CONTINUED - @orenjininja
“Shut up, shut up, SHUT UP!” Breath haggard, Mikey glared down at his prey with fire in his eyes. This – this thing had nothing to do with him. Nothing. He was fake. Just a trick.
This wasn’t his brother.
So why did his head hurt whenever it spoke to him? Like glass shattering in his brain?
Wrinkling his snout, Mikey flicked the blade in his hand forward until it teased the air in front of Donatello’s neck. He had him caught against the wall and this was his chance to end it. He – He could make it stop. Just another push.
“Stop saying that crap! Stop trying to mess with my head!”Yet still, he hesitated, the blade rattling unsteadily in his hand. Why wasn’t his body listening to him?
It was the third time in as many minutes that Don thought he was going to die. Mikey had him pinned against the wall in the same muddled heap he’d landed in, looming above in the black and red foot insignia that still felt so, so wrong to look at.
It was all wrong to look at. Mikey was wrong to look at. Don struggled to take an even breath against the knee digging into his plastron, dimly wondering when his little brother (His sweet, goofy, ever-smiling, kicks-your-ass-during-sparring-but-gently, little brother) had gotten so strong. “Please, Mikey-” “Shut up, shut up, SHUT UP!” The cold sheen of the tanto sent his thoughts scattering. He held his breath, unable to pick where to focus as his eyes darted between the naked rage contorting his brother’s face, and the cutting finality of the blade. He kept waiting for there to be a moment where the old Mikey would shine through, because Mikey wouldn’t go through with it. The person looking down at him with such hatred couldn’t be the same brother who filled the silence of his lab with inane ideas, and handed him tools between comfortable conversations. This was Mikey, this was Mikey and he couldn’t, he would’t, it would destroy his little brother and Don couldn’t bear to think of what the HELL Shredder did to have turned Michelangelo so far in on himself that he couldn’t even recognize his family. Against every one of Sensei’s lessons, Donatello shut his eyes. If he was going to die, he refused to go looking at his brother like this. “Then at least let me tell you I’m sorry.” Every second he didn’t feel the tanto was another second he threw into desperately trying to undo the last three weeks. “Idon’t...you must have been so alone. I’m sorry.”
