Summary: Donnie doesn't remember yelling for help; he can barely register what the Mini-Meat Sweats are saying to him – if they are even talking to him – all he can hear is the ringing of his ears and his body feeling like it's on fire. He needs fresh air – he needs to get out.
Takes place in-between the episode Donnie's Gifts, where the Mini-Meat Sweats have him on a spit, ready to be cooked. One-shot
x
The multiple Mini-Meat Sweats, no thanks to the Silver Fish powers, spots Donnie, grab him by his ankle, and reel him to the ground. Hands, so many tiny hands are on him. There are too many hands that, to get away, he fails terribly. He hates being touched, and now it feels like a million little crawly hands are on him, and he wants to gag.
Donnie doesn't remember yelling for help; he can barely register what the Mini-Meat Sweats are saying to him – if they are even talking to him – all he can hear is the ringing of his ears and his body feeling like it's on fire. He needs fresh air – he needs to get out.
He watches as he's dragged away from his brothers to when he's finally led to the big cauldron in the middle of the room.
It doesn't register to him with what's going on; his hands are flailing, his legs are kicking, and he knows he's in a fight or flight situation. He needs to calm down.
Don tries to find comfort in his battle shell, the tightness around his shoulders, and the reassurance around his shell; it protects him.
It may not be enough.
He's still not registering with what's going on; Donnie tries to think of his battle shell pressing against his own, the comfort, anything to calm him down – but he hears the recognizable pffff of his battle shell and feels the cold air wrap around his now naked softshell.
He blinks, barely registering the fact he's on some sort of spit and keeping him on there is…sausage links? Were they cooking him alive?!
He struggles under the restraints; he's been doing that for too long now, struggling. And he's losing the battle; he should've fought the Mini-Meat Sweats before putting him on the spit; he should've done more than to be where he's at currently.
The Mini-Meat Sweats glows and transforms back to his old Pork Rind self.
Despite the fogginess in his mind and outgrowing fear that he has to get the fuck out, it deems to him that his brothers must have stopped fighting. It's the only reason Meat Sweats transformed back to himself, so his brothers should be coming. They're coming.
The fear and anxiety don't stop, though; seconds turn to minutes, and Meat Sweats is prepping him; he's going to be cooked. Meat Sweats grabs a pound of butter, and Donnie wants to laugh. There's no way this guy is serious, there's no –
Don physically gags when the butter pours on him, like gravy to mashed potatoes. He feels sick, his face paling two shades lighter. He's going to be eaten alive.
Panicked, he lost count of when his brothers were supposed to come to the rescue. They should be in the area – somewhere. But instead, the pot's steam makes him nauseous, and the sticky butter makes him physically recoil. He hates sticky substances, feeling sticky, the smell and the heat coming below him, and can this thing stop spinning him around?
He can twist his hand and type on his tech watch despite his hands being tied. He dials Raph, desperate for someone to answer. While calling, Meat Sweats is making some seasoning; he smells garlic, onions, and paprika, and his stomach churns again – answer, please answer, please –
"Ooh, hey buddy! Hey. Um. Really loving the gifts you got us." Don hears Raph chuckle nervously, "Yeah, we…we know how long it took you to make 'em, and it was so thoughtful."
Whatever Raph's saying, Donnie isn't listening, "Get me out of here; he's about to eat me alive!" He yells, still struggling to get out of the sausage links. He feels the wire scrap on his softshell, he hates feeling so damn useless and asking for help, but his brothers never came for him. He can't feel bad about himself right now and can't psych himself out as to why his brothers abandoned him – his goal is to make it out alive.
Raph doesn't hear him and asks to repeat what he said. Donnie literally wants to scream, "Where did you guys go?" He cries out, "They're gonna cook me alive!"
Raph doesn't answer, but Donnie hears them talking. His brothers are useless, he's useless, he is done for, his heart falls to his stomach, and his ears are back to ringing.
"Mm. A delicate soft shell. A sprinkle of paprika should unleash the flavor!"
He comes over to Donnie, sprinkling the turtle with the homemade seasoning and some in the boiling water.
"I promise, I won't taste good; I'm all sweaty and gross and –"Donnie is doing everything he can so Meat Sweats can back off, but it's no use. He sounds so winded and out of breath; he hates feeling weak and sounding so weak. He feels like he's practically begging, but Meat Sweats' goal is to eat him – and eat him good.
"Don't worry, Laddy, I can make anything scrumptious." He grabs a knife in one hand and carrots in another and starts chopping them in the water. "Y'know, soft shells are rare." He tells him like Donnie doesn't know, and mutant soft shells are even rarer. He sees Meat Sweats literally drool at the thought of it, and it's making Donnie sick again.
He still struggles against the sausage links and may be a bit cartoonish, but he really did hope the butter would make him slide out of it. But nope – he's still raveled in between, and when the water starts to bubble and pop, he knows it's ready for him.
His shell starts to burn, the steam suffocating him. He's sweating, his head starts to feel lightheaded, and he no longer struggles with the restraints. He's accepted it; his brothers aren't coming, he hears them try to make a plan, and he mutters he's still on speaker, but no answer. Finally, he closes his eyes; this is it – he's done for.
x
After minutes, Donnie hears his brothers in the room; he doesn't know if he should yell, cry, or be relieved; he wants nothing and everything to do with them.
"Hey, Meat Sweats." He hears Mikey faintly, the steam burns his eyes, but he opens them for a quick second.
"Distraction-Jitsu!" Raph says, or at least he thinks it's Raph. But, then, someone grabs him out of the spit. He blinked a few times, letting the tears fall – he was not crying; his eyes were literally being burned.
Once they leave the room, Donnie struggles against him.
"Hey, hey, buddy, you're okay now. You're okay –"
"Let go of me," His voice shakes and he hears the hesitation in Raph's breath, but he needs to breathe, he needs to –
Raph doesn't argue, and Donnie's not sure if it's because he knows better or that Meat Sweats is chasing them and doesn't want to talk about it. Whatever it is, he's thankful there's no rebuttal, and Raph lets him go.
Donnie leans into the cool tiled floor, unknowingly catching his breath. Breathing just steam was hard; being seasoned and the butter being – and still clinging – on him was hard. He just needs a minute.
Raph doesn't even have a minute to unwrap him out of the sausage links before Meat Sweats literally pushes him away from Donnie. He watches his brothers fight, too tired to restrain from the sausage links. Someone will get him out of it; the adrenaline wears off and leaves him in a pile of goo.
He's gonna be okay, he tells himself; they can go home, he can take a long bath and wear his comfort prosthetic and his purple hoodie. He's okay; his brothers have his back even in moments when they fail him.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Drawing is a scene from my new Chain meets another Link fic! I can’t believe I wrote another one-shot so quickly after the last one. This one has 10,000 words! I also tried to follow a tutorial for the fire, but I think I didn’t do it right. Also references are a godsend.
