’s picking her up now, hoisting her on her hip and striding into the garden where the iron trellis-towers covered with bean runners block out the sound.

They spend the afternoon out there together, Miriam telling her youngest grandchild all the different names of the numerous plants she’s growing in her raised beds, letting Penn pull out carrots and feel the velvety leaves, and knowing with a sinking feeling in her heart the enormous pressures Penn’s going to be put under.

    All of her fantasy colouring books get replaced with anatomical medical print-out pages one night, and Penn, age four and already bitter, knows not to ask her Mummy about it. She scribbles over them half-heartedly in red and blue and relishes the days when she goes over to her grandparents’ flat after primary, where her gran lets her draw until her heart’s content and her pop reads novels to her that talk about magic of all things.

Pierce gets accepted into a top university medical programme, of course, and the only things that capture Priscilla’s attention are texts on the bar exam and her mum’s platitudes about how diligent studies and high goals will lead to desired results.

And there’s nothing that Penn can do but pretend to go along with the stifling atmosphere of being pushed into a life that doesn’t hold any appeal for her whatsoever. Her father regales her with the benefits of being the last child, as now she’s got the option of either medicine or law now, since they’re already going to have a doctor and lawyer in the family. Maybe even engineering. She’s got choices.

Bullshit.

Things get tenser at home and strained is the key descriptor for her parents’ – especially father’s – relationship with her grandparents. Soon, she’s spending most of her free time at the latter’s flat, even taking to sleeping on their pull-out sofa instead of trekking back to her hideously pink room which her mother absolutely refuses to let her paint over.

Her gran passes her pamphlets about art school and universities that offer degrees in botany, while her pop talks about the benefits of just going undecided or, horror upon horrors, not going to university at all.

“It’s not for everyone. Do what’s right for you and don’t let anyone make you do anything different,” he shrugs as he flips the page to the crosswords and pats her hand, arthritic thumb rubbing over hers comfortingly. His nonchalance about stating something so important to her brings tears of gratitude to her eyes, and she throws her arms around his neck, crawling as best she can into his lap, and cries into his thin chest.

But then he dies, a sudden stroke that nobody saw coming, and it’s like Penn’s missing a lung. There’s half as much oxygen in the air – she can’t breathe – and a gaping hole in her heart, and, if anything, she and her gran only get closer from their shared grief over the loss.

She fails half her GCSEs and couldn’t care less.  

Nothing like that matters to her any more, and Penn gets into such a horrible row with her parents – nasty, horrible, scathing things get shouted across the living room, deadly barbs – that she moves into her gran’s flat until graduation.

There was nothing there for her at her parents’ place, except bucketloads of sighs and complaints about how she’ll never amount to anything, never be as successful as Pierce, who’s just finishing his residency, or as Prissy, the second-youngest to pass the bar exam.

So she leaves.

They didn’t want her anyway. Just another trophy child.

Then she meets Zayn and starts wearing things other than the dresses and skirts her mum had always purchased for her and chops her waist-length hair off into a chunky bob.

(Horrified her mum and Prissy of course. They had to hid her in the back of Prissy’s wedding photos. Her gran just thumbed the end of one of the pieces and told her that it suited her. That Ichiro would have told her she looked beautiful.)

Zayn’s always there for her, just like her gran, just like her pop, giving her all these new opportunities and letting her rant about her ridiculous family and how her dad practically fawns over Pierce’s newborn son while she’s not even allowed to hold the kid.

(She’d also be lying if she didn’t say that she’d had a crush on him for the better part of the time she’s known him. She also leaves this part of the story out when telling it to Ashton.)

That’s when she latches on to the idea of being a chef.

That’s something she can do – something that she’s actually good at – and something that she’d be proud to do. Making her way up, fighting tooth and nail for each step up the rungs of the ladder, gives her more confidence in her abilities than anything else.

And, it’s a real fuck-you to her parents, Mum especially, who consider food service to be on par with janitors and rubbishmen.

Solidifying a position as head of a potential Michelin five-star candidate restaurant also would solidify her position at the top of the industry, giving all of her hard work visible, tangible results that, as much as she loathes it, could force grudging recognition from her parents that she is just as successful as her siblings, just in a different manner.

Which is why she desperately needs to win this competition and why getting ill at this time is the absolute worst fucking thing to happen to her.

   By the time she finishes relating everything, Penn’s eyelids are drooping in exhaustion, and Ashton doesn’t blame her. He tucks up the blankets over her shoulders as she turns on her side and nuzzles into her pillow, brushing her hair off her cheek and back behind her ear.

Getting up, he goes through the motions of putting away the leftover soup into the refrigerator to heat up later and washes the dishes and lets the dogs back in from where they’ve been romping around in the fresh bit of snowfall on the terrace. It’s not until he notices that Cardy has something sticking to her hind paw that he realises Penn’s still not opened the letter yet.

Ashton pats it down with a tea towel and fills up a glass of water, bringing both back into the bedroom to set on her side table. He leaves once more, to grab his glasses, textbook, and a spare quilt, and curls up in the corner chair. Just so he can keep an eye over her.

   She wakes up sometime later, throat dry, and finds the glass of water.

Chugging it, she wipes her mouth with the back of her hand, glancing over to the corner. Ashton’s book lies haphazard on the floor, glasses askew on his face, toes peeking out from the bottom of the quilt, and he’s snoring lightly. She can’t quite stop the fond grin from crossing her face.

Settling the now-empty glass down, the crinkle of paper and swirl of purple lettering catches her eye. But, sleep is already calling to her again, so she resolves to investigate when she wakes again and settles down under the blankets again.