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phoebepheebsphibs · 3 months ago

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Double-Mutated Mikey

Chapter 46: Oneirology

Continued from the short story written by @boots-with-the-fur-club

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Mikey goes through a lot of exercises and examinations in the morning. Dr. Chaplin is there for all of it.

Mikey is made uncomfortable by his presence, by his calm smile that is consistent throughout the day. At one point, he places a hand on Mikey's shoulder, as if to make him feel comfortable. Or to create the idea that they are close friends, that Mikey can trust him.

It has the complete opposite effect, and Mikey's entire body is set to pins and needles at the touch. His stomach in knots, his mind static, his hands tremble under the immense weight that hand holds over him.

He sits as still as stone underneath that hand. If he moves, if he breathes, if he cries or smiles or laughs, who knows what punishment he will earn?

And yet... Mikey wishes the touch would last longer. It's warm, it feigns kindness and familiarity. He pretends the hand belongs to someone else, he pretends it belongs to Blue or Red or Purple.

Even though... they don't love Mikey. He doesn't blame them for not loving him, he doesn't even love him. How could he, when he's just a freakish mutant thing?

He tries not to shake, he tries not to cry. He ducks his face away so no one will see.

He wishes he wasn't such a monster. He wishes he was something else. A dust mite, a bottle, a picture hanging on a wall. Maybe a cat, or maybe a bird, or even a worm. Something, anything, that has even an iota of meaning and purpose in the world.

Their necessity in the grand scheme of things outweighs his own, in any case...

And someone must love those things, right?

Mikey can't stop crying. He catches himself on the verge constantly, the tears burning the edges of his eyes.

Dr. Chaplin watches over Mikey the entire first half of the day. He practically hovers over him, like Mikey is his little child at the nurses' office for a checkup, or a precious toy that is getting maintenance.

Dr. Timothy and Dr. Finn do all sorts of examinations and physical tests and check-ups and such and so forth. They take Mikey's temperature, they do a DNA test, the inspect his teeth and claws, they check this and that and that and this and this and that and...

...Why don't the colours love Mikey?

Didn't they love him at one time? Weren't they here with him once? They must have lived with him in the labs, so... were they family? Friends?

Did they look like him? Smell like him? Did they have spots, too?

The doctors say that Mikey was the first and only success in the TCRI mutation experiments. Does that mean that Red, Blue, and Purple are...

...........dead.....?

...Mikey hopes not.

As awful as it is, as painful as it could be... Mikey hopes they left him. Mikey hopes they escaped, got out, something.

He wonders if they think about him.

...But they probably don't. They probably never looked back. And why would they? Why think about this place in any way??

Mikey.... Mikey hopes that they're happy now. Wherever they are.

The tests go on.

Mikey zones out for the whole of they day until he's put back in his cage.

...Maybe Mikey should stop thinking about them, too.

It hurts too much.

Mikey curls in his cage, turning his back to the other experiments in the room. It really is hopeless for him, isn't it?

They all really do hate him, don't they? He'll never get out of here. He'll never see them again.

It's... it's hopeless. He'll never find home...

This is your home, Instinct whispers. I am all you need.

Mikey is tired of listening to him. He tries to ignore him. It's hard.

So Mikey just lays there, in the uncomfortable silence of the labs.

The animals bark and yowl and mew and chirp and hiss and snap and so on.

The doctors argue and discuss things amongst themselves.

At some point, Mikey must've fallen asleep. He only figures this out when he is woken most abruptly by an alarm ringing through the labs. Feet scamper back and forth as scientists start grabbing what they can and then making a break for the doors.

Mikey turns to peek out just a moment to see what the fuss is about. He's never heard an alarm like this before.

"...how many intruders did they say?"

"Not sure, but we have to get everything out of here..."

"What do we do about the experiments?"

"Leave 'em! They're just stupid dumb animals--"

"And the Mikey experiment?"

Silence. Mikey looks out between bars as the two men contemplate what to do.

"...We don't have time to move him. Just... just cover up his cage and push it in the back. Hide him."

"Is that really wise??"

"You heard the alarm! I'm not risking getting nabbed by some thrill-seeking idiots! And what if they're robbers, or armed? And the likelihood that they'll make it to this floor before security gets them --"

"Alright, alright! Fine, geez... do you see a tarp or blanket or something we can use?"

"Yeah, I think there's a fire-resistant sheet in the closet for emergencies..."

Mikey watches with curiosity as one man grabs the blanket and the other starts pushing Mikey's cage into the back of the room, finding a dimly lit corner that will hide him well enough.

"Don't just stand there, help me already! This thing is heavy!"

"Right. Hey, how do we know this thing won't make any noise or something?"

"He's smart, he knows not to do that. Don't you, freak?"

Mikey swallows and whimpers, cowering even further into the corners of his cage.

The two finally push his pen into the corner, and drape the cloth over it. They press a finger to their mouth, signaling him not to make a sound before pulling the cloth as far over his enclosure as possible before running away and turning the lights down.

Mikey shivers. He's not sure why he's so nervous.

Stupid fearful wretch. Do you think this will keep you alive? Fear is weakness!

Mikey begs Instinct not to berate him right now. It's hard to stay quiet when Instinct is --

How pathetic you are. How revolting. They couldn't even care enough about you to take you with them.

Please, stop... Mikey's begging you, j-just --

And Instinct doesn’t just mean the evil humans. 'They' couldn't care less about you either. You spend every spare woebegone second crying over those worthless colours! And where are they now?! GONE, THAT'S WHERE! They LEFT you, and ABANDONED you, and all you can think of is how much they could have loved you?? HAH! I was wrong to keep you alive. I was wrong to save you, to fight for you. You aren't even worth it.

Mikey cries.

Stop crying, idiot!!

He can't.

It's... it's so hopeless. Why did he ever have hope? What for?? A happy ending? A family? Someone to hold him and love him?

What a hollow dream that was. Mikey should have known... h-he should have never hoped... Mikey isn't even a monster. He's less than that. He's nothing.

Oh, how long it has taken you to realize, Instinct sighs.

Mikey sobs quietly.

He cries and curls tighter and tighter and tighter around himself, hoping that he'll disappear inside of himself... if it's possible.

A door slams open, causing him to jolt out of his self-pity party. Mikey tries to stop sobbing. Keep quiet, keep quiet!!

Mikey can't stop crying, can't stop whining and whimpering and...

A-and...

What's... what's that smell?

Oof, it smells bad. Strange. But... but he.... he KNOWS that smell, doesn't he?

Red.

RED.

The colour engulfs his mind as the scent comes into focus.

I-it's... it's him. It's Red.

No, it can't be! Red is --

Is here in the room. Red is HERE!!

Oh.

Oh no. Oh, no, no no no....

Mikey can't let Red see him.

He hides, pushing himself as far away from the cage door as he can.

Red CANNOT find him! H-he can't, if Red sees Mikey, th-then he'll be so angry! Mikey knows they left him, Mikey knows that he was gone, they must be so angry at him! And Mikey knows... Mikey is a monster. Mikey can't remember what he looked like before, but he does recall that he looks different now... He doesn't want Red to see him.

Mikey prays that Red doesn't find him.

His heart pounds louder and louder as he listens to each step get closer. He BEGS himself to SHUT UP, STOP CRYING!! HE'LL HEAR YOU!

And hear him he does. Mikey hides his face, cowering in the dark as he hears the shuffling of feet coming towards his cage.

There's a loud CLANG noise as Red destroys the lock. Mikey's body freezes in terror.

The door opens.

Mikey finds himself reacting purely out of fear. He doesn't even know why he does what he does, but Mikey lunges out of the cage and hides behind Red. Red gasps in shock at the speed, but doesn't react beyond that.

Mikey clings onto him, breath trembling in his lungs.

It's Red... it's Red...

Oh..... oh the familiar feeling of hope.

He CAME. Red CAME BACK FOR HIM.

Despite his utter terror, Mikey can't bring himself to let go. Red seems to notice this.

"Alright, you can stay up there, but I need to go find my brother," Red replies with a sigh.

Mikey is confused... brother? He means Mikey! Does he not know? Has he truly not realized...

Mikey lets out a churr, unsure whether or not to tell him. He's... he's looking for him. He's searching for him. He WANTS to find him...

Red places a hand over his shell, helping him to stay in place on his shoulder.

"His name is Mikey," Red says, head swivelling from side to side as he searches the room. "He's got spots and the biggest smile you'll ever see. Mikey's also super talented. Kid can bake, draw, and dance better than anyone."

Mikey chirps, a smile gracing his face. He tries to hug him as best he can in his position. His tail wags, slapping the back legs of Red as he continues.

Somewhere in the back of his head, Instinct tells him not to fall for it, stay on his guard...

"I love him," Red continues, voice cracking. "A lot. I'd do anything for him."

Red goes on and on and on about Mikey, talking of special skills or talents he has, their relationship, and so many other things.

He... he loves Mikey?

He loves...

Someone.... someone loves Mikey.

Someone loves him enough to come into this place. To look for him. Despite what he's done.

Red loves Mikey. Despite all he thought, despite the hope that died and the many times Mikey was convinced of the opposite... he loves him. Mikey was wrong. Red loves Mikey...

He starts crying again.

"Ew! Did you just drool on me!? Come on!"

Mikey cries even more. Red loves him. Mikey never knew that... Mikey realizes that they didn't betray him, he betrayed them...

Red sighs and rubs Mikey's back.

"Hey, sorry for saying all that….you've probably been through enough already."

Mikey rubs his cheek against Red's head, gently wrapping his arms under his neck in what could loosely be described as a hug.

Mikey... Mikey is so sorry, Red. Mikey's so sorry...

"Don't worry about it. I'm not sad. Not as long as I find him," Red explains.

But... Mikey is right here?

Red doesn't understand. Mikey still can't show him his face. He's too scared. Maybe Red will stop loving him if he sees Mikey...

But he has to help Red. He starts tugging Red's shoulders, pulling him in a specific direction. Out of the room, into the hall, towards the elevator.

"I can't go without my brother," Red refuses, trying to pull Mikey off of his shoulders. "Here, you get out, you've probably been trapped long enough."

No, Mikey can't let Red see him!

Red gets irritated as Mikey mews in anxiety, clinging onto his shell and acting completely uncooperative. Red groans in frustration.

"Listen, I can't-"

The scales on Mikey's skin stand up on edge. He smells something.

Danger.

Mikey turns back and sees the cages of the mutants be opened remotely. That's not good. He looks up and sees a camera in the hallway watching them.

Oh. Oh no.

This is Mikey's fault. They don't want him to leave. They're going to take Red away from him again --

NO.

Mikey can't let them have his... brother... They cannot take Red.

Mikey leaps off of Red's back.

"I can't let you down! They're still coming!"

Red whirls around and comes face to face with reality.

Mikey stares at him, eyes sad and smile just barely visible.

Mikey's so sorry, Red...

"M-Mikey….?"

Mikey turns around and growls at the oncoming battle.

Shall we kill? Instinct asks.

Yes, Mikey answers.

WONDERFUL.

Mikey charges.

He'll make it up to Red. He'll protect him. He'll save him, he'll fight for him, kill for him, die for him. Anything.

Mikey will do good.

Mikey has to guard his face from the light as he steps through the door. He wonders how many times in one night can he endure this...

As the light dims and fades away, Mikey notices that the flooring beneath his feet seems change. It slowly shifts from soft and smooth wood to hard concrete bricks, cold and wet or slimy with every other step.

The light finally subsides, revealing the scenery around him.

It's the sewers.

Not a minka or pagoda built for a big family.

But a wide open series of tunnels refurbished for a family of five.

Mikey knows this place from his memories...

The walls are spray-painted with artsy symbols and phrases from movies like Hot Soup! or Jupiter Jim Saves the Day! and Heroes in a Half-Shell -- Turtle Power!

Mikey hears something down the hall. He follows the noise as it gets louder and more distinct. There's laughter, shouting, giggling, eggings-on of children...

Mikey enters into the rec room, where all the other halls lead and eventually connect to. There are four turtle tots making such a joyful ruckus as they play games and run after each other.

There's little Raphie, wearing an oversized jersey and a football helmet over his mask as he plays tag, running from the others at a slightly slower pace so they can catch up with him.

Baby blue Leo is next, just about to latch onto his tail in the game of tag. His mask is bunched up like a bandana over his head, the iconic blue tee with the word RAD flows behind him as he chases after the biggest brother.

Donnie runs after the two at a slightly slower pace. His puffy jacket hinders his speed ever so slightly, and he stops every so often to readjust his glasses.

Mikey watches with awe at the sight of his brothers so teeny tiny, so young, so carefree...

"Guys! Wait fow me!"

Mikey's eyes widen at the sight of one singular tot, chubby and small, waddling as fast as he can after the trio.

"I has wittle legs, I can't keep up!"

The corners of Mikey's mouth turn up in a gradual smile as he watches the fond memory of his childhood.

"They're cute, aren't they?"

Mikey's head snaps to the side. There's... another person here.

He barely recognizes him at first. But he's had enough of his memories to return to be able to remember his former self.

"...It's you..."

The former Mikey smiles brightly at him, snickering just a bit.

He looks almost exactly like his memories, apart from a pair of large rose gold glasses adorning his face.

"How... I-I mean, why...."

"Aren't they adorable?" the other Mikey asks, glancing back to look at the toddlers. "Can you believe we were ever that cute?"

Mikey doesn't answer yet, he just watches the kids playing.

Turtle tot Mikey pauses, and turns to look at them. The other tots don't seem to notice the grown kids, but he does somehow. He smiles and waves at them.

"Who ya wavin' to, Mikey?"

"Just some friends!"

The tots all run down the corridor. Mikey reaches out to the child, almost begging him to stay.

"Where are they going?" he asks the other Mikey.

But the other Michelangelo doesn't really respond.

Mikey runs after them, following down the corridor for the kids. They all run into the TV room, where Splinter had left a copy of Crouching Shrimp, Hidden Tiger Prawn playing on the projector screen.

He watches with slight nostalgic jealousy as the kids try to recreate the scene from the movie.

"Hard to believe that's us," says the other Michelangelo as he struts in after Mikey, leaning against the archway.

"Y-yeah," Mikey stammers, thrown off by Michelangelo's reappearance.

"Why don't you have a seat?" Michelangelo asks, gesturing to the side table and wraparound couch in the corner of the room.

Mikey follows his counterpart and sits across from him, eyeing him nervously.

"I thought we could talk for a bit," Michelangelo says with a gentle smile.

"What about?" Mikey asks, tail twitching restlessly along the cushions.

"Some things that I felt were important to address. Before we have to leave."

"We?? Don't you mean me or you?" Mikey corrects.

Michelangelo leans on the table, hands folding into one another as he studies Mikey's face.

"See, that's exactly what I want to focus on. Why do you assume that you'll be leaving? Or me?"

"W-well...." Mikey swallows as he glances about the room, avoiding the double's gaze. "I don't know. I thought maybe... we weren't the same."

"Just because we look different?" Michelangelo asks.

"We act different, too," Mikey sighs. "You can't climb walls. You don't have a voice in your head telling you to hurt people. You don't have my scars."

"And that's what makes us different?"

Mikey stares at him in confusion at the audacity of a statement.

"Doesn't it?"

"Maybe it does, maybe it doesn't," Michelangelo shrugs. "But just because you went through something doesn't mean you aren't the same person you were before. I might not be you, but I'm still a part of you."

"I... I don't understand...?"

Michelangelo points down to where the children play.

"Look at him. Is he the same as us? No. But he is us, regardless. He will always be a part of us, no matter what. We carry him along, and sometimes he comes out and sometimes he shys away. But he's there all the same."

Michelangelo smiles.

"Just like I will always be there, too!"

Mikey finally meets his eyes. He swallows. Michelangelo reaches out and takes his hand.

"I know it's been hard for you to feel accepted after everything, and you've been fighting to find your place. But it was always there! Yes, you changed, and that's fine, that's even healthy. If you didn't change after something like that experience, then we should be a little concerned. But don't think that just because you changed that you aren't still yourself. I would've thought you'd have figured that out by now!"

"So... you're saying that you're still a part of me?"

"I've always been here, dude!" Michelangelo smiles.

"W-why?" Mikey asks, tail flicking nervously under the table. "D-don't you...."

"Don't I what?"

"...Hate me?"

Michelangelo laughs. Fully laughs, head thrown back cackling.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to laugh so much -- but why would I hate you?" he asks, lifting his glasses to wipe a tear away.

"Because... well, just because!" Mikey argues. "Why wouldn't you hate me??"

"Because it was never your fault, dude!" he replies. "And you keep forgetting, we're not two different people. We're the same. I'm just some kind of subconscious representation of your inner feelings or something."

"Huh?"

"Oh, never mind, you'll figure it out eventually."

"But you should hate me!" Mikey protests. "I-I replaced you, I-I ruined you, I--"

"Do you think he hates us because we grew up and changed?" Michelangelo asks, tilting his head to gesture to the tot version of themselves.

Mikey is taken aback, stuttering and stammering at the suggestion.

"I-I... I don't know, I--"

"Do you think that Donnie and Raph and Leo hated us when our powers evolved and changed?"

"That's not the same!" Mikey argues.

"But do you think Casey hated his Sensei when he lost his arm?"

Mikey pauses.

"Or do you think he hates us because we're the younger versions of the people he knew from the future?" Michelangelo continues.

"...I.... I don't... he kept talking about them, he misses them so much..."

"But he doesn't hate us or resent us. Or our brothers," Michelangelo explains. "Love doesn't give up when something changes. As we grow, it grows. As we change and evolve, so does love. And when we love someone, we don't simply forget who they were, or give up loving that part of them after they grow past it. We still love that part and hold it in our memory, and the love doubles. They will love every part of you, even after you've changed. Because people change, dude."

Mikey sighs.

"All this time I thought that they'd hate me because of how different I was..."

"...But I think the only person who really felt that way that might've been you," Michelangelo replies, taking Mikey's hand again. "Don't hate yourself over something you had no control over. You were hurt, and you healed. Might not have happened the way you wanted, and maybe you'll never be the same again, but you're still you and you can let yourself grow from there."

"So... you're really not mad at me?"

"No."

"Not even for... what I'd decided to do?"

"Oh, you mean about the cure?" Michelangelo asks with a smile. He waves his hand at Mikey and leans back nonchalantly. "Nah, I'm not mad."

"Would it have been the right choice?" Mikey asks. "To stay like this, and not undo the mutations? Or would it have been a mistake?"

"Well, firstly, I don't know if there was a wrong answer to that choice," Michelangelo thinks aloud. "If you'd have chosen to go back to how you were before, you'd still have all the memories of what you'd been through, and you'd have to go through learning how to live without the mutations and all the stuff you'd just gotten used to. Probably get war-like flashbacks every once in a while. And not to mention how painful it would have been, too. So it wouldn't have been easy. And the choice you made, to stay the way you are now, that's not wrong either. But it also won't be easy. Secondly, why are you talking in the past tense hypotheticals?"

Mikey blinks.

"Because.... because I'm dead, aren't I?"

For the second time, Michelangelo starts cackling.

"You're not dead!" he laughs.

"I...I'm not?"

"Nah, fool!" Michelangelo says, giggling as he claps Mikey on the back. "What made you think you were?"

"Well then what the heck is all of this?" Mikey yells in confusion. "What the heck was all of that whole paradise I just went through with all those Hamato people??"

"Oh, that," Mikey sighs, calming down. "Okay, maaaaybe you were kinda dead. Technically, your heart did stop and you weren't here on earth anymore, but that was only for maybe a minute or so. Not too long, no lasting damage. I think the ancestors just wanted to make sure you got home okay. They knew it wasn't your time yet."

Mikey swallows, feeling just a tad bit dizzy from the realization. And tired.

"Then... then what is this? A dream?"

"Call it a long overdue conversation with yourself," Michelangelo says with a wink. "A reflection inward, if you will. And I do. Dr. Feelings and Dr. Delicate Touch have been out on sabbatical for a while, and this felt like the perfect opportunity to dust off our truthful therapy skills!"

"Yeah, sorry about that," Mikey yawns. "I've been a little busy..."

"Hey, don't worry, I get it!" Michelangelo says with a wave of his hand.

"But... maybe it's time for them to come back?" Mikey offers. "Start accepting the truth and really healing..."

Michelangelo slowly takes the glasses off, rubbing his thumb over the lenses.

"Yeah. I think so, too," he says as he hands the specs to Mikey.

"So... would this be like, you giving me your blessing or something? Saying I'm the superior Mikey or something?" Mikey asks.

"It's a dream, dude," Michelangelo says flatly. "Not everything is completely meaningful. It's your subconscious."

"Right, right..." Mikey yawns. "So, if I'm not dead, then where am I?"

The Dream Michelangelo leans back, putting his feet up on the table and folding his hands behind his head as he stares off into space.

"Oh, right about now I'd say that your at home in the medbay, sleeping it off. I think you've been there for at least 20 hours now. You should probably wake up soon..."

"Yeah, I guess so..." Mikey sighs, a deep and heavy exhale escaping his lungs. "But... Just to be clear... you're really not mad at me? You're not mad that I decided to stay the monster?"

"You're not a monster, man!" Mikey cackles. "You're a teenage mutant ninja turtle!"

Mikey chuckles.

"Yeah. I'll work on that. But, y'know, the weird thing is," Mikey says, tapping his fingers against the table. "I'm actually kinda... thirsty?"

"What did you just say??"

Mikey has no idea why everything went so pitch black and then blinding white. He was just talking to himself, and as soon as he mentioned feeling thirsty... the whole world went away.

He tries opening his eyes. They're so extremely heavy, and as soon as he attempts it, light instantly cracks in his vision, seeping through his eyelids and causing red to pierce his sight. He fights through the pain, groaning softly as he does.

Once he opens his eyes, Mikey sees that he's in the gurney from the medbay at the lair. He can't really feel his body, which is weird. He lifts his arm. That works. He can't feel it, it's numb and weird, but it's there. He thinks his hand is disconnected from the joint since he can't feel it either, and it looks really floppy. But after he shakes it and manages to get the fingers to curl and uncurl, he finds that everything is okay after all. He flops the hand around again, snickering at the sight and sensation. A large, gruff but gentle hand takes his to make it stop. Aww, booooo...

He notices a tube and needle stuck in the center of his hand, pumping some sort of clear fluid into it very slowly. He follows the tube and sees it connects to a bag of the same clear fluid. Beside that bag is the owner of the hand, staring down at Mikey with wide and red-rimmed eyes hidden beyond a red mask.

"Mikey, what did you just say?" Raphael asks again, voice soft and airy, hanging on every potential word Mikey has to offer.

Mikey smacks his lips, which are awfully dry and chapped, and have just the tiniest remnants of crusted blood in the corners. He tries to find his tongue, which seems to be missing. Well, no, it's not, it's thick and it's right there, but he can't get it to wake up just yet. Funny, he could talk so easily a moment ago, why is it so hard now? He manages to get the lazy good-for-nothing muscle moving...

"...Th'rsty," Mikey croaks.

Raph practically knocks the IV pole and bag over in his desperate attempt to hug Mikey, almost flattening him against the mattress. He sobs almost uncontrollably, confusing an already out-of-sorts Mikey.

"GUYS! MIKEY'S AWAKE!!" He yells rather loudly, causing Mikey to flinch away from him.

He's not sure why Raph would say that, Mikey feels like he's still asleep, or will fall asleep again at any second again.

Leo and Donnie seem to materialize in the doorway just as the words leave Raphael's mouth, eyes wide and mouths open. As soon as they arrive, any thought of falling back asleep leaves Mikey. They fling themselves onto the gurney, sobbing hysterically and laughing profusely.

Casey and Splinter run in just a moment later, joining the fray and asking a hundred questions that Mikey has no idea of answering.

He still can't get his silly tongue to do anything for him.

Raph eventually remembers that Mikey wanted something to drink and gives him a glass of water, helping him to sip it. Or rather, to drool and dribble half of the contents down his chin as the rest barely manage to enter his mouth.

Mikey stares down blankly at the water running from his face.

"...Spilled it," is all he can manage to say.

The room erupts into laughter.

"...Where..." Mikey croaks, breath slow and relaxed from the heavy painkillers, "...Where am I?"

"You're home, Mikey!" Leo says, making it sound more like a congratulations than an explanation. "You're home!"

And for the first time, Mikey truly feels like he finally has come home.

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#tw unwanted touch #tw mikey gets really sad and has very sad thoughts #tw implied character death #he has risen babygirl!!#double mutated mikey #rottmnt #rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles #rottmnt mikey #rottmnt fanfiction #double mutation mikey #rottmnt fanfic #fanfic update #fanfic rec #fanfics #fanfiction #fanfic

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bokettochild · 9 months ago

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Febuwhump Day 19 - "Please Don't"

@1caru @sweetlemonad I believe you asked me to make Four suffer?

Rating: Teen(?)

Wordcount: 4,600

Summary: Four has been acting strange as of late, and it's making Warriors worry. Worry becomes anxiety as he watches the smithy, and it's quickly apparent that while the others don't see it, something is Wrong with Four, something very, very bad. Maybe too terrible to be fixed.

(WARNING!!!!!!! This fic does not have a happy ending! There's room for interpretation, but it does technically qualify as lead character death and a bad ending, so read with caution!

Four is weird about magic.

They all have some hang ups of course, Twilight especially, which is odd considering the recent reveal of his own magic usage, but everyone has something they’re wary of. Legend doesn’t like the unknown as a rule, but if he’s allowed to learn about it, he’s less likely to avoid and more likely to just be cautious. Time grew up with magic, but he’s wary about anything that exudes large amounts of power, as the side effects are often weighty for the price of using it. Sky is still becoming accustomed to everyday magic use, whereas it’s part of Hyrule’s life, while still being something that’s a threat for the traveler. Wild thinks it’s cool, but mostly since it’s almost gone entirely by his time without great amounts of effort. Wind, like Legend, is wary of the unknown, but in the end, he’s just as curious as Wild is.

As for himself, Warriors grew up without much more than old stories to tell him about magic, stories he’d pass to his little sisters later in life, still not aware of how prevalent the forces that he spoke of truly were in his world. The war had plunged him headfirst into a world of magic usage and its users, and like with swimming, he’d been forced to acclimate quickly lest he be pulled under and die. Now, he’d dare to say he’s the person least likely to react to sudden magic usage, provided it wasn’t too very bizarre. Shapeshifting is an outlier, since there’s no way to get accustomed to suddenly different forms, or any way to expect it, but still, blasts of magic or power from weapons? They’d gone off all the time from the fighters gathered across time, during the war. He’s used to strange new magics appearing out of nowhere.

Four is odd about them though. Four is wary of anything he doesn’t understand, but unlike Legend who will poke at it, shields raised, Four will keep away at all costs. As far as the smithy seems concerned, magic and he can keep their distance, and while, unlike Twilight, he doesn’t object to others using it, he firmly rejects offers extended to him to let him try things as well. The Master Sword is their key example of such behavior, but there are others too; Legend’s items, Twilight’s crystal, and generally most magical weapons that are not their shortest’s own.

So, seeing Four watching, listening so intently as they sit down and demand answers from their rancher, it’s strange.

They’d all been a bit affronted at the secret of their wolf companion and the rancher being the same, but now that they have the opportunity to learn what, precisely, was the reason for it, how it happened at all, they’re all eager to have answers. By nature, it seems the hero’s spirit carries with it a sense of curiosity that can’t be dimmed no matter how many generations it has passed through. It’s less proficient at teaching, but that’s become a null point as Legend carefully handles the thing, asking questions rather than letting them all rely on Twilight’s abysmal attempts at explaining how the thing works or how he’d come to have it.

He’s not sure how Legend hasn’t transformed, since, according to Twilight, it should change whomever handles it. Still, the vet seems to be taking advantage of his apparent invulnerability to examine the magical item and do whatever a magical collector and scholar like himself does with such sorts of new things.

Four paying rapt attention though, eyes following the vet’s hands as Twilight explains that it is, essentially, shadow magic condensed, formed from a curse placed on him that a powerful magic user had lifted for him.

“How does shadow magic not screw you over?” The vet is dangling the necklace before his eyes, making them cross as his ears pin back, a harsh scowl fixed on the crystal.

Twilight shrugs, also watching the vet, but relaxed, mostly, as though he doesn’t fear what happens if the magic activates, but still would rather it not. Warriors wonders what would happen if it did. “It’s pure magic. Dark only in nature, but all ill intent was- wiped away I guess? She didn’t explain fully, what with us still dealin’ with the world nearly endin’ an’ all.”

The vet flicks at the crystal with one finger, making it spin slowly, glinting oddly in the fading light of the sun, contrasted by the low burning flames of their campfire. “Pure dark magic...” he muses. “Not evil...just...hnnn....”

“Ever seen something similar?” Wind asks, slumped across the rock the vet and rancher sit on, arms cushioning his head as he looks up at the two, blinking slowly like he’s maybe beginning to tire out after their long day.

“Nope.” Twilight sighs.

The vet tips his head on one side, nose shivering in a thought that’s not shared. “Maybe?”

Four hasn’t blinked since the idea of pure shadow magic was presented, and there’s a glitter in his violet eyes that makes the captain uncomfortable. He’s not sure what it is, Four’s a good kid and rarely is any trouble, but something about that look in his eyes.... it’s worrisome.

“Have you interacted with dark magic outside of Ganon‘s before?” Hyrule asks, staring at the vet as the other stops the crystal’s spin with one gloved hand. “I mean, at all?”

“Some,” the vet says, and then hands Twilight his necklace back, although his eyes linger even as the rancher holds it carefully by its chord. A twitch of the ears and then the younger adds, “a lot actually. There are so many dark mages and whatnot that I’ve met personally, and that's just in my world.”

“Your world?”

“I’ve been to others, and yeah, one of them actually had dark magic as the norm. Light magic was...” his ears swivel back, “people weren’t keen on meeting light magic users. Still, they weren’t awful, just different.” Violet eyes a shade softer than Four’s lift to catch the rancher’s midnight blue. “Your magic user friend, was she from a place where that was the norm?”

Twilight nods, tucking his charm back where he apparently keeps it, between his layers and around his neck. “Yeah. Not sure if hers was a ‘nother world or just...dimension?”

The vet nods.

“Whatever it was, her magic was what everyone had there, and folks good or bad could use it.”

“So,” Four finally speaks, and there’s something, Warrior can’t name what, but maybe it’s the intensity of those dark eyes on the magic master and the rancher, “dark magic isn’t inherently evil, just... different? Is that what you’re saying?”

The two exchange a glance, and by the prick back of the rancher’s ears, head lower but gaze staying locked with softer violet, he supposes the rancher cedes the right to answer to the scholar rather than speak himself. Legend accepts it easily though, titling his head on one side and fiddling with the bracelet on his wrist, not meeting Four’s eyes, perhaps because he’s thinking too hard, or maybe some other reason. “Here in Hyrule, as a rule, dark magic is just power clouded with impure intent and harmful nature. Anyone can wield it, anyone magically skilled that is, but it’s purity is determined by the purity of your actions.”

“And you know this because...?”

A flinch. “If one of us- those who wield magic- used our abilities with impure intent, it would take on a darker quality. If your goals start becoming selfish, or your wishes more violent, or even if vengeance or pride colors your actions instead of something else, your magic can alter to become more shadow like.”

His focus on Four drops at those words, mind flicking back. Pride, Legend said, could color your magic to darkness. “Is that why our shadows end up as they are? They’re a manifestation of impure intentions coloring our magic?”

A nod. “I think. Granted, they can also be fueled by other magic, if they gain enough sentience to be their own self. Then they can just draw on whatever magic is around them for strength, but they usually form as a result of selfishness and the like,” the vet’s shoulders hunch slightly, stiff with a thought that’s likely guilt if his experiences are at all like the captain’s. “That’s why they say the Master Sword might sometimes reject her masters. If your magic becomes corrupted enough by your thoughts and feelings, there’s no light magic to mark you as her intended wielder, and she’ll register you as a threat instead, making it impossible to wield or so much as lift her.”

Twilight shifts uncomfortably, eyes darting to the blade. Has he experienced that too? Should- is that something warriors can ask him? Maybe such a shared experience could be something they could talk about, use to connect with each other in the wake of the shit show that their relationship has been of late. Later though, right now, in front of the others, such a thing wouldn’t be best.

“But shadow magic is just magic with different intent?” Four pushes, “not it’s own type?”

A nod from the vet, ears still pinned back. “As far as I know. As a rule though, I don’t tend to linger and study dark magic, so I only know a very little bit through observation.”

“How then,” Time speaks up for the first time in a while, one good eye fixed on where his pup’s necklace lays, although it’s now covered with cloth and armor, “can it be pure?”

A snort. “That’s what I want to know! So far though, my best guess is that other dimensions and worlds sometimes have the reverse; darkness being the safe and good things, and light being a piercing and dangerous thing to them. So ill intent would be light, and purity would be....” a frown and the screwing up of doll-like features, “like the moon in contrast to the sun? People say the moon represents purity in some cultures, so for those worlds where darkness is good, like night, the dark nature of magic might be seen like we see the moon, but light magic is cruel and harsh like a desert sun.”

There’s nods all around, some with understanding clear on their faces, others with confusion, and some, like Wild, with cluelessness. Even for his frustrations with the kid, it makes him smile a bit to see Wild trying, but so clearly left out of the loop that anyone would know he’s just following their example and pretending to have a clue of what’s happening. It's a sure reminder that, for all the stress the boy causes, he’s still a kid under all those scars and wildly wielded weapons.

“When we get to my era, I want a chance to look at that thing again,” the vet turns on their rancher, curiosity still glittering under furrowed brows. “There’s someone we might be able to ask for answers there.”

He doesn’t say who, and Twilight doesn’t ask, but the rancher agrees easily enough.

The conversation slips away after that, Wind pestering Legend about his experiences with magic, the vet pushing the kid out of his space with a smirk and refusals, and Time asking his pup a few questions while the rest of them drift into something more understandable for their group as a whole. Through it all though, Four’s gaze remains fixed on where the crystal lies, eyes unchanging even in the flicking light of the fire and the dying glow of the sun.

Warriors has no clue why he’s watching the smithy, but the hair on the back of his neck standing on end and the shiver that creeps down his spine as he does so keeps him watching.

Four is weird about magic, discussing it or using it. Unlike the others whose intentions are somewhat clear, he doesn’t let on at all why he’s the way he is, or how he feels, just that he won’t touch it.

That night, as they settle to bed, Sky and Wind on first watch together and already chatting easily beside the fire, the captain’s mind won’t let the thought go. Resting his head on his arms, his mind flickers back to the thousand fairy stories he used to hear told by the village elders to smaller children when he was young, to the ones he’d picked up in bits and pieces when he was older, in Castletown, and even the few he’d learned during the war. There’s an irrational part of him that wonders if the reasons figures from the fairytales had treated magic as they did would match the smithy’s own, but there’s really no way of knowing. Even if the tales are based, in part, on the ventures of ancient heroes, there’s no way to know for certain what’s founded in fact or not.

Still, it’s been a long while since he’s drifted off with a fairytale rolling about in his head, and he’d dare say he sleeps better for it.

After that night, Four continues acting weird. There’s something wrong behind his eyes, something almost familiar, in ways that set off alarm bells in the captain’s head. Something about Four has changed, and while he can’t name what, the dark glint of eyes; eyes that, before, he could have sworn were changing color from time to time, but which are now always just a shade darker than the vet’s, now are glassy in their shine, absent, clouded. It’s not like a fever, he checks for that, and It's not anything that effects the smithy’s fighting, but there is a change. There's something Wrong, and Warriors doesn’t know what it is.

The others don’t see it though; not most of them. Sky stares at him, worry creasing lovely features as he asks if the captain is feeling okay. Time nods it off but doesn’t seem worried. Twilight- he doesn’t go to Twilight, or Wild. He’s...he’s not sure how well talking over his own concerns with those two will go considering their aptitude for not sharing with the rest of the group about things. He’s convinced it won’t help him at all. Wind listens, but dismisses it after a time, after talking with the smith and apparently assuring himself all is well. When he brings it to Legend, the younger man looks grim, and he sees the vet watching Four with wariness, but that’s not entirely unusual to begin with; Legend’s always been more wary of Four than the rest of them, although he’s never said why.

It’s nice to have someone take his concerns to heart, but considering Legend is a bit paranoid, that’s not saying much really. He’s sure if he’d said anyone was behaving oddly, in a way that the vet doesn’t have answers for, he’d still see walls rising against that person.

Four is different though. He was quiet before, but now he’s very quiet. He was reticent before, but now he’s almost avoidant. Where advice came easily, now it’s slow if it comes at all, and where battle strategies could be formed with the thought that their small smithy could and would slip between them to watch their backs, now injuries fall for the absence of the youngster, who’s often fighting alone rather than with the rest of them.

He gets that the others don’t notice, he does. Twilight and Time and Wild have each other, Sky is so often caught in his head or chatting with the vet, Hyrule isn’t close to most of them, but least of all with the smithy he shares little in common with. With Wind, the smithy seems himself again, in most ways, but the moment their youngest’s back is turned, it’s like a shadow falls over the smith’s face.

It’s making him feel wary. He can’t name why, and he hates himself a bit for it, but he finds he’s checking randomly for the knife he carries, hand slipping to his sword without him even thinking of it, and there’s a hissing at the back of his mind when they make camp. On one hand, he’ll be wanting to settle far away from those dark eyes, but on the other, there’s part of him that can’t stand the idea of not putting himself between the smith and the kids in their group, between Four and even Time. He doesn’t even know why! He knows Four is a hero, and that the smithy has never done anything to harm anyone in this group, but he’ll find himself debating being close to or far away from the other more than he’d like, and it’s only when he wonders why that he even registers that somehow, he’s started seeing Four as a threat.

Nothing’s been done, but a voice in his head whispers that something will be, and he needs to be ready. The feeling that wells in his chest is familiar, but he can’t identify it, just knows he’s felt it before, although when is unclear. It makes sleeping even harder than it was before, and he finds himself nervous as a result; lack of sleep mixing with the need to always be on guard to send him into a state of almost constant anxiety.

The others start asking after his health. Time and Wind are demanding to know if he’s neglected his own injuries while treating theirs. Even Wild, who he’s never been close with, starts giving him slightly bigger portions. The champion never says anything to him directly, but when the kid thinks he’s not looking, heavy cerulean eyes will settle on him, worry pinching brows together and pulling at scarred features. The cook watches, making sure he’s eating, and then looks actually distressed when even food doesn’t seem to have any effect on the captain’s condition.

How does he explain to them though that the reason for his state is a screaming anxiety that eats away at his mind and heart, it’s source unknown?

He can’t even be mad at Twilight when the rancher approaches him as the wolf, settling at his side with all the ease he used to before they’d known. He knows now, they all do, but Twilight acts the same as usual and he can’t- he can’t deny that being allowed to stroke through rough fur does help, at least a little. The laughter when Wind pouts at being denied the same also helps, but it doesn’t stop the incessant fear building up within him. No, because the moment his eyes fall on Four, whose own gaze is fixed over small shoulders, the shiver rises again up his spine.

Something is wrong, and he’s seen something- done something to know that he recognizes this feeling, recognizes something off about Four, but he can’t name it. He wracks his mind for the memory of what this is, but thinking of the war, thinking of everything that happened, the betrayals and Cia and- he can’t do it. He tries, he does, but it quickly becomes apparent that thinking about that, out here, while already running thin with anxiety, will probably send him into an episode.

Zelda calls it PTSD. He doesn’t care what it is though- he’s not putting the kids through talking him out of it or seeing him like that.

He gives up searching his memory for answers, but he keeps his eyes open.

Maybe that’s why, when darkness has fallen over camp one night, and most of the boys are sleeping, Wind curled up against his side and the rest settled around the capfire, he’s seems to be the only one who sees Four slip from under his blanket, nearly silent, and creep towards where the rancher slumbers, back to back with his cub.

Time is on watch with Sky, the two talking in low voices as they walk around the perimeter of camp, senses turned without, to where threats should come from, but not within, where the smithy’s hand slips between Twilight’s layers, emerging again with the crystal in hand. A small knife slips forwards, cutting the chord neatly and tugging it free, although for half a moment he almost expects it to drag across sun-kissed skin and paint the rancher’s throat scarlet with the man’s own blood.

Somethings wrong. Something is very wrong.

Alerting Four that he’s awake though, when the other is so close to the rest, armed and clearly guarded against being noticed, isn’t optimal. As long as no harm is being done to his brothers, he’ll bide his time, wait until Four is in such a place that whatever has gotten into him won’t be able to cause the smith to harm the rest without Warriors stopping him.

Luckily, for them anyway, the purple-eyed smith doesn’t linger any longer than he needs to tuck his knife away. He’s creeping out of camp without a sound even as Time and Sky patrol on the other side, voices low and straining in what’s probably a very stilted debate that Warriors can’t bother to think of a subject for. His own eyes follow Four though, hands already rising to uncurl Wind’s fingers from his shirt. It's a process, because the kid is usually a light sleeper, but tucking his scarf around the younger seems to assure the unconcious teen that all is still well, and that the absence of the captain’s warmth is not cause for worry. He used to have to do this during the war too, on early mornings or when he needed to slip out for a leak or a drink or just to breath the night air for a moment.

He escapes without any of his brothers waking. Sky and Time see him, it’s hard to not with his size, but he just tells them he thinks he saw something. He can’t name what, doesn’t want to worry them before he knows why his own heart is pounding uncontrollably, but he tells them to keep their eyes and ears open and stay with the rest as he slips into the trees, sword in hand, shield grapsed tightly in his other hand.

If Four was going to do something to the others, he would have done it when he was still in camp. Time and Sky likely won’t need to tend to anything. He, on the other hand, is prepared for the worst.

Even so, he’s not expecting what he sees. He can feel his very heart shatter, something like a sob buiding up as an all too familiar sightreaches his eyes when he finds the smith again. A shadow warrior standing beside someone he’d seen as a brother, embracing each other as those dark purple eyes lock with crimson. Four’s smile is’t quite right, and the crystal- the shadow-

Dark magic, Legend said, comes from magic users whose intent becomes impure. A pure source of shadow magic though, condensed and palpable, easy to slip off with, to steal, would offer a far greater source of such power. Enough power to give form, as the scholar had stated, to a shadow. A threat. An enemy.

An enemy Four greets with a sharp smile and a warm embrace, one that’s welcomed with the same as the thing rises from whatever spell or magic had been cast, the remains of Twilight’s crystal now broken on the ground.

Now he understands. Betrayal is a familiar feeling, one he knows intimately, but of course he’d never wanted to think that- believe that he’d feel it because of the actions of a brother. He knows what it is to watch those he trusts slip off into becoming mere puppets for the enemy, a threat to those he loves.

He also knows that letting puppets roam free, while waiting for a chance to fix them, leads to precious lives lost, to the death of innocent people, and more pain than just slitting a few throats would give him. He learned that the hard way, he knows it well. By the end of the war, corruption was a disease that’s presence was a death sentence for the victim. Better to kill them quickly, better to end the infection, better to stop the spread and the continued loss, the pain of watching so many innocent lies be claimed by a force that would take their agency.

Yes, they were innocent. No, it was never their faults. Still, for the sake of all, their deaths had been required, a sacrifice to preserve everyone else. A neccessity to ensure the army of the enemy, the tools available to them, the pawns and skills thereof, would not increase.

He’s killed a brother before, but it doesn’t make it less painful anytime he has to do it again.

Hiding isn’t worth it anymore. He’s many things, but a coward that strikes without warning he will never be. Purple and crimson lift to stare at him, and fear flashes in one while aggression paints in teh unfamiliar ones.

“Captain-”

He doesn’t answer. Talking back to puppets, treating them like people, it makes it hurt more. Better to not see them as people anymore once they’re nothing more than pawns. Assigning names, memories, loe to the ones he’s had to slaughter for the safety of his people- all it does it kill what’s left of his heart.

“Wars, what are you-” a swing of his blade has words cut off, the smithy ducking back, fear rising.

The shadow lunges, and that, he knows, is the greater threat to him.

“Wars, stop! What are you doing?” The smithy shrieks. It sounds like him, the flicker of red, of warm red like fire, not like blood, sends a foolish hope through him that maybe, beneath whatever magic has taken hold here, there’s a glimmer of his brother. Memories of another he’d had similar thoughts of, only to have a knife lodged in his guts seconds later, have him shaking the thought off. Dark magic is too strong to show any weakness too. The only hope in anything where it’s involved is if the source lies before him and easily destroyable, and the sharp clawed shade of the smith might not even be the cause of the strange nature he’s witnessed as of late.

When the shadow lunges at him, he strikes back, unleashing every bit of power he’s got into the blow and sending the monster flying back, cracking against a tree trunk as the smith’s voice rises In anguish. “Captian, don’t! Please, don’t! He’s my friend!”

Befriending evil? How- how long? Does he know Four at all?

The shade bleeds red, somehow. Maybe it’s magic, meant to twist his mind, manipulate him, make him feel pity. He’s seen that before though. It won’t work, not on him, not on the hero who’s felled similar such monsters for hours on end at times. The color of the enemies’ blood makes no difference; it all spills the same regardless.

“Warriors, please!” The shriek rises, and the smith flies at him, hand raised.

His focus is on the shadow, rising again with crimson spilling from between grey lips. He can’t see what’s in the smith’s hand; if there’s a weapon, if there isn’t. He can’t spare a glance to see what color flickers in eyes that used to change with a blink. There’s no time.

Instinct, born of years of fights, of endless battles and betrayals, has his hand moving without a thought.

Four’s cry of pain as he crumples to the earth crushes anything that’s left of the captain’s heart.

#linked universe #linkeduniverse #febuwhump #febuwhump 2024 #lu warriors #lu four #ketto writes #tw implied character death #tw violence #tw ptsd

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