TW// Major Character Death, Non- Graphic Descriptions of Blood and Death
Something is terribly wrong.
Donnie feels it in their very bones, as they struggle to open their sleep-riddled eyes. Since when did they get enough sleep for their eyes to be melded shut? Nice, They think, managing to blink themselves awake.
Only to double-take at the sight of their brothers lying on a railroad track not so far away.
They lurch forward, but is held firmly in place by some kind of magic. They glance around, spotting writing engraved on a stone in between the two tracks. A promise. They pale.
The sound of a trolley rings in the distance, uncomfortably close.
Donnie starts screaming, all ration replaced by pure fear and helplessness. “Raph! Mikey!” they screech, their voice breaking. They don’t know if they can be brave for them. But Mikey and Raph don’t move. Donnie squints, seeing Mikey’s slow breath– he’s asleep. They turn to Raph, who’s as stiff as a board. Awake. Thank god.
“Raph,” Donnie cries, pure relief filling their voice. “There’s a trolley coming. I need you to get Mikey and go, okay? I’ll be right behind you.” The lie comes surprisingly easy to them. Raph doesn’t move. Donnie grinds their teeth together.
“Raph.” They say, with all the firmness they can muster. “Get. Up.” The trolley rings again. Panic pools in their stomach. Their tail thwacks anxiously against the tracks. Someone sighs. Donnie’s head whips toward the sound, eyes wide.
A hand rests against the lever, one that would change the direction of the trolley. The being the hand belongs to has an infinite amount of faces, each of them flickering from one to another every second, each mouth pulled into an indecisive frown.
Pick Donnie, or their brothers.
Their brothers, who won’t leave. Who… can’t. Donnie wrenches their gaze away from the figure, their eyes throbbing. They try calling out to their brothers again, and Raph turns to them, his face… annoyed?
“Don’t worry, Don.” He grumbles, expression nonchalant, rolling his eyes like he does at Leo when she goes into Mamanardo mode. Donnie’s mouth is agape, words lost. Raph scoffs. “I wanna see what will happen. This is the ultimate test of my strengths!” Donnie inhales.
“By getting hit by a bus?!” They screech, their voice high with fear, anxiety, and slight anger. Raph turns away, his shoulder hiked up to his mask tails. This isn’t their brother. He’s bullheaded and proud, but he wouldn’t put Mikey in danger. He wouldn’t cause another heartbreak for their family on purpose. And Donnie. Donne panics, throwing themselves at the force shield as if they’ll be able to break it.
The trolley is practically upon them now.
Donnie sobs, begging Raph, screaming for Mikey so he’ll just wake up–
None of it works. Mikey snoozes away. Raph remains rigid. It reminds them, in a morbid and extremely inappropriate way considering the situation- reminds them of The Great Mouse Detective, when Sherlock Holmes as a Rat had lain there, waiting for Professor Rattigan's trap to go off. They laugh hysterically, the tears falling from their eyes in droves now.
The figure at the lever pales, chewing the inside of their cheek. Like their trying to pick what to have for dinner. Donnie snarls. “Don’t fucking touch that goddamn lever.” They hiss, tensed, and ready to lunge. The figure only looks at them with fondness, as if they were seeing a scared cat, who only needed to be cleaned and fed. Donnie bristles.
The trolley roars into view, chugging chipperly toward them. Donne pales, their hisses turning into pleas.
“Hit me,” They gasp, tears starting all anew. Their not even sure that they ever stopped. Suddenly, the figure’s face shutters, becoming solid and indifferent.
The trolley reaches the divide. The figure leaves the lever untouched.
The blood splatters at their feet.
They scream.
Donnie lies there, shaking with indescribable grief coursing through their veins, sloshing around in the newly formed pit in their chest for who knows how long.
Something brushes against their fingers. They lift their heavy head, blinking through the tears. It’s a pink flower, brushing innocently against Donnie’s fingers. They thumb the delicate petals with careful fingers.
The flower born of blood seems to wash away all the bad. When had Donnies ever felt this light? They smile, infatuated by the simple plant. The strange red liquid has no meaning now, as Donnie stands on surprisingly – why surprisingly?-- steady legs, stepping off the tracks, leaving the broken bodies of people they used to know behind.
Why were they ever crying?
Something’s happened.
Leo feels it in every fiber of her being, as she struggles against the rope she had found herself in. Her siblings were gone, and her instincts were pinging around her body like a chaotic game of ping pong.
She struggles for a bit longer, digging her teeth into her cheek before she starts hyperventilating. And then, without warning–
She feels something drop from her chest.
Mikey. Raph. Donnie. Gone. Stolen.
She pitches forward, sobbing, held fast by the rope wrapped around her, burning her skin. Her tears lap at the feet of faceless beings, the ones, she knows instinctually, who did this to her family. She’s burning now, her skin flaking off and twirling into dust. The rope turns into greedy unknown hands, grasping at her mask tails.
Blood oozes from their hands, staining her shell, and clogging up her mouth and nose.
She knows it’s not theirs.
She’ll make it, one day.
She hopes they never untie her, for their sake.
Hahaha! Oh my God! First things first, how was it? I know its certainly not my best work, I wrote this in an hour- but it's my first official wholly completed fanfiction! This is for @probably-not-a-rutabaga 's Trolley Problem Poll they had with their Tmnt Aberration Au! Go check them out, they make super cool stuff.
Anyway, I hope I did you justice! This was so fun to write :))
107 notes
·
View notes
i know this has been discussed ad nauseam, but i'm doing research for a meta, and i'm slowly realizing that i will never ever be over the Good Omens Lockdown dialogue. especially that line towards the end (begins at the 02:50 minute mark):
Crowley: [...] You know, I could hunker down at your place; slither over and watch you eat cake. I could bring a bottle—a case—of something...drinkable?
first, the unabashed expression of a desire to be near Aziraphale is so rarely evident (i mean, we have 1967 and other instances, but in the case of '67, an outsider could more easily—i guess??—interpret offering him a lift home as an expression of gratitude for the holy water). so, to witness his clear, unveiled desire for comfort and closeness (and to literally just watch Aziraphale eat cake) demonstrates the interpersonal progress made in the time after Armageddon't; he's not concealing the offer behind some flimsily-constructed reason (e.g., "I just didn't want to see you embarrass yourself"). in fact, he's implying that they'd be spending long lengths of time together ("hunker down", "a case of something drinkable").
and then Aziraphale's response is also really interesting, and kind of exists as a microcosm of their whole push-and-pull dynamic that has existed for literally thousands of years (begins at the 02:59 minute mark):
Aziraphale: No, I—I—I—I’m afraid that would be breaking all the rules! Out of the question! I’ll see you… when… this is over?
i'm sorry, but the sheer nervousness???? the grasping for excuses??? they're gay disasters, ur honour. breaks my fucking heart </3 i love them both, but also OUGH. azi, why?!?
552 notes
·
View notes