Chapter Text
Mikey ran, but to where, he had no answers for. He continued to run for who knows how long before his legs gave out. His vision began to haze, but he noticed red creep under him. He looked up and, through blurry vision, saw his purple-clad brother lying on the ground.
By the sight that beheld him, Donnie had more red than purple. His soft shell caved in, a mixture of blood, guts, and pulsating krang goo pouring out of the hole. Rain came, and he couldn't do anything but stare at his dead brother before the flood of red covered them both.
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Mikey woke with a sharp gasp, skin sticky with sweat. For several seconds, he could still see the mangled shell of his brother, as if it was carved into the wall he stared into.
The subway was quiet aside from the humming of the vents. His brothers were still asleep, or pretending to be. Everything was finally getting better, but then he ruined it for them. Brought back their paranoia. Added to their trauma. He should've hidden it better shouldn't have done it.
He hadn't commanded his hands to, but it still went over his upper arm, trying to feel for lines of raised skin. A whine escaped his beak, and tears just came naturally. He wanted to go to his brothers, tell them about the nightmare, about the surfacing tendencies. But he was getting better — supposed to be better.
He had finally regained his family's trust, and they had finally calmed down and started giving him space. But oh, how he just wants nothing but to close off that space right now. To be held and cradled by warm hands while he cries and cries and be met with nothing but comfort.
But he knew that was only something he could dream of. He knew that once he told his family, he would only be met with questions, judgment, pitiful eyes, and just pure panic filling the room, suffocating him. Oh gosh, he's suffocating. He can't breathe. Why can't he breathe? He tries to breathe, but he choked out a sob instead.
He quickly covered his mouth, not wanting to wake anybody up. They don't deserve to have their rest disrupted just to deal with this pathetic excuse of a mutant.
He continued to whimper in his hands, exhaustion slowly pulling at him, but his eyes never closed. He was just… Tired. So tired… Why can't he just have what he wants? If he can't go to his brothers for comfort, then how come he also can't just… Stop? Stop eating. Stop breathing. Stop living. Stop existing?
Because his family is here. He can't let them see him slowly kill himself. Then why can't he just run away? Run far, far away. Far from the lair. Far from New York. Far from people. Far from everything. To not worry about being a burden — the burden. To peacefully live out his final days, without traumatizing anyone around him.
Why can't he? He can. He's just a coward. A coward who failed to aid in maneuvering the technodrome so that his brother didn't have to let himself be enveloped by Krang goo. A coward who did nothing but stare as tiny tentacles pierced through his brother's soft shell. A coward.
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He doesn't know how long he's been staring at his door, just that light from the hallway now seeps under it. His breathing finally steadied, and his arms wrap back around himself, tugging at his sleeves. He can hear footsteps from the other side. Soon followed by another. Then another. He continues to just stare, not bothering to get up.
Some time passes once more, and light footsteps start to approach his door. A figure blocks the only source of light in his room. Then a knock. The figure on the other side speaks, but Mikey didn't bother to register what was said. He just continued staring at nothing in particular.
It continued like this for a while. Different figures keep showing up on the other side of his door. Speaking to him. Are they even speaking to him? Are there even figures actually on the other side of his door? He doesn't bother to know.
He doesn't deserve to be with his brothers. He doesn't deserve peace and comfort. He is right where he belongs. In his room, all alone, suffering.