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providentially-demonic · 5 years

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Miraculous Mystery Skulls: Chapter Four

First Arc: a Spellcaster, a Ghost and a Mechanic walk into a bar Paris

Summary: On their honeymoon in Paris, the City of Lights, the trio of Vivi, Lewis and Arthur encounter more than sightseeing… in the form of monsters, supervillains and a pair of teen superheroes. Sometimes, miraculous things can happen, when you least expect it.

(A Mystery Skulls/Miraculous Ladybug crossover event)

A/N: This all started with this fic by @phantoms-lair and the silly idea of them running into Chat Noir and Ladybug while there. It grew…

It’s a tale of heroes, miraculous, found family and more (with a healthy dose of puns). Co-created and written with assistance from @phantoms-lair, so she deserves some of the credit and a lot of the blame! :P

Back to Chapter Three

Chapter Four: Outted

"Go, " Vivi told Ladybug. "We'll meet you at the park where we first met."

"I have a few more minutes, Milady, before I have to transform back. I can distract the news crews for you."

"I can help with that." Vivi waved at Lewis, who was examining Arthur as if he wasn't sure the wounds had really healed. "I can play a hapless, frightened witness with the very best of them. "Lewis and Arthur can take him there and protect him while we handle the news and police. Lewis is really noticeable, so best if they bug out now. Someone might connect the dots between him and the fire ghost battling the Grand Master."

Ladybug squeaked but nodded. "It's a plan. Chat, I'm counting on you."

“See you soon, Milady.” Chat offered a flippant salute.

Ladybug nodded and took herself off.

Lewis and Arthur both kissed Vivi quickly before hustling Master Fu out the nearest door, doing their best to meld with the milling crowd of people who had evacuated from the museum. It wasn’t hard considering the police and news crews were too busy flocking to Chat Noir, emerging from a different door.

Hunching over to make himself seem smaller, Lewis didn't even realize Arthur was lagging until he caught up and slipped his fingers into Lewis's hand. “They aren't just superheroes,” he said, looking back over his shoulder at Chat smiling for the cameras. “They're more. They are the people's heroes. Look at that.” Lewis and Fu stopped to look back at Chat, still talking candidly with a reporter. He paused to crouch and tousle the curls of a toddler that had wandered up to him. Picking her up, he returned her to her smiling, grateful mother and then swept into a theatrical bow before using his baton to vault away. People in the crowd cheered until he was out of sight.

Fu sighed heavily but said nothing, his gaze turned inward as they caught a bus back to the park.

Ladybug arrived about ten minutes after they had gotten there, panting a little as she dropped from a rooftop and jogged over to join them. She looked over Arthur, smiling a little in relief. "The miraculous cure always works but..."

"It helps to see with your own eyes," Arthur finished, spreading both arms and turning in a small circle to prove he was unhurt.

Ladybug sighed. "Yes. I'm glad you're okay. Thank you for jumping to save Alya— the girl. She runs a blog about Chat and I, and is really good about not posting anything that could get people hurt, though she's rather good at putting herself in danger to get a story." Her sigh was full of fond exasperation.

Arthur shrugged his right shoulder. "I'm not too fond of jumping into danger myself but I wasn't going to let anyone get hurt when I could help."

"Still, thank you."

Arthur reached out and gently tugged one of her ponytails. “Thank me by reminding her, again and again, if you have to, that no scoop is worth her life.”

Her smile was genuine. “I will.”

They both looked up at a shout. Vivi was trotting over the grass toward them, waving.

Lewis hurried over to her and scooped her up in a hug. Laughing, she threw her arms around his neck. “I wasn’t the one hurt, silly,” she chided.

“Doesn’t mean I can’t be glad to see you. Where’s Chat?” Lewis let her slide back to the ground.

“He said he’ll be along shortly. He had to run off. His ring was chirping.”

Ladybug came over. “It means he had to de-transform and feed his Kwami. Using our special powers in battle drains them and they need to recharge. That’s why I ran off first. I was in danger of being caught out if I didn’t.”

Vivi nodded and slipped her hand into Lewis’s as they walked back to the bench where Arthur stood over Fu, who still looked worn and defeated. “We’ll head to— the former house when he gets here. I’m guessing Hawkmoth has to recover too, so best we get as much done as we can before he sends a new Akuma to try and take the miraculous.”

Fu looked up, seeming older than ever. “I ordered Wayzz to hide the box that contains the miraculous. Even if Hawkmoth had sought the location of the box through me, I could not tell him what I did not know. We must find Wayzz to find the box. Most everything else can be replaced if need be, but it is imperative we find and protect the miraculous from Hawkmoth.”

“We will,” Chat’s voice called down from a nearby tree. He dropped out of the branches to land in a neat crouch. “I think I caught a whiff of Wayzz. With luck,” he grinned at Ladybug as he trotted up to her. “I can pick up a better scent there and track him down.”

Ladybug tilted her head. “Um... I didn’t know you could do— that?”

Chat caught her hand and bowed over it, pressing a kiss to her knuckles. “There’s a lot about this cat you don’t know, to be purr-fectly honest, Milady.”

She tugged her hand away, poking him in the nose. “Behave yourself, kitty.”

Fu rose, and walked over to them, carefully, like he might break apart at the seams. “I was also unaware you could track by scent. How long have you had this ability, Chat Noir?”

Chat dropped the playacting. “A couple of weeks, I think. Either, it’s getting stronger, or I’m getting better at it. I—” he glanced at Lewis. “I could tell he wasn’t human. I sensed him before I smelled him, but once I got a whiff, I knew he was something different.” He paused uncertainly. “Is something wrong with that?”

For the first time since the museum, Fu smiled. “No, not at all. It means you and Plagg have become more attuned to each other. A strengthening of the bond, if you will.”

Chat’s lopsided smile was rueful. “As long as I don’t start craving that awful cheese he eats, I can live with it.”

Vivi clapped her hands. “Alright, sounds like a game plan. Chat, you and Ladybug are on ‘find the kwami’ detail. The rest of us are headed to pack. Meet us there when you’ve found him.”

Ladybug nodded, and flung her yoyo, pulling herself into the air and away from them. Chat was close behind. They landed on a rooftop near where Chat had last caught Wayzz’s scent, and he dropped to the ground in an alley, stopping and taking deep breaths through his nose.

Ladybug watched him in fascination. Chat did indeed remind her of a cat. First it was the purring and now this. She wondered if she would pick up any odd traits too.

“Got it,” he called up to her. She dropped down beside him. “He probably tried to stick to alleys and back ways. Hard to hide a floating phonograph on a busy street.”

“Wonder what he thinks is a safe place for it?”

Chat shrugged. “Won't know till we get there. Unfortunately, he stayed low, probably because of the weight of the box. So that means we'll have to, as well.”

“Lead on, Kitty-cat.”

Chat tailed the scent through dimly lit alleys and backstreets until he paused with a puzzled look. Before Ladybug could ask what was wrong, he used his baton to propel himself up to the low roof of the building nearest them. He sniffed the air and then took a good look around. “This... this is odd, Milady.”

Ladybug swung up to stand beside him. “What is?” It was only then that she saw where they were. Not two streets away, she could see her own roof. “Uhh...”

“Why here?” Chat crouched at the edge of the roof, staring fixedly at her rooftop balcony. “Why would he be bringing the box here?”

Ladybug searched desperately for something to say that wouldn’t give herself away. Why had Wayzz come here?

“Wait, you know Marinette too, right? Maybe Wayzz thought she could lead him to you.”

Ladybug grasped after the feeble excuse with both hands. “Y-yeah, that’s probably it. I may have mentioned her to Master Fu, and the poor little guy didn’t know where else to go!”

Chat just nodded and she breathed a silent sigh of relief that he bought it. Chat vaulted towards her balcony and she was quick to follow.

“She’s probably not home, though.” Chat glanced back at her as he alighted on the railing. She landed next to him with a sigh. “She should still be at the— in school.”

She wondered about his sudden correction, but was too glad that things were falling into place like they were. “Yes, probably.” And wasn’t she going to have to do some explaining about never showing up after the Akuma attack. She’d probably get grounded again.

Her parents were downstairs in the bakery, so she didn’t have to fear them hearing her. “Wayzz? Are you here?”

“Ladybug!” The small, green turtle-shaped projectile slammed into her chest at high speed. “The master—!”

“Shhh,” she soothed, stroking Wayzz's head. “Master Fu is fine. We rescued him from Hawkmoth's Akuma. The three we brought over last night are protecting him while Chat and I came to find you.”

Wayzz sagged against her supporting hands. “He ordered me away to protect the box, but I am supposed to protect him!” The normally stoic kwami's voice was almost a wail.

Ladybug's heart broke a little. “Shhh-shh. I know it didn't feel like it, but you did the right thing. I promise, Master Fu is safe.”

Wayzz stared up into her eyes. He was the kwami of protection and took Master Fu's Akumatization as a personal failure. “I did not know where else to go.”

“I know...” She cradled him close. “He's okay. We're going to move him to a new safehouse today. Let's get you back to him, alright?”

Wayzz nodded against her, before pointing to the table where her potted plants lived. In the small space between it and the wall, the miraculous box was wedged, along with his own miraculous, looking far too small not on Master Fu's wrist where it belonged. Ladybug settled Wayzz on her shoulder and pulled the box out. Propping it against her hip, she scooped up the bracelet that held Wayzz’s miraculous and offered it to her partner. “Chat, you carry the bracelet, just to be on the safe side. Vivi’s probably right that he can’t send another Akuma out yet, but—”

Chat nodded, tucking the bracelet into a pocket on his suit. “Let’s not risk it.”

As long as the trip to track down Wayzz had been, the return trip took no time at all by rooftop. Soon they were alighting on the banks of the Seine not far from where an elderly man stared morosely at a flock of pigeons from a bench.

Wayzz took off like a bolt of lightning from Ladybug's shoulder, scattering pigeons left and right. “Master!”

Fu turned, relief washing over his face. “Wayzz!”

The turtle Kwami thumped against Fu's chest and clung. “I cannot protect you if you send me away!”

Fu managed a small chuckle, accepting the brusque affection of the Kwami. “You were protecting the miraculous. As you should. That takes precedence over one old man.”

“It wasn’t a choice he should have had to make, Master.” Ladybug trotted over.

Chat followed her, and solemnly offered the bracelet back to Fu. Wayzz hovered directly in front of Fu’s eyes after he put it on. His little face was grim. “Do not make me choose that again, master.”

Vivi, Lewis and Arthur came down the steps to the bank, Vivi waving a greeting.

“We need to get everything moved as quickly as possible,” Ladybug said, cradling the miraculous box to her chest while Wayzz contented himself that Fu was alright.

“Well, at least you have Lewis and Arthur for the heavy lifting.” Vivi snickered as they came up to the three miraculous users..

“Yeah, but that brings up a new problem,” Chat scratched the back of his neck. “We— we can’t be seen near the new safehouse. We can’t risk Hawkmoth finding out where it is... and well, most of Paris plays the ‘spot the superheroes’ game.”

“But what can we do?” Ladybug shifted her weight and finally set the box down.

Arthur sighed. “There is a way you know.”

“What?” Ladybug goggled at Arthur as he reached up to tap the area next to his eye. It took her a minute to find her voice. “We... we can’t.”

“Look, guys, I know you are trying to keep each other safe, but frankly, an accidental reveal could happen. Wouldn’t it be better to have a partner who knows, and will protect your identity as fiercely as they do their own?” Vivi asked, hands on her hips.

Fu looked up from the kwami darting around him. “There is a greater risk than you think. Hawkmoth was able to take me over, and thus, he learned with absolute certainty that there was a Guardian in Paris, where he only suspected before. The only reason he could not actually capture the box was I commanded my kwami to hide it before he subsumed my will. I think only my rage at her—” He tipped his head at Vivi. “Kept him from knowing all that I know. Ironically, the fury that first attracted him to me also shielded what he most would have wanted to know.” He shook his head. “If he were actually to take one of them over, knowing the other’s identity could be—”

“Catastrophic.” Chat finished, his tone deadly serious.

Vivi puffed out her cheeks, expression thoughtful. “So Hawkmoth works like a possession, right?”

“He uses a victim’s high emotion to subsume, via his kwami. Nooroo is capable of transmitting his mind, to overwhelm them, through that emotion.” Fu explained. “In theory, I suppose, it is something like a possession.”

“Like— like in the movies?” Ladybug shuddered.

“Less Hollywood and more insidious,” Vivi answered. “Possession controls a victim from the inside out. Depending on the being in the driver's seat, it can strip-mine them too, first of their control, then their memories and knowledge, and finally of their will to live. At that point, there is nothing left of the victim at all, only—”

“A meat puppet, used by the controlling entity to find a new host and repeat the cycle.” Arthur spoke through clenched teeth, paler now than when he'd lost so much blood in the Akuma attack.

Lewis put a hand on his shoulder and Arthur sagged against him. “We— well, we have some experience in that.” Lewis said, rubbing the back of his neck with his free hand. “It's how we wound up with me dead and Arthur down an arm—”

“And me with gaping holes in my memory,” Vivi shook her head. “But that's neither here nor now. It means that Arthur fought off Hawkmoth because of that. And that means we have a leg up. Hawkmoth got no info from his short attempt at taking Arthur over or he would have armored you, as Grand Master, better against our abilities. You sensed some,” she gestured at Lewis. “But not knowing left your Akumatized self vulnerable.”

“So what are you suggesting? That I send these two off against a dangerous entity to learn how to battle intrusions into their mind? That is greater folly than—”

“Being entirely untrained?” Vivi said too-sweetly. “We don't have to. Ghosts are capable of possession too. Lewis can help them learn how to resist, at least long enough for one of us to come to their aid.”

“You want us to let a ghost possess us?�� Ladybug's heart was in her throat.

“No,” Vivi returned flatly. “I want you to fight him tooth and nail. Because that will mean you'll know how to fight Hawkmoth if he tries.”

Ladybug knew all her nerves were showing. She’d seen what Lewis could do, there in the fight with Grand Master. She didn't think she could stand up to him even with Tikki. “I—”

"Perhaps, though, we might try with something a bit easier than me," Lewis offered with a gentle smile. He was ridiculously overpowered for a ghost and he knew it wasn't just his ego talking. He opened his hand and pink wisps condensed into a form. Bright yellow eyes and pink, the formless spirit became a solid shape.

She didn’t know what it was, but— "It's so cute," Ladybug breathed, inching closer, wanting to touch

"This is Piano, one of my deadbeats; she's a bit of a softy, but perfect for beginner’s practice." Lewis explained while the timid-looking deadbeat peeked between his fingers. “I promise, she— and I— will never hurt you, but we want to help you protect yourself.”

Ladybug puffed out her cheeks and glanced at Chat. He was her partner and she trusted him.

He came closer, bending over to peer at the creature in Lewis’s hand. “I don’t know how this little marshmallow is supposed help us learn to fight off Hawkmoth. It doesn’t look like it could possess a pillow.” He poked at Piano with one clawed fingertip.

The deadbeat uncoiled and sank pink fangs into his hand. He stiffened.

“Chat?” Ladybug gasped, alarmed, as Piano vanished.

Chat dropped into a crouch and coiled around her legs, purring at top volume. “Chat!” Her cheeks flared red. “Stop that, kitty! This is not the time for your kittenish antics!”

Lewis only smiled. “For all she’s acting out her similarity to a cat, that isn’t Chat. Piano is the one in the driver’s seat at the moment.”

Ladybug stifled another gasp.

"This is another good learning opportunity. Not all possessions are quite as obvious as Hawkmoth’s." Lewis placed a finger under Chat's chin and tilted it up. His eyes were as cat-like as they usually were, but glowing bright pink instead of green. "Eyes are the windows of the soul. They're the fastest way to tell if someone else is in the driver's seat." He released Chat’s chin. “That’s enough for now, Piano. Let him go.”

The little deadbeat reappeared, curling around Lewis’s shoulders and cooing, obviously proud of itself.

Chat sat down with a thump in the grass. “Ooo— okay, that was super weird. Can we not do that again, please?”

Vivi crouched next to him and offered her hand. “I wish it could be that easy. But would you rather have Hawkmoth hurt someone you care about? Or worse?”

Her eyes darted sideways to where Ladybug stood and Chat flinched, ears flattening to his skull. “No. Never.” He pulled himself to his feet. “I’d sooner die.”

“Let’s do what we can to see about that never happening,” Arthur came closer, resting a hand on Chat’s shoulder and squeezing. Chat sagged a little in place and Ladybug couldn’t help but step in and slide an arm around his waist. His smile was faltering, but real enough.

She smiled softly and touched his cheek before going over to where Master Fu sat, silent. “Master?”

“Fu,” he interrupted her softly. “I have done much wrong this day.”

“Vivi..” Arthur murmured softly, cutting Vivi a pointed look.

She stepped forward, standing next to Ladybug. “Then today is the time to start trying to fix it. We’ll be here to help.” She extended her hand.

Fu regarded her, something old and sad in his eyes. “Yes,” He said at last, meeting her hand with his and giving it a firm shake.

“We’ll get through this. We’ll stop him.” Vivi’s tone was firm. “But for now, let’s get you safely moved.” She turned her gaze to Ladybug, who gulped.

“D-did you mean it? What you said about knowing who we are?”

“I did.” Vivi nodded. “Let me put it this way. I said with a clue to chew on, I could find out a lot. Ready for an example?”

Ladybug steeled herself. She nodded, taking a deep breath.

"We have discovered the most ridiculous love quadrangle in the world." Vivi rolled her eyes fondly, a smile growing on her face.

“Eh?” Startled by the nonsequiteur, Ladybug looked up and met her eyes.

"At least in part because it only contains two people." Arthur added. He obviously knew what his wife was up to to judge by the affectionate smile on his face.

"Wait, that makes no sense. A quadrangle has to be at least four sides... thus, four people." Chat pointed out.

"Let me put it bluntly.” Vivi turned as Lewis spoke. “The person Ladybug's in love with is Adrien Agreste."

Ladybug stared at Lewis in absolute, mortified horror. "What...How...How could you possibly have known?" Oh no, now Chat was going to think she was one of those lame brain celebrity fangirls. Her brain was a panicked whirl.

Chat stood frozen in his spot, green eyes blown wide. Then— he laughed. It wasn't a hysterical laugh, or a mocking one. It was as if some deep happiness had bubbled up inside him and couldn't be contained any longer.

"Kitty?" Ladybug asked, concern for him breaking through her panic.

But Chat just continued to laugh, tears of joy streaming down his face. He looked Ladybug in the face with a smile so bright and brilliant she never noticed his hand pulling the ring from his finger.

Ladybug realized what he was doing a split second too late to close her eyes. But any protest that they weren't supposed to know each other's identities died on her tongue.

"A-A-Adrien?" She gasped, shaking.

"At your service, Milady," Adrien said with a bow that was all Chat Noir. "I should have known the only one whose charms could compare with mine was me all along." His grin was sly, more Chat than Adrien's practiced and polished one.

It was like Chat through an Adrien lens or...or Adrien through a Chat lens. "Aba? Aaduba? Wha—? How you Chat— could Adrien— be— How??" She stammered, flailing her hands wildly.

Chat chuckled. "Now you sound just like Marinette." Wait. His eyes widened. Just like... "M-Marinette?"

She eeped, her face as red as her mask. "We weren’t supposed to know..." Well that ship had thoroughly sailed. Marinette looked down, twisting her hands together. "You're not disappointed it's me, are you?"

"With you, Milady? Never." Adrien’s smile was so wide it made her cheeks ache just to look at it. No— it was because she was smiling just as widely.

Chat— Adrien— opened his arms to her and she sank into his hold like she was coming home.

"Well, we stopped that nonsense." Arthur said dryly, reeling a laughing Vivi in for a kiss.

Lewis was chuckling so hard his hair was throwing off sparks.

When Marinette could breathe again, she touched Adrien’s cheek and turned to Vivi. “How? How could you know all that about us? You only met us two days ago.”

Vivi chuckled, her arm around Arthur’s waist. “Trained observer. Ghosts— with some exceptions— aren’t the most vocal or coherent of beings. You have to learn to pick out the smallest clues.” She wasn’t going to tell them that they weren't that good at hiding it.

Marinette felt the shimmer of her transformation giving way, and Tikki hovered over her shoulder. “I trust you will keep what you know safe,” she said solemnly to all of them. “A pleasure to meet you properly, Adrien. Do put your ring back on, though. We cannot protect you if you are not wearing our miraculous.”

Adrien flushed red. “Oops.” He slipped his ring back on and Plagg appeared. “Don’t do that again, kid. Heya, Spots. Hello, Sugar Cube.”

“H-hi again, Plagg.” Marinette waved her fingers timidly at Plagg before finding her courage and slipping her hand into Adrien’s. His fingers tightened around hers in a comforting squeeze.

“Hello, Plagg.” Tikki’s sigh was put upon. “And stop calling me that.”

Adrien squeezed Marinette’s hand again, but his attention was on Vivi. “Um— why? I mean, you could have just told us you knew. Why— why out our crushes?”

Marinette turned to VIvi, whose face had softened with a almost dreadful sadness. “Because time was short. I needed to prove it with something that you wouldn’t automatically deny.”

“Vi,” Arthur chided softly. He held out his hand to Lewis, who clung to it with an almost desperate grasp. “Don’t sugar-coat it. They’ve been fighting a war and they—” he looked down at Adrien. “You know the risks. Don’t put important things— and nothing is more important than love— off, because we don’t always get a second chance.”

Marinette could almost feel the weight of his words. They had let bits of their history slip before, but... She looked at Lewis, and something clicked. She knew logically he was a ghost, but it struck her anew. He was dead. He had died, and from the almost guilty, mournful air he had, it had been before... before the three of them had admitted to loving each other. If he hadn’t come back as a ghost...

Her fingers tightened almost painfully on Adrien’s. She understood— and from the return squeeze she got, Adrien did too.

Vivi cleared her throat in an obvious ploy to change the subject. “Let’s get this show on the road, shall we? I don’t know how long Hawkmoth’s refractory period is, so let’s get moving before he can get it up again.”

“Vivi!” Lewis yelped, his hair flaring and his face red. “Not in front of the kids!”

Arthur was snickering into a fist, the tension from earlier snapping just like that, though Marinette didn’t get the reason why.

“Ooh, her, I like...!” Plagg crowed gleefully, rolling in the air.

“Plagg!” Tikki’s voice could have cut steel.

The Kwami of destruction eeped and hid behind Vivi. “Now, now, Sugar Cube—!”

“Don’t you ‘Sugar cube,’ me!”

Marinette could only lean gently against Adrien, watching Tikki chase after a gleefully snickering Plagg.

Master Fu shook his head and led the way to his soon-to-be-abandoned home, his steps slow and heavy. Marinette ached for him.

He let them in, staring morosely at the shattered teacup. Silently, Vivi crouched and began to pick up the pieces.

Marinette looked around, feeling a little helpless. She didn’t want Fu to have to move, but he was right. Hawkmoth knew where he was now, and would send out a new akuma at the first chance he had. “Um, Master Fu... what would you like us to do?”

Fu closed his eyes as if in pain, “Fu, please. I told you, I do not deserve the title of master. Could you please rinse and pack what remains of my poor tea set? I believe there are boxes in the kitchen pantry.”

Marinette winced. “Yes, Mas—” she cut herself off. She could not call him just Fu.

“Maybe you don’t,” Arthur said, holding his metal hand in a cup for Viv to deposit the shards of porcelain into. “Right now. But you can work to deserve it again.” he glanced over at Lewis. “That’s a lesson we can all learn.”

Lewis sighed and bent to brush a hand over Arthur’s spiky hair. “We did. Now it’s our turn to help someone else understand it.”

Adrien squeezed her hand, and Marinette finally found herself moving. Adrien helped her carry the teapot and cups to the sink, and dug in the pantry for a box while she washed the residue of last night’s very awkward tea from them. She couldn’t help sneaking sideways glances at him. Chat... It was hard to believe, her silly, pun-loving kitty— being Adrien. Some things made a lot more sense now, but there were other questions emerging too.

Blushing, she ducked her head and concentrated on the warm soapy water. He said he wasn’t disappointed, but how could he not be, at least a little? She wasn’t the same outside of the mask, any more than he was.

“I could hear you thinking all the way over there.” Adrien spoke close to her ear.

She eeped and nearly dropped the teapot. His hand shot out and caught it neatly. She fumbled to take it back, eyes down. “S-sorry.”

“Don’t be,” he soothed. “Just tell me what you has all tied up in knots.”

She hunched her shoulders. She didn't want to tell him. “I'm... I'm different when I'm Ladybug. Tikki gives me strength and skills and confidence... and so many other things! Without her, I'm just—”

“Everyday Ladybug,” Adrien interrupted. He reached out and tapped the tip of her nose with a finger. “Remember? I called you that before. I still mean it.” His smile was soft, loving, and she wanted desperately to kiss it. It was startling how much of Chat she could see in him, now that she was looking. How had she never noticed before? “Even outside the mask, you are still a hero, just a little less publicly.”

She gave in to the urge and leaned in, at the last moment changing her target and kissing his cheek. She pulled back, flushed with her newfound bravery.

Adrien pressed a hand to his cheek and blushed, a wide grin growing on his face. “Milady.”

She huffed a tiny laugh. “You need to find another nickname when we’re not suited up.”

“I like it when you call me kitty, but I get the point.” Adrien set the box she hadn’t noticed in his hand on the counter, carefully, and almost tentatively slipping his arm around her waist. “I could call you ‘Purr-incess’.”

A giggle escaped her. “Not a chance. That would give you away too easily.” But she leaned into him. “Beside, you called me that before, just as Chat.”

“So I suppose Buginette is out too?” His smile turned wicked, all Chat Noir.

Marinette laughed helplessly. “Stop trying to give away our identities!”

He chuckled. “Got you to stop stressing, didn’t it?”

She gaped at him. “You— you brat!”

He laughed, leaning in. “Your brat cat.”

An undignified snort escaped her. “Fine. Brat you are.”

“I like it,” he grinned at her, something warm in his green eyes. “How about ‘my Ladylove’?”

Marinette nearly combusted on the spot. “Adrien!”

“I don’t think it gives it away, not when it’s how I feel.”

All her breath escaped her. “I—”

“Okay, okay! You love each other. Is there any real cheese in this place? You can't be that cheesy and not have actual cheese, that's illegal!” Plagg darted into the kitchen, swirling around their heads like a wind-blown leaf. “I’m starving!”

Adrien puffed out his cheeks in a sigh. “You are a glutton.”

“Your point?”

Marinette reluctantly disentangled herself from Adrien’s arm and padded over to Master Fu’s refrigerator. “I don’t know if he has any, but I’m sure he won’t mind if we look.”

“Sweet Camembert.” Plagg was practically drooling.

Adrien wrinkled his nose. “I hope he has better taste than that.”

“Hey!”

They didn’t find Camembert, but Plagg was assuaged by a container of goat cheese. “It’ll do for now, but I expect some of the good stuff when we get home.”

Marinette wrapped the tea set in some clean dishtowels and packed it in the box, while Plagg made an unashamed pig of himself. She carried it out to the main room, Adrien following behind her with some more boxes.

Vivi was carefully packing Master Fu’s magical supplies under the supervision of Wayzz. Lewis, Arthur and Fu were nowhere to be seen, as was the credenza that had held the phonograph disguise for the miraculous box and the low table.

Vivi tipped her head at where a suitcase and several boxes sat. “Put it over there until they get back. Fu’s going to pack up his room when he gets back; you think you guys can manage the kitchen? He said there’s a cooler for the cold stuff under the sink.” She squinted at a glowing blue jar before carefully wrapping it in a piece of fabric.”I really need to ask where he gets his magic supplies,” she muttered, crading it into a slot in the box at her side. “Some of this stuff is pretty hard to come by.”

“The master knows several people who can supply his needs.” Wayzz settled on the edge of the box. “He is very well-connected.”

Vivi wrapped another vial and slotted it into place. “I hope he’s willing to share his suppliers. I want to be well-armed for Hawkmoth’s next trick.”

“I will supply you,” Fu’s tired voice came from the doorway. “It is a place to start restoring myself to honor.”

Vivi rolled her eyes. “The name of your suppliers and whatever I need to establish credentials in their eyes will do, thank you. I can manage to select my own tools.”

Fu sagged in place. “As you wish.”

Lewis patted his shoulder as he sidled into the room past Fu. “Don’t take it the wrong way. Vivi learned her stuff from a couple of really tough masters and she always wants to vet her spell ingredients.”

Fu sighed and moved off to pack his bedroom, his steps slow. He looked every second of his age, Marinette thought sadly, her shoulders slumping.

Vivi looked up at her. “Give it time. He’s feeling beaten, in more than one way. But he can recover from it. Even he knows this was not the worst thing that could happen. But right now it feels like a terrible defeat.”

Arthur leaned over to kiss Vivi's temple, picking up the box she had just taped shut. “He knows that. And he knows you were right. It’s a step in the right direction. You gave that to him.”

She leaned up to kiss him again. “I know how much he’s hurting. But he knows I can’t be soft on him, either. Not now. We don’t have the time.”

Marinette turned at Adrien’s gentle touch on her shoulder. He tipped his head back at the kitchen and she nodded. Vivi was right. Time was not on their side.

~~~~

It took most of the afternoon to move everything remotely portable to the second safehouse, a smaller place in a quiet row of flats. They were all tired and overheated from the warm spring sun. Marinette was putting the last of the perishables in the refrigerator, enjoying the cool air from the device.

Vivi came into the kitchen, pulling her blue hair, darkened with sweat, off of the nape of her neck. “Phew, I don’t know about you guys, but I could use a break and something cool.”

Adrien looked up from his phone. “Hey, Nino says André’s cart isn’t far from here.” He grinned at Marinette. “Wanna get some— together this time?”

Blushing, she could only manage a squeak and a frantic nod.

Adrien glanced up at Vivi, his smile bright and endearing. “André has an ice cream cart and everyone says his ice cream is the best in Paris. It’s supposed to be magical, help you find your true love and stay together.”

“Magical?” Arthur stuck his head in. “While I’m all for ice cream, magic ice cream doesn’t really sound like a good idea.”

Vivi stuck her tongue out at him. “You forget your wife is a magic user, love?”

“Never.”

“I doubt there’s any real magic in it. Besides, I’ll recognize anything inimical in it.” Vivi stretched. “And I could definitely use something to cool down.”

Arthur rolled his eyes affectionately at her. “Fine. Not a whole lot more we can do here beyond unpacking, and Fu knows more about where his things go than we do.”

Marinette glanced worriedly over at where Fu was morosely contemplating his incomplete tea set, turning one of the cups over and over in his hands. He seemed to catch the gist of her thoughts and offered a wan smile. “Go on. There is not much remaining to be done and most of it will happen in its own time. I— I need some time to think. Much has happened and there are many changes to be made.”

Vivi crouched and took the cup from his hands. “Take it a day at a time. You were violated, and trust us, that isn't something you can just get over. It takes work and time. And right now we have a breather. Hawkmoth doesn't know where you are, and that gives you some time to sort it out in your own mind.”

Fu studied her for a moment, his expression clearing a little. “You—”

“Understand,” she finished for him. “We all do. It was a lesson learned the hard way. For you as well. It doesn’t make you weak to need time to process it.”

Fu’s expression smoothed and he nodded.

"And even then you're never going to be completely 'over' it." There was a strange tone in Arthur's voice, cheeriness hiding something brittle. "You get better, you make sure you're strong enough or take enough precautions it won't happen again— but...it never goes completely away."

Fu looked up at Arthur and seemed to read something in his face. “You— you know! But they told me you had fought him off.”

Arthur stilled, lines forming around tightly-pressed lips. Marinette was worried by the look in his eyes.

Lewis sighed and took Arthur’s right hand. Arthur started a little, eyes ringed with white. Lewis pulled him into a tight hug.

Arthur shivered a little, leaning into him.

“It wasn’t Hawkmoth,” Vivi said, her tone strangely flat as she stepped over to them and smoothed a hand down Arthur’s back. “He did fight him off, because it happened before.”

“The consequences were a little more— fatal— than most of his Akuma.” Arthur’s voice was muffled against Lewis’s shirt.

Fu looked down at his own hands. “I— I do not remember much, but the feel— I may never forget that for the rest of my life.”

“Don’t,” Arthur mumbled. “It wouldn’t help. Remember how helpless you were and vow never to let yourself be that weak again.

Fu sighed and painfully rose to his feet, reaching up to rest a hand on Arthur’s arm. “I thought... for a moment, I believed I was the only one who felt this helpless rage at themselves, but I am a fool. There are so many who have done things against their nature, driven by his will overlying theirs. I think perhaps... I had underestimated the damage he has done to the people of this city.”

Marinette bit her lip. There was a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach. She had seen Arthur right after the attempt of the Akuma to take him, and some of what she had seen now made a chilling new sense.

She had thought of him as strong, seeing him battle Hawkmoth's influence with everything he had, but he was stronger than she ever imagined— now that the scars were clear to see.

Her fingers sought Adrien's of their own accord and found his reaching for hers at the same time. There was the same kind of sick realization in his eyes. He squeezed her hand tightly.

Vivi had a pensive expression as she stroked Arthur's hair, but she said nothing. Marinette could tell she was aching for Arthur and wished there was something she could do to wipe the hurt away.

It was only when Arthur pulled away from Lewis and took a deep breath that Vivi relaxed. She put on a smile that wasn't too brittle around the edges. "So, ice cream...?"

Arthur's laugh was a little wobbly. "You are impossible."

She leaned in to press a kiss to his cheek. “Yes, and you love me for it.”

“I do.” Arthur breathed. He patted the arm Lewis had wrapped around him. “Both of you.”

Lewis bent his head and buried his nose in Arthur's hair. “Love you too, tough guy.”

Arthur's laugh was a little more real this time. “Let's go feed Vivi that ice cream before she gets hungry and cranky enough to rival an Akuma.”

“Hey!”

~~~~

They left Fu with a promise to be back tomorrow. Marinette was reluctant to leave him, but he shooed her out gently.

Arthur, Vivi and Lewis walked ahead of them. Arthur was in the middle, one hand tucked in Lewis’s larger one and Vivi with her arm tucked into his elbow on the other side. It was clear they were still feeling protective of him. His half-smile said he knew, but at the same time didn’t mind overmuch.

They were halfway down the block when she realized she and Adrien were still holding hands. He glanced at her, eyes sparkling in a wicked, very-Chat smile and lifted their entwined hands to kiss the back of hers. “Ladylove.”

She blushed red. It was still strange to see her kitty in Adrien, but then he did something so Chat-like and she kept wondering how she had never seen it. “Brat,” she accused quietly.

“Your brat.” He smiled back and squeezed her fingers.

Her phone chirped and she grabbed for it with a guilty ‘eep.’ It was Alya. She stared at it for a long moment before sending the call to voicemail. She blinked at Adrien. “I— we still need to figure out what we're going to tell her— and everyone— about today— about everything.”

His lips pressed into a small frown. “Yeah. Um, I can walk you home after this and we can figure something out, okay?” He squeezed her hand again.

Marinette nodded, guilty. She hated lying to her parents, but what else could she do?

“We'll figure something out, Milady. But until then, can we just enjoy this?” He swung their hands back and forth.

In spite of the niggling guilt, there was nothing she wanted more. “Yes.”

Adrien perked up, his head lifting. “I think I hear him!”

Marinette tilted her head to listen. Faintly she heard the jingle of bells, but couldn’t be sure until she heard André’s voice lifted in his customary refrain.

Adrien nearly pulled her off her feet when he broke into a run. Giggling, Marinette stumbled to keep pace. “Hurry,” Adrien chided, laughing, as they darted past the three adults. “He never stays in one place for long!”

Vivi huffed a laugh and took off in their wake, pulling Arthur, and through him, Lewis, after her. “Oh, no you don’t!”

Giggling so hard she could barely breathe, Marinette called back over her shoulder, “Loser buys for everyone!”

Vivi’s inarticulate shriek was music to her ears and she put on more speed.

Breathlessly laughing, they all darted through the crowds toward the music of André’s singing. Marinette knew that they were being quite silly, but the release of the tension that had held them since the attack this morning made her giddy and she had a feeling it was the same for all of them.

“I see him!” Adrien laughed, increasing his speed. Marinette clung to his hand, trying to match his speed. She knew he was fast as Chat, but she was still surprised at how fast they were running.

Vivi was barely a pace behind them when they screeched to a breathless halt next to the ice cream sellers cart. Adrien pumped his free hand in the air with a joyous whoop.

André broke off mid-verse to grin at them. “Sweet Marinette! You have come to see André again!” His gaze moved down to her hand clasped in Adrien’s and a delighted smile spread across his broad face. “And you have found the one my ice cream said was for you!”

Marinette ducked her head, red pooling in her cheeks. “Yes.”

“I will make a new dessert for the two of you! It will keep you together forever!” André exclaimed gleefully, already with his scoop in hand.

Adrien smiled at her and squeezed her hand. “I'm sure it will,” he breathed.

Marinette flushed and leaned her forehead against his. “Yes.”

André broke into a new song as he scooped and mixed flavors with gleeful abandon. He presented them with the ice cream with great ceremony. “Strawberry cream swirl sprinkled with chocolate curls and mint fudge ripple! To keep your newfound love true!”

“Thank you, André.” Adrien took the ice cream and smiled at Marinette. Still blushing, she matched his grin.

“And who are these three? I have not seen you here before!” André's attention was drawn to where Arthur, Lewis and Vivi stood.

Still smiling, Adrien introduced them. “André, these are Vivi, Lewis and Arthur Pepper-Kingsman. They're here on their honeymoon. We thought they should try the best ice cream in Paris!”

André blinked. "All three— together? Yes! This shall be André's greatest masterpiece yet! Come, let me build you a dessert that shall be the talk of ages." His face split in a wide grin.

Marinette leaned her shoulder against Adrien's and took a tiny scoop of the mint for Tikki. André was in the throes of creative rapture and it was a sight to behold.

"For the sunlight and joy he brings, tangerine and pineapple swirl," André declared, wielding his scoop like a magician. "Blueberry with passionfruit for the heart and mind that drive you onward." A second layer was added atop the first. "Black currant with dark chocolate ripple for love born anew from the dark. And a candied pepper for the spice of life!"

Vivi held up a hand, chuckling. "Yeah, we'll let Lewis have that bite all by himself."

"What, no nuts?" Arthur joked, eyeing the pepper with suspicion.

"We don't need nuts," Vivi jabbed him with an elbow. "You have all of them... and bolts too!"

#mystery skulls animated #miraculous ladybug #Marinette Dupain Cheng #adrien agreste #reveal #Vivi knows all

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jamesashtonisbae · 5 years

Text

That I Did Always Love

Word Count: 3,664

Pairing: James x MC (Lacey), Becca x Zig, Abbie x Tyler, Kaitlyn x Anissa

Rating: M

Warnings: Language, sexual content

Summary: It’s Lacey’s senior year, and she and James have been together since she was a freshman. They’re in love with life and in love with each other.

Author’s Note: This is my first fic. It is probably terrible. The tenses are probably all screwed up. No one is probably going to read it. But here it is anyway!

Disclaimer: I do not own these characters, they belong to pixelberry studios. This is based on The Freshman Series.

…

Lacey was curled up under a blanket on the couch in her and James’s apartment. A mug of coffee sat on the end table next to her as she flipped through The New York Times. As she began to read the Lifestyle section her phone chirped with a message from Kaitlyn.

-hey, want to go to the salon today? Abbie, Becca, and I need our nails done asap. You should join. Going at 10!

Lacey considered it for a moment, trying to think through her day. She and James had made plans later that afternoon to go walk through the park and check out some of the new food trucks there. He was out that morning to get some writing done at his favorite coffee shop, so she was free for hours.

-sure, see you at 10!

She got up from her couch after briefly skimming an article on the benefits of buying a houseplant, lifted her kitten Austen off of her lap, and maneuvered to the kitchen without stepping on their puppy Poe.

“House plant?” she wrote on the marker board on their fridge before cleaning out her mug and putting it in the dishwasher. Poe yapped at her feet, looking up at her with his big brown eyes. Lacey laughed and reached down to pat his head.

“Dad will be back at noon, I know he’s your favorite.”

As she moved down the hallway toward the bedroom, Poe followed, his energy astounding. Quickly, Lacey slipped through the door and closed it behind her, keeping Poe from coming in with her. With a laugh, she peered into her lobster Gerald’s tank and noted he was sleeping, sort of, on the bottom.

“Oh, Gerald. You sweet, simple boy. Some days I want your life.”

Lacey shed her silk robe and pulled on a pair of light wash jeans, then her favorite pair of knee high brown suede boots. She slipped into a navy cropped turtle neck, then put on the gold studs James had got her for their third anniversary. A final glance in the mirror revealed she was ready, and so she pulled on her maroon trench jacket and her slate gray bag.

She hurried out the door, kissing both of her fur babies on the way out. Lacey scurried to the first floor of the apartment complex and hustled to her car. Traffic was light, and she made her way to the nail salon in no time.

“Lacey!” Kaitlyn was the first to greet her, rushing over with more gusto than necessary at 10 am.

“Hey girls! It’s so good that the gang is back together again!”

“Lacey, how are you?” Becca said, slipping an arm around Lacey’s shoulder and pulling her into her side.

“Good, Bex. How are you?”

“I’m great. Just finished up my last midterm yesterday, so I’m rewarding myself with a one day break from all things law school!”

“Well, that’s good!”

Abbie put her arms around the three girls, her curls tickling Lacey’s neck.

Lacey let out a laugh, “It is so good to see you all again. I feel like I just hang out with James now. And don’t get me wrong, I love the man, but sometimes I just need girl time.”

“Please, as if any of us have ever doubted for a second that you love James Ashton. That boy has got you wrapped around his finger,” Abbie added.

The four girls had made their way over to the nail stations and were each getting their hands cleaned. Lacey had decided on a classic French tip, which was her go to.

“So tell me, how are things going? I want juicy deets!” Becca said, “From all of you! Abbie, go!”

“Well, Tyler and I have been talking a lot about post-graduation things, and we’re thinking of moving to San Francisco. His family is out there, he would be close to Silicon Valley, and I’m actually getting really into graffiti-style art, so that would be a cool place to study that and incorporate it into my repertoire, ya know?”

“What? San Francisco? Abbie that’s amazing!” Kaitlyn said, almost shouting, “but are you guys talking about the M word?”

Abbie quirked an eyebrow at Kaitlyn.

“Marriage,” Becca explained.

“Oh! Yes we have, we think it’s still a few years off for us actually. We’re very happy, but just don’t see the need to move into that step right now. And we want to make a little money first so we can have a ridiculous wedding.”

“And Kaitlyn? How are things?”

“Wow. So the band is great. We’re getting ready for the tour over Thanksgiving. It’s going to be something new, pretty challenging, you know, all of that fun stuff, but I’m excited to see how we grow. Plus, Anissa’s amazing, and we’ll get to spend more time with each other.”

“So things are going well there?” Lacey asked.

“Very well. I guess, I do have one question, since the three of you are very sensual ladies. It’s pretty weird, but you know me, I’m just going to ask.”

“Kaitlyn, nothing you ask me could ever shock me, just go ahead,” Lacey added.

“So like, obviously it’s kind of different for me, since I’m with a woman and you all are with dudes, but like, what are your thoughts on butt stuff?”

Becca laughed, Abbie’s eyes widened, and Lacey shook her head, “Zero percent of me is shocked by this, Kaitlyn.”

“Well,” Becca began, “Zig and I don’t really do a lot of it. I mean, when I give him BJs I definitely finger him sometimes, if that’s what you’re asking. He goes crazy for it. Nothing vice versa though.”

“Like no pegging or anything though?”

“No. Not that either of us would be opposed, just that our sex life is very satisfactory the way that it is.”

“Cool. Good to know. Abbie?”

“God, I never thought I’d talk about this with anyone other than Tyler.”

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to.”

“Nah, I will. We don’t do pegging, but I’ve let him try anal a couple of times. Both of us kind of like it. He always goes down on me after, so that’s why I am unopposed.”

“Lacey?”

Lacey let out a short laugh, “Well, for starters, James is huge, so if we’re going to do it anal, we have to decide like two days before and I’ll wear butt plugs so that he doesn’t split me like a rail. But when we do, I use a vibrator, which he loves, but we both come together at the very least, but yeah, he goes down on me when we’re done. Granted, he goes down on me an average of ten times a week.”

“Just how much sex do you guys have?” Becca asked.

“Lots. Like more than multiple times a day.”

“When was the last time you had sex?”

“This morning in the shower.”

“And before that?”

“Before we got in the shower when we woke up.”

“You guys have been together for four years! How do you have it so often?”

“Literally nothing is off the table. Except for sharing. We won’t share each other. We tried it once and it was not good.”

“Wait, with who?” Kaitlyn asked, curious.

“I don’t know if this will shock you or not, but it was with Logan.”

“What?” Becca exclaimed. “Wait, how was it? What happened?”

“Well, Logan and James didn’t touch each other, but Logan definitely went down on me while I gave James a BJ, and then they double teamed me, Logan in my ass and James inside me. It was incredible, but he was very jealous seeing another guy please me, so we agreed never again.”

“Lacey, you are a minx!” Abbie exclaimed.

“Well…”

“No, you are. No one would know by how prim and proper you are, but damn you are a sexual goddess. No wonder James will do anything for you.”

“He does anything for me in the bedroom too. And often.”

“So wait, what I’m hearing is, butt stuff isn’t horrible?” Kaitlyn brought it back.

“No, not at all. Like what type of butt stuff?”

“Anissa got us strap-ons, so that type of butt stuff.”

“You may be into it, you may not be. I like it a lot,” Lacey added. “But I like almost everything James tries.”

“Weirdest sex thing – go,” Becca asked.

“Well, I think it was probably this time when we were cleaning and started getting down and dirty and he lay me down on our counter and used a broom handle on me. It was amazing, but really weird for sure.”

“How is anyone else’s weird sex thing supposed to compare to that?” Kaitlyn asked.

“It’s not.”

They spent the rest of the morning gabbing and catching up, although they’d hung out a few weeks prior. It was hard for Lacey knowing that she didn’t get to see them as often as she had when they were younger. But their time was special nonetheless.

When they were finished, and Lacey had impressively manicured French tips, Kaitlyn had black bedazzled nails, Abbie had hers painted maroon, and Becca had hers painted nude, they paid and ran to McDermot’s for a quick bite. As Lacey sipped her second coffee of the day and tried to maintain a semi-healthy take on lunch, her friends filled her in on their plans for the day, all being pretty vague about their nights.

“Oh, I’m just going to hang out with some friends, I think,” Kaitlyn mentioned.

“I’ll probably head somewhere with Zig, I guess.”

“Yeah, Tyler and I might do something tonight.”

“Wow. That isn’t descriptive at all. I guess if I don’t see you later, then I don’t. James and I are going to go try food trucks tonight and he mentioned inviting people over for drinks later. If you guys are free you should come.”

“I’ll talk to Tyler and we’ll see.”

“Yeah, I’ll run it by Zig and see what he has to say.”

“Anissa and I should be down later, we’ll let you know.”

“Okay, sounds good,” Lacey stood, “I guess I’ll be on my way then. I’m going to run home and throw around some article ideas before we head out. Bye!”

Lacey drove home, thinking about what she may want to eat. She always wanted tacos, and food trucks never disappointed, but James always tried to pick out obscure ones for them to try together. Hopefully she’d be able to persuade him to get just one taco the whole night.

As she fumbled with her keys to get into her apartment, James opened the door for her.

“Oh! Thanks, Babe.”

“Anything for my sunshine,” he said, pressing a kiss to Lacey’s cheek. “How was your morning? Do anything fun?”

“Yeah, went to get my nails done with Abbie, Kaitlyn, and Becca.”

“Let me see.”

Lacey held out her hand, which James took with a smile of approval, “They look beautiful, much like the woman to whom they belong,” he pressed a kiss to her hand, her knuckles, the inside of her wrist, up her arm as far as he could underneath her sweater. Then, he pulled her to him, slipping his hand under the hem of her sweater, pressing his lips to her neck.

“We have a couple of hours before we’re going out. How would you like to spend them?”

“Remember that thing you did to me with the broom handle?”

“Mmm, how could I forget?” he murmured against her neck.

“Would you want to do it again?”

“Yes, god, yes.”

…

“James, please? I just want a taco!” Lacey said, taking one hand in both of hers and tugging him towards the taco truck to their right.

“Lacey, we’ve gone over this. You need to branch out, Sunshine.”

“I will, but I want a taco first!”

“You’re insatiable, and I love you.”

“So, I get a taco?”

“As if I could deny the most stunning woman in the world what she desires.”

Lacey leaned in and pressed a kiss to his cheek, “Thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you!”

She skipped over towards the taco truck, James’s hand in hers. As he followed her, he thought to himself God, I could not love this woman any more.

They decided to get two pork al pastor tacos with pico de gallo and feta cheese. While they wandered through the park, they each took bites of the tacos and talked a bit about the article they had each read about houseplants.

“How long would it take for Poe to destroy a houseplant, though?” James asked.

“I mean, not very long, but he can’t climb on shelves or counters, so we could keep it like on the entertainment center or our dresser, don’t you think?”

“Why do you want a houseplant, anyway?”

“I don’t know, I really like the color green, and I feel like in an apartment it’s so easy to feel removed from nature, so we could kind of make up for it if we got a house plant, don’t you?”

“I suppose you’re right, my dear. We should go to Earl May over fall break and try to find one we like.”

“I’ve already kind of started researching some that would be good for us.”

“Real research, or “Design your apartment and we’ll tell you what houseplant to get” quizzes on Buzzfeed?”

Lacey let out a quick laugh and leaned into James’s side as he wrapped an arm around her, “A little bit of both.”

“Good, because I only make life decisions with the help of Buzzfeed quizzes.”

“I love you so much, James Ashton.”

“Lacey Morgan, I love you too.”

She pressed her lips to his in a quick but sweet kiss. He grinned down at her, marveling at the perfect woman in his arms. How he had gotten so lucky was beyond him.

“Now, will you please come try a different food truck with me?”

“Of course I will. Which one, Babe?”

“That Greek one looks good.”

“You know how I feel about Greek food…” Lacey began.

James’s face fell, “You hate it, I know.”

“But you also know how I feel about you,” she kissed his cheek, “so I’ll happily try yet another gyro with dill sauce for you my sweet man.”

After sampling a few gyros and deciding she still hated them and he still loved them, Lacey and James made their way towards the fountain in the center of the park. Night was beginning to fall, but the park was still well lit and it was easy to see the newly changed trees. Reds, yellows, and oranges were splashed across the background behind the fountain, and Lacey sucked in a breath at the beauty.

“What’s wrong?” James asked, nervously shoving his hand that wasn’t holding hers into his pocket.

“Absolutely nothing. Everything is perfect. It’s so beautiful here. I want to remember this night forever. I want to be here with you forever.”

James chuckled nervously, sitting on a bench, “It is the most perfect night ever. It truly is.”

Lacey sat down next to him, wrapping her hands around his, “Are you okay? You seem a bit off right now, Love. What’s going on?”

He cleared his throat, then turned to face her, taking both of her hands in his, “Lacey, you are the greatest gift I’ve been given. Knowing you has made me a better man than I ever thought possible. Every single day, I think of a new way that I fail you and a new way that you amaze me and think that I can never deserve you and the love you give me. You know how much I love Emily Dickinson, I know how much you do, and when I think of you I cannot help but think of that night we spent reading poetry during the spring of your freshman year. Do you remember the “That I did always love” poem?”

“As if I could forget,” Lacey whispered, reciting, “That I did always love, / I bring thee proof: / That till I loved / I did not love enough. / That I shall love alway, / I offer thee / That love is life, / And life hath immortality. / This, dost thou doubt, sweet? / Then have I / Nothing to show/ But Calvary.”

“What I didn’t know then was that I was going to reach a point where any life I imagined without you was one I did not want. Where you go, where you belong, I am going to go with you. You are the most important thing in my life, Lacey Jae Morgan. I love you. I love your morning routine, the way you roll over and press yourself against me for five minutes before you quietly get up and shower. When you wrap your hair up in your towel and slip on your silky robe, then go eat a muffin and drink the darkest, most disgusting coffee known to man while you read the Times. I love how you talk to Poe, and Austen, and Gerald as if they are human. You are so sweet and caring, and think of things I never would when it comes to what they need and what makes them comfortable. I love how you help me with my writing. You never tell me what to do, you always listen and get me to believe in myself. You’re so capable, you could tell me what to do and it would be phenomenal, but you always ask me to find myself when I’m stuck. You’ve never forced your way onto me, and at the same time I feel like I become more like you every day. Because of you, I am kinder, wiser, more thoughtful, better with people, more open, more joyful. You’re the sun, Lacey Jae Morgan. When everything is dark, you’re the sun.”

By now, tears were streaming down Lacey’s cheeks. She was holding onto James’s hands, her forehead pressed to his as she gazed at him. She was so in love with this man, she couldn’t even think straight sometimes. But here they were, in a park by a fountain, sharing one of the most special moments of their relationship. James was baring his soul, but begging her not to respond. A small piece of Lacey knew that he was not done with what he had to say just yet.

“Lacey Jae Morgan, you are my everything. I cannot fathom anything without you. Every piece of my life has been so touched by you, that I will never be the same. And frankly, I don’t want to be the same. I want to grow with you Lacey. For the rest of my life.”

James let go of her hands and stood. He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a box. Lacey’s hands flew to her face, covering her mouth. She was full on sobbing now as James sunk to one knee in front of her. A few tears streamed down his cheeks as he looked up at the love of his life, “Lacey, my sunshine, will you marry me?”

He opened the box, but Lacey didn’t even look at it. She reached down to wipe a tear from his cheek, keeping her hand on his face as she gazed down at the man she adored. As her face broke into a huge grin, she leaned her head down to press her lips to his. They kissed passionately for a few moments before he pulled away and said, “So is that a yes?”

Lacey threw back her head, laughter mixing with the tears on her cheeks. She stopped laughing and looked back down at him “Yes. A thousand times yes.”

James rose and pulled her into his arms, spinning her around, the box now closed and in his hand. They embraced for a long moment, before she pulled away and said, “I know that it’s not really that important, but I’d love to see that ring now.”

“It’s very important,” he said, pulling out the box, “I want you to love this ring so much that you’ll never want to take it off.”

“It doesn’t really matter what it looks like, I’ll love it because you got it for me.”

As she said that, he opened the box and her jaw dropped. Had she envisioned her perfect ring, it would not have compared to the ring James had gotten her. It was a vintage ring, with a thin gold band and a very large oval diamond. Lacey began openly sobbing as James took her hand and put it on her finger.

“Oh James, this is perfect. I know it wouldn’t matter if it were just a plain gold band but this ring is stunning and I wouldn’t have picked a better one for myself if I’d tried. Oh,” she wrapped her arms around his neck, pressing a kiss to his mouth.

They held each other and kissed for a few moments before James pulled away, “You know that rooftop bar we went to when you were a freshman?”

“Yes,” Lacey said, hesitantly.

“Well, I rented it out tonight. Our friends and family are there right now if you would like to go join them.”

Lacey let out a laugh, then pulled him close again, “James George Ashton, you have thought of everything haven’t you?”

“Well, I should have, that’s for sure.”

“Oh and why is that?”

“Because I have been planning this day since I first met you.”

“James, you have not.”

“Really? You don’t think I have?”

“There’s no way.”

“When we get home tonight, I’ll show you my journal from the September of 2014. You’ll find that was the first time I called you sunshine or compared you to the sun. You’ve lit up my life for years Lacey Jae. And you’ll continue to do so for years to come.”

#james ashton #choices #the freshman #tf/ts/tj/ts #james x mc #becca davenport #abbie x tyler #kaitlyn x anissa

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today-only-happens-once · 6 years

Text

Family

Title: Family

Word Count: 3675

Summary: for asofterfan’s Punk!AU. Patton is protective of his little brother, Thomas. ““Pat,” Virgil says in a low voice as he steps closer, alarm twisting his stomach. “Are you hurt?””. Platonic/familial dynamics all around.

Warnings: discussion of violence, injury (lots of bruising mostly), cursing (more than normal in my fics…Punk!Logan curses a lot okay), mention/hints at abuse and neglect, nausea mention, some angst/hurt/comfort, let me know if I forgot anything else.

Author’s Note: Long AN is long, sorry - Behold, the fic that caused me tremendous self-doubt and second-guessing. I am in love with @asofterfan’s Punk!AU. (Special thanks to them for letting me and others create within the context of this awesome AU) I tried to do as much research through their headcanons and art as I could, but I’m sure there are inaccuracies. This will also inevitably pale in comparison to the development of their AU so please check it out if you haven’t because it’s awesome. I kinda wanted to explore Patton’s relationship with Thomas a bit but also the Analogical dynamic and this is what happened. Yikes. The self-doubt and writing insecurity never really went away with this fic (can you tell from how I’ve been rambling?) but like might as well post it, yeah? No? *drops this here and then sprints far away*

Also, editing done by yours truly so all mistakes are mine and mine alone.

Tags: @creativenostalgiastuff, @helloisthisusernametaken, @ren-allen, @lizaelsparrow, @princelogical, @random-pianist, @ravenclawicecream, @erlenmeyertrash, @milomeepit, @at-least-seven-pretty-potatoes, @rileyfirstname, @pinkeasteregg, @sassy-in-glasses, @vigilantvirgil, @generalfandomfabulousness, @lacrimosathedark, @thepoolofthedead, @monikastec, @heir-of-the-founders, @yourworstnightmare999

…

Virgil shakes the can of spray paint as he surveys the brick wall in front of him. He has the image in his mind of the final product, but it always takes him a moment’s pause to figure out where exactly to start. A light, late afternoon breeze tugs at the loose strands of his hair. Logan sits on the ground in the alley with a book in his lap, his back against the wall and one knee propped up.

He turns the page, then glances up at Virgil. “It helps if you actually, y’know, use the spray paint.”

The corner of Virgil’s mouth twitches. “You don’t say?” he quips dryly.“You know, you said you’d keep a look out for me.” He looks at the wall a moment longer before beginning. The hiss of the canister cuts through the sound of birds chirping and tires rolling on pavement as cars passed by, oblivious to the two teens deeper in the alley.

“And I am,” Logan replies. His gaze narrows at the page for a moment before looking back at Virgil. “Although I really don’t think you have anything to worry about. Nobody around here cares much about artists painting on the walls unless they’re police, and those guys don’t really do much around here. There’s about a 99% nobody’s going to even notice us, let alone care to do anything about it. ”

“Yeah, but with my luck?” Virgil sprays another line. “I don’t love those odds.”

Logan smirks and flips the page. He brushes a strand of blue hair out of his eyes. Virgil eyes the book in his lap as he grabs a different color and resumes painting. He coats the red brick in a glistening dark black streak. “What are you even reading?”

Logan glances up, adjusting the frame of his glasses. “Judith Butler’s Bodies That Matter. It expands on the gender performativity argument she proposed in Gender Trouble.”

Virgil arcs a skeptical eyebrow at his friend. “You’re reading advanced gender theory? For fun?”

“Nothing is binary and everything is gay,” Logan replies with a lift of his shoulder. “They want proof? This book offers it, or tries to. At least, the binary part. I’m still reading.”

Virgil continues working, hesitating less between lines as the image starts to take form. Distantly, the wail of police sirens cut through the air; it’s too far away for either of the punks to even look up. For a while, the only sound between them is the hiss of Virgil’s spray paint cans and Logan turning pages. The sound of footsteps makes both boys pause, but as they glance down the alley to the street, the two girls walking by don’t even glance in their direction.

Virgil doesn’t usually tag in broad daylight. But he was trying a new design that he wanted to see in daylight, and sketching it out over and over only made him feel most antsy about finding out what it would actually look like. Before he placed it anywhere that would actually get noticed, Virgil wanted to make sure he knew what he was doing with it. And even though a part of him was more on edge due to the fact that the possibility of him getting caught was higher without the cover of dark, his shaking hands stilled as soon as he’d begun. He supposes art was funny like that sometimes.

It’s almost an hour later when Virgil takes a few steps back and surveys his own work. Logan looks up at him for a moment before marking the page and jumping to his feet to stand by Virgil.

Virgil purses his lips, his gaze narrowing. “That line isn’t straight,” he says, pointing it out to Logan. “It curves a bit to the left.”

“So? I’m never straight,” Logan replies, almost deadpan save for the slight smirk that pulls at the corner of his lips. “It looks good, Virge.”

Virgil is quiet, then reaches for the canister at his feet. “I’m just gonna fix one thing.” He steps back up to the wall, adding a few strokes of the purple to add some dimension where Virgil felt it was lacking. “Hey,” he says as he works, “Logan?” He tries to keep the nervousness out of his voice.

“Hm?”

“Mind if I maybe crash at your place tonight?” he asks without turning around. He can never look Logan in the eyes when he asks, and he hates how often he does so. But last night had been… rough, to say the least. He had a feeling that Logan had seen the bruise on his arm during lunch, even though the teen had tried to keep his sleeves pulled down.

“C’mon,” Logan says. “You know you don’t need to ask.”

…

By the time the two boys get back to Logan’s house, it’s almost five. The sun is low in the sky, just about ready to set. Logan’s driveway sits empty, as usual, as they get closer. It’s not until they’re walking up the driveway when they notice someone sitting on the front steps of his porch.

Logan and Virgil share a glance as they get closer. The familiar head of pastel blue-purple-pink hair is leaned back against the railing, his eyes closed.

“Patton?”

At the sound of his name, Patton opens his eyes.

“Hey, Logan,” he says, his voice sounding oddly strained. Virgil looks at him closer, and notices the way the pastel punk has his arm wrapped around his chest. The way he’s curled in on himself a little. Something is wrong.

“Patton, don’t take this the wrong way but what are you doing here?” Logan asks.

“I, uh…” Patton gives them a pained smile that looks a lot more like a grimace. “I need your help.”

“Pat,” Virgil says in a low voice as he steps closer, alarm twisting his stomach. “Are you hurt?”

“I… yeah.” Logan is already unlocking the door, but his gaze flashes back to them at the answer. Virgil wraps Patton’s arm around his shoulders. He winces as Virgil—who is being as gentle as he can—pulls him to his feet.

“What the hell happened?” Logan demands as Virgil helps Patton inside. His brown eyes are practically blazing with fury. It’s not that Logan isn’t used to patching people up. Usually himself or Virgil after a late night call. (They were both used to that particular arrangement, Virgil thinks with a bitter taste in his mouth.)

But Patton is an entirely different story. Everybody loved him; and if you didn’t love him, then you had done something to get on his bad side and you were afraid of him. Patton was almost a perpetually warm person, sincere and well-meaning even if his love and affection could feel like a bit… much, at times.

Logan may have the sharper temper, but Virgil can feel his own anger bubbling in his chest as the reality that someone had hurt Patton sinks into him.

“I’m sorry,” Patton is saying quietly as they make their way up the stairs. “I didn’t mean to bother you guys, I just…”

“Shut up, Pat,” Virgil tells him, but not harshly. “You don’t have to talk about it unless you want to.”

“Take him to my room,” Logan says. “I’m gonna grab the first aid kit.” Virgil nods his understanding and leads Patton to the door at the end of the hallway.

Virgil flips the light switch as they enter Logan’s bedroom. The room admittedly helps ease some of the uneasiness in Virgil’s stomach. Logan’s room—with its dark blues and blacks on the walls and bedding—always felt safe to Virgil. The teen smiles faintly to himself at his stuffed turtle John and Logan’s octopus Tsugarensis sitting side by side amidst the pillows near the headboard. Bottles of hair dye sit on his desk.

Patton is quiet as he sits down on the edge of the bed, glancing around the room. He catches Patton’s quiet hiss as Virgil extracts himself out from under the other punk’s arm. He notices then that Patton’s hands are bruised, the knuckles split. The teen also has a dark bruise forming along his cheekbone.

Virgil shoves his hands into the pockets of his hoodie. He’s used to the one being hurt. It’s not often that he finds himself on the other side of the situation, and if he’s being honest, he hates it. It’s tying his stomach in knots despite the familiarity and vague sense of safety Logan’s room provided.

“I’m sorry, Virge,” Patton says softly, staring at his hands in his lap. “My mom isn’t home and I didn’t want to scare Thomas. But I needed help and I wasn’t sure where else to go, and Logan lived closer, so...”

Logan interrupts the conversation as he comes into the room with a box in his hands. “Patton, you’re gonna need to take off the vest at least.” There’s a surprising and rare gentleness in the request that Virgil has only ever hear Logan use when Virgil had been injured.

Patton nods, then hesitates. He sucks in a bit of a breath before shrugging out of the turquoise garment. Virgil bites his thumbnail, watching the way Patton clenches his jaw against a wince. Logan glances at the pastel punk out of the corner of his eye, setting the box on the bed beside Patton and kneeling in front of him.

The unasked questions hang heavy in the air of the bedroom. Virgil wants to ask what happened, but he is too well acquainted with injuries one would rather not talk about to force that kind of conversation on Patton. From the subtle glances Logan keeps tossing to him, he’s pretty sure the blue-haired teen feels the same way.

“Can you raise your shirt, Pat?”

Patton presses his lips together, not answering at first. Slowly, he reaches for the hem of his shirt and—visibly gritting his teeth—pulls it up and over his head. He averts his gaze as he sets his shirt beside him.

The sight of Patton’s chest is one Virgil is too well-acquainted with, but seeing it on Patton makes a faint nausea rise in Virgil’s throat before he swallows it down. Across his ribcage is a brilliant—painful—smattering of purple, yellow, and a very angry red. Something that looks suspiciously like a footprint marks his right side. Logan goes suddenly very still for a moment, his eyes widening ever so slightly.

Patton swallows. He offers a weak smile, even though he isn’t looking at either one of them. “Is this where I say ‘you should see the other guys’?”

Guys plural? Virgil thinks, anger sparking all over again in his chest.

“You’re damn right,” Logan replies, his voice deceptively even. “If not after you, then after me.” He looks up at Patton, who still won’t meet his eyes. “Is anything broken?”

“I don’t… I’m not sure,” Patton whispers.

Logan nods stiffly. “Then this might hurt.” Gingerly, he starts prodding around Patton’s chest. Feeling for any broken ribs. Virgil winces in sympathy as Patton sucks in a sharp hiss.

“It was because of Thomas,” Patton says after a long moment of silence, as Logan continues to press around his chest.

Virgil’s gaze flies up. “Thomas did this?” That definitely didn’t make sense. Thomas and Patton adored each other.

“No, no, no!” Patton says quickly. “I…” He sighs, some strands of his pastel hair falling into his eyes. “Thomas has been struggling with some kids in school. This morning when I went to get him up, he yelled at me. I don’t even remember what about. He’d… never yelled at me before. But I told him he had to go to school. He said I…” Patton cuts himself off suddenly, shaking his head. Virgil’s brow pulls together at the unfinished thought, but Logan cuts in before he can ask about it.

“Well, shit, Pat,” Logan replies, pulling his hands back from Patton’s torso. “You could’ve told us. We would’ve backed you up.” He pulls the wrapping off the bandage.

Patton lifts a shoulder. “I didn’t even know. He didn’t tell me what was happening. I waited for him for a while after school but when he didn’t show up, I went looking for him. Found him cornered by a few guys who had him shoved up against the locker.”

Virgil’s brow furrows together. As bubbly and warm as Patton was, one thing you did not do was mess with someone he cared about. Especially his little brother. “You and Thomas fought some guys?”

Patton shakes his head. “I got their attention, and told Thomas to get out of there. He didn’t exactly want to, but he knows I would’ve kicked his ass harder if he’d stuck around. Thomas isn’t much of a fighter.” Patton’s hands curl into fists on his knees. Virgil isn’t sure if it’s in anger or something else.

Logan secures a bandage over the pastel punk’s ribs. “No offense, Patton,” he says, “but you’re hardly the most likely one to throw a punch yourself.” He glances at the bruised and split knuckles along the other teen’s hands.

Patton looks at them too, relaxing his fists and flexing his hand before wincing. “Yeah, well. That wasn’t exactly my intention either.”

Logan takes his hand, cleaning up the abrasions along his knuckles before wrapping them. “You had your knife with you, at least?”

Patton glances up. “You know I don’t bring it with me to school.”

Virgil’s phone buzzes in his pocket, and he fishes it out and checks the ID. It’s a text from Roman.

Have u seen Pat?

The purple-haired teen sighs to himself and texts back. Yeah. He’s at Logans. Why?

R: Thomas just called me. He seemed worried bc Patton didn’t come home.

Thomas had recently gotten involved in theatre alongside Roman in the second half of his freshman year. Roman had given Patton’s little brother his number in case he needed a ride to rehearsal.

The phone buzzes again. U know what happened?

Long story. Just tell him Pat’s safe and with Logan, Virgil texts back quickly.

R: Thomas said he might be hurt???

Virgil hesitates a second before replying. Yeah. He is. I’ll explain later. Virgil pockets his phone and ignores it when it buzzes again. He knows Roman is already plotting revenge, and Virgil isn’t too far behind him, but he has bigger priorities at the moment.

He can see Patton’s jaw jump. He hears how shaky the pastel punk’s long inhale is, even though he tries to cover it with a cough and a smile.

“Hey, uh, Logan?” Patton asks as Logan finishes securing the bandage in place.

“Yeah?”

“Thanks.” Patton flexes his grip and finally locks gazes with the blue-haired teen. “You’re good at this.”

Logan and Virgil exchange a quick glance that Patton doesn’t seem to notice before the teen shrugs. “Don’t mention it.”

There’s a moment of silence before Patton sighs again, and pinches the bridge of his nose. “I just can’t believe Thomas didn’t tell me.”

Virgil slips his hands into his pockets. He leans back against the edge of Logan’s desk. “Maybe he thought he could take care of it himself.”

Patton runs his fingers through his pastel hair to brush it out of his face. He looks unconvinced. “It’s just… I was always supposed to look out for him, y’know?”

Logan sits back on his heels. “The kid’s not so little anymore, Patton,” he says, but not unkindly. “You’re gonna graduate in a few months, and Thomas is gonna have to know how to fight his own battles. Even when he gets in over his head.”

Virgil snorts. “Oh, he definitely will. Kid’s got a bit a rebellious streak in him, I swear. We’re rubbing off on him. In a few years I bet he gives you a run for your money, Logan.”

Logan jokingly puffs his chest out. “Good! Somebody’s gotta call the teachers out on their whitewashing of history when I leave.”

Patton groans, but a small smile is tugging at the corner of his lips. “Great. So my brother is gonna get into even more fights.” His tone is light, but the real concern leaks through regardless.

Logan pushes himself to his feet and crosses his arms over his chest. “So we’ll teach him how to defend himself before we all go our separate ways.”

Something falls in Patton’s eyes at Logan’s words. He opens his mouth to reply, then closes it. Virgil’s gaze narrows as Patton clasps his hands together, seeming to rethink what he’d been about to say.

“Yeah,” he says. “Sure. That… That’d be great.”

Virgil frowns, opening his mouth to ask what was wrong when Patton’s phone buzzes loudly. The teen grabs it out of the back pocket of his jeans and cringes as he answers. “Hey, Thomas. I’m okay.”

Logan closes the first aid kit and steps out into the hallway. Virgil follows him, wanting to give Patton a moment alone on the phone with his brother. Logan heads straight for the bathroom, sliding the kit under the sink before turning to face the purple-haired punk.

Logan blows out a breath. The spark of fury is back in his eyes. “God damn it.”

“I know,” Virgil says. “But you know Pat got in his fair share of punches.”

Logan’s eyes glance up to the teen across from him. “C’mon, Virge. You saw the same damage I did. That wasn’t a fair fight.”

The corner of Virgil’s mouth twitches humorlessly. “When has anything in our lives ever been a fair fight, Lo?”

“They’re cowards.”

“Yeah,” Virgil agrees. “But Patton’s not.”

Logan opens his mouth to respond, but the sound of the bedroom door opening makes him close it.

“Guys?” Patton asks.

Logan steps out of the bathroom. “Yeah?”

“Thomas is kind of freaking out,” Patton says, his shirt and vest back on, waving the phone in his hands. “I should probably get home before it gets worse. But, uh,” he smiles, awkward and embarrassed. “Thanks, again. For helping me out.”

“Sure. You might want to get some ice on that,” Logan tells him, gesturing at Patton’s chest. “I don’t think anything is broken but it’s still gonna hurt for a while.”

His smile softens into something a bit more sincere, and also a bit sad. “Yeah. I will.” He’s about halfway down the stairs when he stops and looks back at the two of them. “I’ll see you guys at school?”

“Yeah,” Virgil answers for them. “We’ll be there.”

“To beat up some guys if they so much as show their faces,” Logan adds under his breath.

“We might have to wait in line once Roman finds out,” Virgil replies just as quietly. When Patton grins, Virgil can’t quite tell if he heard them or not.

“Don’t know what I’d do without all of you guys,” Patton says, and then he’s down the stairs and out the door.

Virgil smiles a little to himself as the door closes behind him. Logan leans against the wall in the hallway, his eyes still looking at the door Patton had just walked out of. “You think Thomas knows?”

Virgil lifts an eyebrow at the other teen before letting his gaze fall back to the closed door as well. “That Patton would go to hell and back for him? I’m not sure, but I’d bet so.”

The corner of the blue-haired teen’s mouth curls up in something between a smirk and a smile. “I guess Thomas and Pat are kinda like us, huh?”

Logan says it lightly, but there’s a certain weight to his words. Virgil locks gazes with him, expressing the unspoken truth that Virgil would absolutely go to hell and back for Logan. He’d go to hell and stay there for Logan.

For any of them.

And he knows, as much as he sometimes thinks it shouldn’t be true, that they all feel the same way.

Virgil shrugs a shoulder and plays it off as soon as he knows Logan understands. “What? One big happy family?”

There’s a subtle earnestness in Logan’s eyes that catches Virgil off guard. “Sure. Why not?” Logan says. “You know. You, me, Roman, Patton. Hell, even Thomas is practically all of our kid brother at this point.”

Logan pushes himself off the wall, his voice just a little quieter as he continues.

“I don’t know what it’s really like to be part of a not fucked-up family, but I’d guess this is pretty damn close.”

….

#sanders sides fanfiction #sanders sides #punk au #patton sanders #analogical #injury #violence #cursing #wow i feel wildly insecure about this particular fic #i hope it turned out okay!#kjgngfusdf #imma drop this here and go hide now #eep #let me know if any other triggers should be put in the tags

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brightlotusmoon · 7 years

Text

TMNT and Teen Titans part 1?

I had a very, very involved dream and decided to write down as much dialogue as I could, because if I play it right it could become a new AU fic. It would have the same “Mikey is naturally spiritual with ESP” theme that runs through all my stuff, but this time there are five superheroes who are totally up for turning him into Shiny Mikey whether his brothers are ready or not. Plus, Starfire would just adore him and squish him haaah.

In my dream, The Titans were a blend of Original and Go!, since some of the Go! episodes really are funny and silly and insightful. It’s a trash fire show. But it has moments. I’m hooked on Pretty Pretty Pegasus, okay. The Night Begins To Shine is a new autistic interest by itself. This is what I could scrounge up, very free floating, no real context, but there is definitely room for world building. I’ll need title recommendations. I loved the design of 2D animated 2012 kids during the first crossover with 1987 so I pictured them like that rather than CGI, not just in Jump City but in their own New York.

TMNT Meets Teen Titans (working title)

Scene (?)

“Mikey is…” Leo paused. He shrugged. “Mikey is friendly. He wants to make everyone happy. It makes him happy. There’s not much else, I mean, he doesn’t have hidden layers. He’s a happy-go-lucky fun-loving optimist who uses humor to diffuse tension. What you see is what you get.”

“Yeah, I doubt that,” Robin smirked, draping over the back of the couch with his coffee.

Leo glared. “Scuse me?”

“Everyone has layers,” Cyborg said. “Even the ones where you just see surface stuff. Take Beast Boy. He’s pretty much the same as Mike, right? Except he’s got a surprisingly huge amount of dark depth and intensity.”

Leo stammered, blushing. “W-well, yeah, but…that’s what I meant, like, I know Mikey gets sad, he gets depressed and dark sometimes, like everybody, but–”

“Sounds like you don’t know your youngest brother as well as you should,” Beast Boy smirked wider from the floor.

“Shut up, you little goblin…”

“Aww, is Leo pulling a me?” And Raph sauntered in with Starfire, both sweating after a training session. “Man, she’s like Master Splinter, she keeps going. Leo, you should train with her!” “Raph, they’re insisting there’s a dark side of Mikey that we never see,” Leo said in an odd, wheedling tone.

Raphael frowned. “Dark? Michelangelo? Nahh. Well…maybe. If push came to shove. Like, when I got bit by Fishface, he stayed with me and you should’ve seen how mad he got when Bebop and Rocksteady came near us, took them down like it was nothing. But that’s just ninja skill and athletics, Mikey was always the fastest and most acrobatic. Dark, though, no way. He’s too…sunny.”

“Cheerful,” came Donatello’s, voice, as he finally emerged from Cyborg’s work station, tapping away on a tablet, eyes alight. “Organically optimistic. Anger makes him feel physically sick, although he seems to store a great deal of it – did we tell you about that adventure we had going into his mind?”

“Donnie, can you look at people when you talk to them?” Leo snapped. Donnie sighed and sat on the couch and put the tablet on his lap.

Robin suddenly whirled toward the hall leading to the bedrooms. Raven walked out, Mikey gripping her hand in his and swinging them, a wild grin lighting up his face.

“You smell like incense,” Raph noted.

“We were in the astral plane!” Mikey chirped. The three brothers froze. “Raven says I’m one of the strongest spiritual minds she’s ever seen. See? Sensei was right, wasn’t he, Leo?”

“Wait, you meditated willingly?”

“You reached the astral plane by yourself?”

“You can’t be stronger than me!”

Cyborg and Robin exchanged a long, quirked glance.

Raven flushed, carefully eased her hand away, and smiled a tiny smile. “Well…yes. He’s strong. His aura is very…encompassing. Cuddly. Strong. Bright.” She looked up. “Dangerous.”

“Is not! You just said cuddly.”

“I meant that it could overwhelm, Mike. You…you hold on to things. People. You love too much. You don’t want to let go. You might not know how. Your emotions are your strength and your kindness is your weapon. Your aura was pulling my aura in like a hurricane. You wanted to connect badly and you relied on your natural charm, but you didn’t have any discipline or specific focus.” She smiled a little wider at him, as his eyes were widening and looking watery.

“Let’s put it this way. If you were like me, you could envelope an entire city in your aura and no one would even know. You could project nothing but calm and happiness and it would still be a problem because nobody would know anything else.”

“Ya mean…brainwashing?” Mike’s lower lip trembled.

“In less harsh words, sort of. Look.” She took his hands and faced him. “Remember what we talked about once I pulled us back out in there? I’m willing to teach you how to manifest and control these abilities, but that means delving deep into your soul and unlocking all the parts we need.”

“What unlocked parts?” Raph asked. “Mikey’s an open book!” Leo nodded emphatically.

They didn’t notice the very hurt look Mikey shot him. The Titans and Donnie did.

“Mikey,” Don said carefully, “I know you hide everything behind the jokes and the pranks and being loud. After Sensei’s death, your cheerfulness was almost out of hand.” Mikey flinched so hard that Raven tightened her grip. “But you know you can tell us anything. You can tell me anything.”

“But I can’t!” Mike exploded, and his brothers winced in shock. “You expected me to be the goof, so I’m the goof, so I don’t even bother to show you when it hurts!”

“Uhhh…” Beast Boy stood up slowly. “Maybe this should be a private family thing.”

“No,” and Robin folded his arms. “If we’re all going to work as a team to protect both our worlds and our cities, we’re going to get all of this out in the open. Especially as Raven just revealed some incredibly useful and powerful information.”

“Not just that,” Raven said, “What about that time he got electrokinetic abilities after being shredded out of existence? He could still have them, even after nearly a year.”

“When did you tell her about…never mind.” Don bit his lip. “Look, Agent Bishop’s dampener cannon took those powers away because they were overloading him and they were going to burn him out.”

“You sure he was telling the whole truth?” Cyborg asked. “Electrokinesis can be controlled easily enough. Besides, that cannon might not have gotten all the ability, there could be just enough of a spark deep in his central nervous nervous system to ignite and bring at least a portion back. Not enough to be nearly as strong as he was back then, but–”

“COOL,” Mikey cut in, eyes the size of dinner plates.

“Well, Bishop is kind of a lying liar who lies,” Raphael grumbled.

“If I supplied Raven’s powers with an electromagnetic charge,” Cyborg mused, “I bet she could find the part of his brain that still holds the memory of that power and tweak it until it released the ability to call back that specific electrical power…”

“Yes please!” Michelangelo squeaked, bouncing so hard he moved from Raven to Cyborg in a blink, arms wrapped around the metal waist, eyes shining and puppy-begging.

“Plus,” Raven added, “I sensed a strong potential for extrasensory perception, which would make sense, since he’s connected to Dimension X via the mutagen’s affects on his particular brain pattern and wiring.”

“Are we sure it’s a good idea, rooting around in Mikey’s brain?” Leo asked. “It could hurt his brain.”

“Who would know the difference?” Don said automatically, old sibling teasing snapping into place. Every head turned to him. So, their brand of sibling humor was not going to fly here.

“It…it was a joke,” he murmured.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Mikey’s wide, lamp-like eyes full of tears. Mike whispered to Cyborg, who ground his teeth and looked ready to punch the other three turtles in the mouths.

Starfire rose higher into the air, eyes glowing. “Am I hearing this correctly? Are you all so accustomed to mocking Michelangelo’s preferred forms of intelligence, expression, input, sensory process, that you would naturally assume he is utterly incapable of being the great warrior he clearly is inside? Has this been happening all your life together?”

Michelangelo shifted, throat clearing. “When…when Sensei gave us our weapons when we were really little, he gave me my nunchucks because he thought they were perfect for me but he never explained why, or who I was, like with the others. So I made them perfect for me. I don’t think anyone ever believed in me. So I pushed all the sadness down until it got buried.”

There was a slight silence.

Starfire erupted in rage, and in a flash, she had grabbed Mikey and was hovering, cradling him like a child, energy flashing and hissing around her. “This is unacceptable! None of you are allowed to speak poorly of him! He is now under my protection as Princess of Tamaran! Shame on you!”

Mikey just stared at her, mouth open.

“From this point onward, Raven and I will take Michelangelo under the wing, and his natural abilities will be allowed to flourish. If any of you say anything mocking his brain, I will threaten to force feed you zorka berries until you choke!”

Leo, Raph, and Don had shrunk back, while Raven and Cyborg were holding back laughter.

“Well,” Raven smiled, “this will be fun.”

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winchester-with-wings · 7 years

Text

Adjusting, Part 1 / (Second Chances series)

Bruce Wayne x child!reader fic!

Author: my sister, @faithtrustandpixiedust95

Summary: You’re living at Wayne Manor, getting used to your new family with Bruce and Alfred. But everything changes when being Bruce Wayne’s new daughter proves dangerous.

Word Count: 4009

Warnings: anxiety, dealing with childhood trauma

A/N: reader is about 6 years old. My sister is writing her fics all in the same universe but each one has a different title and are broken into parts cuz she’s a writing monster! She’s got me all jealous writing 6k+ fics in one go! LOL

*Disclaimer* I did not write this. My sister, Sam, did and I am posting this with her permission.

Sequel to “Shattered Beginnings”

You had gone home from the hospital with a new dad 2 months ago. After going through such a horrible experience, you couldn’t help but feel just a little bit lucky.

Most kids who had been orphaned at your age had to go through a completely different ordeal than what you were currently going through. Yes, you had lost your parents and almost been killed too, but it was different.

You didn’t have to go to an orphanage. You didn’t have to interview with couples that wanted to adopt you. You didn’t have to go through the process of being rejected or dismissed as a kid becoming a part of a family. You didn’t have to go in and out of foster homes and experience the turbulent life it could sometimes be. You had been ‘lucky’ in a way.

You had gotten what you had deemed to be the “Warbucks Express Package”. You were just like Annie! Adopted by a billionaire and given a whole new life.

Of course, you didn’t have the curly red hair that Annie had and your “Daddy Warbucks” wasn’t bald and he wasn’t that old. His name wasn’t “Warbucks” either; it was Wayne…Bruce Wayne.

Bruce had saved your life on 2 different accounts now too. He saved you that day on the bridge and he saved you again when he decided to adopt you.

You were extremely grateful to have had this man pop into your life. You were just a little kid, but you knew a good thing when it came along and Bruce was a good thing. You knew he was going to take care of you. You knew he was going to keep you safe. What more could you have asked for in deciding who was going to raise you after your parents had died?

Two months had gone by since the bridge nightmare. You were getting close to getting your cast off of your arm. Unlike Bruce, who only needed his cast for six weeks, you needed to have yours on for 10 weeks. It had something to do with being a little kid or something, so Bruce says.

The cast had been an inconvenience. You were already a clumsy kid, having a big bulky object on your arm just made things worse. Let’s just say after two weeks, Alfred, Bruce’s butler, had made the wise decision of moving any fragile antiques to higher ground where you couldn’t accidentally knock them off their perches to shatter into pieces.

Bruce had you moved into Wayne Manor in a day. You didn’t have much to move from your old home. He had given you your very own suite. It was a princess suite; it was a large room with a massive walk in closet and a private bathroom.

For a six year-old, this room was a house in itself! But Bruce and Alfred both agreed that it was the perfect room for you because it allowed you enough room for when you got older to have your own space. You wouldn’t have to move rooms when you became a teenager, you could just redecorate.

For now though, the room was empty, Alfred told you to choose a theme and to leave it to him. You didn’t know what you wanted just yet though, so he bought a basic metal bed frame with a large comfy mattress that you would grow into, as you got older.

It was a hard first week in Wayne Manor.

You were having a lot of trouble sleeping in your room, or at all for the matter. Every time you lay down to sleep, you couldn’t get images of that day on the bridge out of your head. You had been having horrific nightmares that were exhausting you.

Bruce had taken a week off from work to help you adjust to the Manor and to your new life. He knew you were going to struggle with grief and the trauma you experienced, especially at night. He was trying his best to help you.

That first night at Wayne Manor, he let you sleep with him in his big bed. You had put on the movie that Bruce bought you in the hospital and watched it until you fell asleep in Bruce’s arms. He provided comfort and that safe-haven you so desperately needed.

After a few nights of this routine, he tried to have you sleep in your room. You had made it a couple hours before the nightmares and screaming had started and you crawled back into bed with him. This pattern continued until you were able to make it through most of the night by yourself in your room with a nightlight and your stuffed turtle.

You were making slow progress. Bruce and Alfred were trying to get to know you better. They had been spending time with you, asking you questions, doing things together that they thought you might enjoy.

It was when you and Bruce went out in public the first time that the reality of what had happened really hit you. He had taken you out for lunch downtown. You guys were spotted at a local ice cream parlor when paparazzi swarmed the two of you, asking non-stop questions and taking pictures with their bright flashing cameras.

They were screaming at you, asking about your parents, asking about Bruce being your new dad, asking you about the Joker and what he did. You were looking around trying to find a way to escape the chaos, you felt trapped and started to curl in on yourself. Your logic of curling into a ball to escape the outside world seemed to be the only way to evade the intruding masses of people.

You were scared to have been swarmed, it was very overwhelming and Bruce saw the distraught look on your face and the change in your body language. He picked you up and tried his best to shield you from the crowd as you left the ice cream parlor and headed back to the Manor.

When you pulled up in front of the mansion, you barely waited for the car to stop before you opened the door and started running. Bruce got out of the car and followed after you calling out your name, but you didn’t hear him because of how hard you were crying from processing the questions that had bombarded you back at the ice cream shop.

You wanted to run from the questions, you wanted to run from the reality of the answers to those questions. Running seemed like the only thing to do at the moment. So you just ran on the grounds, heading for the forest that bordered the property.

Running was awkward with your cast, it threw you off balance and you kept bumping off of the trees you ran around, snagging just a bit each time. It was difficult to see through all the tears and your thoughts were clouded, so you weren’t thinking about where you were. You had run as fast as you could and you were out of breath after a while.

You slowed down and eventually stopped in a small clearing of the woods. You were breathing hard and trying to calm down. You looked around yourself and confusion slowly spread through you as you realized you didn’t really know where you were. You didn’t know which way the house was and the sun had slowly started to set.

You slowed your breathing and tried to focus. You were coaching yourself, “Calm down, Y/N. You’re still on the grounds of the Manor. Think. You can figure this out, which way did I come from?”

You were trying to get your bearings when you decided to just stop and sit down on a log near you. You had gotten your breathing under control and had stopped crying. You took a deep breath in and smelled the thick air of the forest. It smelled so fresh and crisp. The leaves rustling in the trees relaxed you and you took in the beauty of the place you were now sitting.

It was calm and comforting. The warm colors of the leaves changing hues and the earthy feel of it all was so soothing. You kept taking in deep breaths through your nose just so you could smell the nature around you. A peace fell upon you that you hadn’t felt since before your parents had died.

You heard leaves crunching behind you and you turned to look at the source of the noise. Bruce was walking through the trees towards you. You wondered how he found you and how long he had been standing behind you before deciding to walk over to you. Once he reached you, he sat down beside you.

“You found a pretty good resting spot here, Squeaker,” he said as he broke the silence. You grinned at the use of the nickname.

“I’m sorry I ran away,” you said as your grin morphed into a thin line. You weren’t quite sure what his response was going to be.

“It’s alright. I own all these woods anyways; I know them from my childhood. I knew you would be ok. Besides, I find that running helps to clear the mind. As does being a part of nature,” he said with a small sigh. You noticed he was taking in the same deep breaths that you were. He was enjoying the woods just as much as you were.

“I think I found the theme I want for my room,” you chirped with a small smile spreading across your face as you looked around you.

Bruce looked down at you with the same small smile, “Woods theme it is, then.”

Once you had returned to the house, you sought out Alfred to tell him about your afternoon in the forest. You told him that you wanted a woods themed room, the more rustic the better.

It took Alfred a week to have your room done and he made a special deal of unveiling it to you. He blindfolded you and he and Bruce directed you into your room.

It was incredible; it had the same soothing features of that spot in the woods. Your furniture was made out of old logs and there was a whole mural wall painted to look like the woods were an extension of the bedroom. Alfred beamed with pride and Bruce just stood there, just as impressed with it as you were.

Everything tied together perfectly except for one thing, the small sea turtle sitting on your bedspread. It was a vibrant tropical green that stood apart from the warm colors of the design. You smiled at your stuffed animal and ran to jump on your bed.

After those first few weeks, adjusting to your new life seemed to come easier.

You were sleeping better now that your room had its soothing aura. You were more open with Bruce and Alfred when it came to talking and doing things.

You would meet with a counselor once a week to help you process your grief and your trauma and Bruce was right next to you every step of the way.

He would take you to his office where you were able to re-adjust to being around people. You were learning how to deal with the attention that came with being Bruce Wayne’s new daughter.

There was a lot of attention too. Everywhere you went, people would take pictures of you and Bruce and bark questions at you from afar. Accompanying the title of Bruce Wayne’s daughter was the title of being Bruce Wayne’s vulnerability too. People would try to exploit you any way they could, taking pictures without permission, selling them to magazines and newspapers, trying to get a rise out of you or Bruce when out in public to try and make their 15 minutes of fame. The constant issues were endless and they tested Bruce’s patience and his temper. He now had a weakness that could be used against him for his money if people were ever desperate enough, and knowing Gotham, people were always desperate.

He coached you on how to manage the press always being around, meeting people of high business stature, and basically just always being in the spotlight. He always observed how you were handling it each time, knowing when he needed to step in and protect you from the societal vultures. You were his little Squeaker and it was when people tried to put their hands on you and pull you away from him that things would go too far. He was very protective of you.

The press was obsessed! They couldn’t seem to wrap their minds around the sudden change in the “Prince of Gotham”. How could their playboy, who filled their gossipy tabloids with rumors of affairs with models and ridiculous behaviors, become a calm and mature adoptive-father? It confused the hell out of them, but they loved covering it in their prints.

A particular article from the Daily Planet seemed to be the only one that took the change in stride. Kent, the Daily Planet reporter, hit the nail on the head as to the explanation of the sudden change of heart in Bruce Wayne.

Here was a reckless businessman and womanizer, who went through the same traumatic experience as the little girl he saved. The playboy had to “grow up” in a matter of seconds and take life seriously for once and it was on that bridge that he did. Now instead of spoiling women and himself with his money and fame, he used it to help this little girl that he got so connected to. Bruce Wayne was finally starting to resemble the image his father had in Gotham, a responsible business and family man. All it took was a near-death experience, at least according to the press.

The only reason Bruce kept up that persona before you came into his life was to protect his secret. He had to have a believable story just in case anyone ever accused him of being the Batman.

He had been Gotham’s Dark Knight for about 5 years now since he had returned from his training. When he left Gotham, he had been 18. In the press’ eyes, he had left his city behind him to live out his rebellious stage of life. When in reality, he had been training all around the world under several masters to learn and perfect the many different forms of martial arts for 3 years.

He returned to Gotham when he was 21 to take over the role as acting CEO of Wayne Enterprises, but he still had his rebellious ways about him. He also picked up his second job when he returned, being the Batman. He was playing his con to Gotham perfectly until the day on the bridge.

After that day, he had a reason to change his con…you. It worked perfectly for him actually because he was getting tired of playing the “billionaire playboy” at 26. With his midnight hobby, he had strained his body a lot for his age and being the reckless womanizer was an exhausting charade.

Slowing down to be a dad was a nice change of pace that he openly welcomed. He enjoyed his time with you.

To Bruce, being a dad helped him. He was so focused on giving you a good life that he didn’t have time to sulk like he used to. He started to enjoy himself and was truly happy, which he hadn’t been in a long time. Being Batman had always had its stresses, but now having a kid around Wayne Manor helped to ease the stress by separating his time between being a dad, being the Bat, and being the businessman.

He hadn’t told you of his secret even after living with him for two months now. He hadn’t gone on patrol the first few weeks during the adjustment period, but once things calmed down, he went back out.

He made a modification to his suit to accommodate his cast for the few weeks he still had it on. He would go on patrol late after you had gone to bed and he knew you would stay asleep. He always wanted to make sure he was there just in the slight chance you would wake up, so he moved his patrols to later in the night.

You hadn’t really suspected anything apart from seeing scrapes and cuts every now and then, but you knew Bruce was active.

He would work out a lot and sometimes you would join him; not in the working out part, but in the adding to the challenge part. Sometimes you would sit on his back when he would do push-ups or you would hang from his arms while he lifted you, there were even times that he’d use you as the weight itself to lift during his exercises.

It had been a fun part of bonding, but there were times he would train in other ways that were more aggressive; you had just assumed the blemishes were a result of that training that you weren’t allowed to be present for.

Sometimes he would be so tired he could barely stay awake for dinner and whatever activity you did afterwards, but you thought he had nightmares like you did and it kept him up at night making him tired the next day.

Other than that, you were oblivious to the fact that your dad was Batman.

It wasn’t until the week before you got your cast off that you found out.

You had had a good night with Bruce. Alfred had made spaghetti with Italian sausage for dinner, it was your favorite and after dinner you and Bruce were going to watch a movie.

He was sitting in the theater room when you snuck up on him and shot him in the ear with a foam dart from your nerf gun.

For only being 6 years old, you were pretty accurate with the toy and loved having nerf battles with him. He would always add a level of excitement to it by creating some sort of obstacle course with the furniture.

When he felt the dart hit his ear, he knew they were no longer going to watch a movie. Instead he lunged for the toy gun that was sitting on the couch from the previous battle.

He heard you giggling and was about to fire his own dart, when another one hit him square in the forehead and then bounced off and onto the floor. He laughed and you giggled right along with him.

You guys were running around the manor shooting each other with the toys until you ran out of darts and decided to attack him instead. He caught you in his arms and started tickling you in the familiar places he had discovered in the many nights you guys had roughhoused.

You were laughing so hard, trying to escape his tickle-assaults. You were trying to get words out, but they just weren’t forming. You kept stuttering in between laughs, which only made Bruce laugh too. You both had fallen to the floor in the middle of the tickle-fight. He had you in his arms squirming in laughter, you were no match for the grip he had on you.

“St-stop! Ahaha, nooo!” You were squealing and laughing so hard you couldn’t breathe. “Dad, stop!”

It had just slipped out, but it was enough to surprise Bruce that he had ceased tickling you.

You were breathing heavily with a big dopey smile on your face from laughing so hard, when you gasped and looked at the surprise on his face.

He was looking at you with this loving smile on his face; like he had just heard something he was waiting years for.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to say that,” you said hesitantly.

“No, don’t be sorry. It’s ok to call me that if you want to,” he slowly said trying to read the look on your face.

“I—uh, if you don’t mind it, I—you feel like my dad…you are my dad, I mean you did adopt me after all, what else would that make you?” You were sincere in your words and you realized how good it was to say that word, dad.

“I like the sound of dad,” he said, smiling at you, “I love you, Squeaker.”

It had been a long time since you had heard someone say they loved you and it sent warm fuzzy feelings through you. All you could do was wrap your arms around his neck and hug him as tight as you could as you whispered into his ear, “I love you too, Dad.”

Your nerf war and tickle fight had lasted for quite some time. Alfred had been watching the two of you battle it out; he had been taking pictures, unbeknownst to you two. He had been taking pictures since you had arrived at the manor; he was creating a memory book and wanted every happy memory to live on in those pages. This moment between a dad and his daughter was worth several pictures in the book.

He put the camera away and walked into the room where you and Bruce were laughing about the mess you both had made. “Miss Y/N, I do believe it is time for bed. Would you like your cup of mint tea ready for you in your room?”

You looked at Alfred and the small smile he had on his face, he was trying to hide his joy of the moment you and Bruce were sharing and it just made you smile more. This man was just as much your grandpa as Bruce was your dad.

“Yes, Alfred. Tea sounds nice before bed, thank you. I’ll be there in a minute, I’m gonna help Dad clean up the mess we made.”

Alfred’s breath hitched at hearing you call Bruce dad, he had to clear his throat before he could talk again. “Very well, Miss Y/N. I’ll have it sitting on your nightstand.”

You looked back at your dad and threw a foam dart at him and laughed before you stood up and started cleaning up the room. Bruce chuckled at the dart thrown in his face and then looked at Alfred and just smiled and nodded in a form of pride at his new moniker.

You drank your tea while talking to your dad before he tucked you into bed for the night.

“Hey Squeaker, just so you know, I’m gonna make a run to my office after you fall asleep. I forgot my work laptop and I need to do some work before tomorrow. So if you wake up and I’m not here, I’ll be back soon. You’re welcome to climb into my bed if you need to ok?”

“Okie dokie, Papa. Drive safe. I’ll see you in the morning?”

“Yeah, Sweetie, I’ll see you in the morning. Sweet dreams, sleep well.” He kissed you on the forehead, handed you your turtle and then gave you one last good tuck, before leaving your room and turning the light off behind him.

He was going into the office, that’s for sure, but it wasn’t the office downtown, it was the one in the basement. He went down to the Batcave and got ready to go out on patrol.

Gotham was one of those cliché cities; it was always storming at night. For such a broken city run down by crime, it seemed the weather put effort into matching it. It was pouring rain outside with flashes of lightening and thunder sounding off every few minutes.

Bruce pushed away a concern that the storm would wake you up while he was out. He had to focus, he had heard about an arm’s deal going down that night that he was on his way to investigate. The last thing this city needed was more thugs with guns and knives.

Part Two

Tagging: @readerlucy @alohalisha @fantastic-fantasy-fanfics @wonderlandforthemisfits @autoblocked @talesoftheimpala @overlyobsethed @xo-raven-xo @sleepingalong @faithtrustandpixiedust95 @thedoctor-and-her-fallenangles @thecacklingtauren @odr-dc @ahsokaslament if you want to be tagged, let me know!

#Bruce Wayne #Bruce Wayne x Reader #bruce wayne imagine #bruce wayne fanfiction #bruce wayne x oc #Batman #Batman x Reader #Batman x oc #my sister's fanfic #Sam's Fanfics #Young Justice #Justice League #batfam #batfam imagine #batfam fanfic #batdad #batfam x reader

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katielynn526 · 7 years

Text

Before I Love You

My entry for @kleptotello’s Apriltello Day 2017

Probably should’ve written fluff but my heart screamed angst. This is the first legitimate fanfic I’ve ever written for Ninja Turtles and my first romance-fic as well, so hopefully it isn’t complete trash.

Credit to my friend @itwasntthatgood for beta reading and helping me come up with the title. She’s the best! Love you CC!

Summary: (Post-Buried Secrets) April tells herself she’s fine. She’s been telling herself for months. But after defeating a monster with her mother’s face, April finds she can only hold her emotions down for so long before something snaps.

Fortunately, she can always count on her best friend to help her pick up the broken pieces.

Versions on AO3 and FF.net

Inhale, one, two, three, four… Hold. Exhale, One, two, three, four, five-

A sudden rush of pain, an invasive probe digging into her mind, coiling its tentacles around every thought. Nothing is safe, nothing is hers.

April O’Neil your mind belongs to Kraang.

A screeching trill echoes in her ears. It’s horrifying and alien, but unexplainably familiar. Her brain feels fried, like a live wire plugged into an overcooked circuit. It’s all around her, the hive mind. Millions of thoughts touching hers, squashed together like sardines. She is buried in the alien screeching, all crying out at once. There is no her, there is only the collective, only Kraang.

One of us. One of us.

April’s eyes fly open and she gasps for air. Her body shakes, clammy sweat pressing her tee-shirt to her back. The gasps gradually become slower, less panicked, as she takes in the world around her. She focuses on the soft, worn texture of the quilt under her hand, the floral patterns of the yellowing wall paper, the creak of old wood, the chirp of crickets outside her window. Its okay, everything’s okay. She’s safe at the farmhouse with the turtles and Casey.

She takes a calming breath, uncrossing her legs to pull them closer to her chest. Well, meditation was a bust, again.

Ever since April had become aware of her psychic abilities, courtesy of the very beings that stole her family and played genetic roulette with her DNA, Master Splinter had been teaching her to hone and control them. She’d sat with him in the dojo for private lessons; April could almost smell the woody aroma of the incense he burned, feel the tatami mat beneath her knees. Mostly he’d taught her meditation and breathing techniques.

“Mastery of one’s self comes first with the mastery of one’s mind” he’d tell her, “The body will soon follow.”

“The mind is a powerful weapon April, yours more so than most. In the time that you have been my pupil I have sensed in you a great power and an equally powerful will to wield it, but I am concerned. If you are not careful your abilities may become a double-edged sword, like the fool who falls victim to his own snare. Control is key. Without it I fear these powers would consume you.”

So she’d kept up the meditation every night before she went to sleep. She’d focused on recalling every lesson Sensei had ever taught her, but her mental barriers felt weaker than ever and Master Splinter was gone, just like her dad.

April quickly envisions an industrial strength, steel door and slams it shut behind that train of thought. He father wasn’t gone, not yet, he was just kidnapped…and mutated. Nothing she hadn’t dealt with before right? April feels a strain of hysterical laughter starting in the back of her throat, but she quells it. God her life is so fucked up. But yeah, dad’s not dead yet. And Splinter…

A padlock appears on the door and April locks it for good measure.

Well, she certainly isn’t getting any sleep, not feeling like this. April slips out the bed and shakes the pins and needles from her legs, still half asleep from her poor attempt at meditation. The only source of light in the hallway is moonlight pouring in from the windows, but it’s more than enough for April to find the stairs.

Padding down the hallway in her bare feet, April revels in the mental silence. Everyone is asleep, their minds muted and peaceful. It reminds her of looking out over a glassy lake. If she concentrates April can almost sense the thoughts swimming just below the surface, burrowing into the subconscious and coalescing into dreams.

It’s a welcome relief from the day, where the overwhelming emotions of five other minds flood into her own without warning, a pulsating thrum of constant activity that catches her off guard at the worst times. It doesn’t help that she’s not the only one grieving a loss…

April sighs, pressing the heel of her palm into the bridge between her eyes.

It didn’t use to be this difficult. Back when her powers were just a glimmer in her subconscious, a vague gut sense that she occasionally relied on, April would use to techniques Splinter had taught her. She’d erected walls in her mind, mentally laying stone upon stone, creating a division between her thoughts and the input she received from others.

Then the Kraang had kidnapped her, giving back her father only to use him as a sleeper agent against her. They’d hooked her up to that horrible machine. April could still see the wrinkled, hideous face of Kraang Prime as it leered down at her, mocking her deluded notions of free will.

“Your mind belongs to Kraang, April O’Neil. You were designed for Kraang and you shall fulfill your purpose!”

And then she’d felt it, the Kraang hive mind, a seething mass of thought that broke through her carefully constructed walls as if they were made of paper mache. It felt like she was drowning, slowly choking on the onslaught of alien consciousness pressing in on her from every side. It was agony, but April couldn’t scream, she couldn’t even blink. Every nerve ending tingled and seized, her body unable to process what was happening. It felt as if she’d been thrown headlong into a vat of acid, slowly eating away at every piece that made her, her. In her last conscious thought April had wondered if this was what it felt like to mutate. And, for one horrifying second that lasted a lifetime, April O’Neil ceased to be, her consciousness melting into a writhing sea of pink tentacles.

And then she was back, her body aflame, heart beating arrhythmically. Large hands wrapped around her shaking form, steadying her as the strange glowing helmet was ripped away. Warm brown eyes held her gaze, so full of concern and love that she could drown in them.

“My hero…”

April hugs her arms tightly as she reaches the stairwell. She didn’t know how long she’d been hooked up to that machine, but it changed her somehow, flipped some switch in her brain lying dormant. Maybe it was exposure to the Kraang hive mind, or the way her consciousness had been stretched like an elastic on the verge of breaking, either way it awakened something, something she couldn’t switch off.

At first she’d thought it was the stress of being kidnapped, a temporary after effect of the Kraang’s freaky brain machine. Overstimulation is a common symptom of PTSD, her dad would tell her. And he would know, being not only a psychologist, but a victim of the Kraang himself. April recalled the way his hands would shake when the news reported another mutant sighting, how he would hug her a little too tightly every time she left the apartment. There were countless nights that he would wake up screaming, April jolting awake with him, the raw fear in her father’s mind pressing against her windpipe.

Then, he was gone again, mutated against his will into a horrifying bat creature. The sight was burned into her mind, his skin bubbling, stretching across reforming muscle and bone, the scream that tore from bleeding gums. April felt his pain, his fear, felt the last shreds of her father’s consciousness give into the snarling madness of his mutation. There was nothing she could do. And, even amid the agony, she felt his love for her, his relief that she was safe, that he had protected her.

April hadn’t been angry, that was too simple a word. She’d been enraged, she’d been heartbroken. It felt like a gas fire incinerating her from the inside. Nothing was okay, nothing could ever be okay.

Her mental barriers were little more than rubble, her mind a swirling tempest, and April wanted to scream as foreign thoughts constantly bombarded her brain. She felt her aunt’s concern for her, the pain of the old woman next door who’d lost her husband, the anger of a teen who had his bike broken by Purple Dragons, the hopelessness of a homeless man who’d decided to sleep in the alley.

She saw the way the other kids stared at her school, feeling their eyes on the back of her head. She sensed their judgement, their pity.

There were days where sometimes April couldn’t distinguish her feelings from everyone else’s. They would all merge into a muddled haze of emotion. That’s what had scared her the most.

On those days she would lock herself in her room, slipping on earbuds and turning her music up to full blast, trying to drown out all the thoughts, even her own, with the pulsating beat. It wasn’t until she’d woken up and cut her feet on the broken glass that she noticed the mirror on her bedroom door had shattered.

That’s when April knew something was seriously wrong.

What had once been a soft undercurrent of thoughts and feelings at the back of her mind had morphed into a constant swell she couldn’t escape, like she was suffocating her own head.

Relief came in more ways than one when April made amends with the turtles. Master Splinter only had to look at her to see the mental strain her amplified powers had wrought. The familiar scent of sweat and incense that hit her the moment she’d followed Sensei into the dojo had almost made her break down right then and there.

Things were better after that. It took a while, and a lot of sore muscles, but she fell back into the steady routine of her training. Master Splinter helped her build stronger walls and helped her focus on being an immovable stone in the rushing river; she controlled the current, it did not control her.

Mirrors stopped shattering, the headaches grew less frequent, and, for brief periods of time, April could sense only her consciousness in an empty mind.

Should’ve known it was too good to last.

Reaching the bottom step, April feels a shiver race up her spine the moment her feet brush the threadbare carpet. She grips the banister, knuckles turning white. A sick sense of wrong twists her gut and curls around her like acrid smoke.

Beneath her, April feels the Kraang stealth ship she, Casey, and the turtles found just a few days ago. Specifically, she feels the psychic remnants its creators left behind.

She’s been trying to ignore it, trying not to shudder every time she walks into the front room. Because how pathetic would that be right? The stupid, pink monsters aren’t even down there anymore, just the wreckage left in their devastation of her life.

But it’s impossible not to feel them. For as long as she’s been aware of her abilities, and maybe even earlier, April has always been able to sense the Kraang. It’s all too easy to pick out their presence, even in a city of 8 million humans. She’s not proud of it. It repulses her every time one of their slimy minds brushes against her own. It reminds her of everything she is and the one thing she’s not: completely human.

April’s thoughts are given too much freedom in the stillness of the sleeping farmhouse and wander a little too close to that steel padlocked door. Her mother’s image swims before her eyes, neck elongating, warm green eyes shifting into hungry glowing orbs, fangs jutting out of the snarling maw.

It wasn’t her mother. It had only ever been a creature wearing her face. So, how had she been fooled?

She stares down at the floor, glaring at the hinge of the trapdoor that peeks out from beneath the rug. It had been more than her mother’s face that’d deceived her, that much she’s sure of. April is a pro at picking up ill-intent, always knowing when there’s danger. Mikey calls it her “jinkies” sense. But the Kraang monster had bypassed every one of her mental defenses. It’d radiated this sense of safety, of belonging; of home.

It was only after it was too late that those feelings began to warp into something more sinister, turning rotten like the sickly sweet stench of decaying meat. It was still home, but it wasn’t safe anymore.

Every time the creature was around her, subconsciously April had felt that strange pull in the depths of her mind that she’d come to associate with the Kraang. It was a need, a longing for the familiar. Because she wasn’t just human, she was part Kraang, too.

April breathes quickly through her nose, squeezing her eyes shut and banishing yet another train of thought behind that locked door. Because if she doesn’t, she’s going to puke.

She focuses on calming her breaths. Inhale. Hold. Exhale. [SP2] She uncurls her fingers before her nails dig further into her palms.

Its fine, she’s fine; solid as a stone amid the rapids.

Behind her closed lids April can sense her mind slowly coming back to her. It shrinks once more to accommodate the limits of her body. The last thing she needs to do is wake up the whole house with her negative thoughts. But her mind has brought something else back, a calming presence that feels like a warm breeze tickling the back of her neck.

Someone’s still awake and she knows who, only one person feels like that.

April goes to the window, pulls back the curtain, and, sure enough, there’s a light on in the barn. Donnie’s busy burning the midnight oil, literally in this case. The familiarity of it quirks her lips into a smile. She makes a mental note to pick up more refills for the propane lamps the next time her and Casey drive into town.

Without even thinking, April turns and walks into the kitchen, going to the counter and picking up the container off-brand coffee, measuring the right amount into a filter. She places the grinds into the ancient coffee machine that groans as she switches it on.

It’s a scientific fact that Donatello is far less likely to ask concerned questions if she distracts him with the promise of caffeine.

Underhanded? Yes. Effective? Nearly 98% of the time.

April leans against the counter, her fingers drumming against the cheap clapboard, keeping time with machine as it grinds and splutters. She runs a hand through her tangle of hair, free of its usual headband and tied in a messy knot at the nape of her neck.

Listening to the stillness, she senses a single bubble of thoughts rising out of the steady hum of slumber upstairs. It floats up towards, happy and carefree. April can almost taste the cotton candy on her tongue. Yep, April smiles, definitely Mikey.

At least someone’s having a good night.

When hot liquid starts to trickle down into the coffee pot, April questions if she should be doing this. A second later, her mind reels at the notion.

What is she worried about? It’s Donnie, and she does this all the time.

April can’t count the number of times she’s spent hanging out in Donatello’s lab after school, helping him out with some science project or invention. It’s improved her chem. Grade, that’s for sure, her performance in shop class too…

Some days, when her aunt’s apartment felt too suffocating, she would go down there to work on homework, unwind, or just vent about all the dumb kids at school. Donnie’s never minded her invading his space like he does his brothers. Truthfully, she always suspected he liked hearing about her school life, the good, the bad, and the ugly. The idea that the prison of sweaty teenagers she calls high school could be a novel concept to anyone never ceased to amuse her.

There were days spent in comfortable silence, days filled with talking and laughing and dumb inside jokes…

Then, she was living in the lair, forced into hiding for her own safety. She’d hated it. Not the living with the turtles part, but the fact that she’d had to relinquish what little normalcy was left in her life. She never thought she’d actually miss high school.

Without the distraction of her aunt and school, her nightmares became more and more frequent. Most nights were spent jolting awake in a cold sweat and walking around the lair to calm herself down.

It was always a relief to see the light on in Donnie’s lab. April would come bearing coffee or cans of ‘Wake Up’ and he would greet her with an easy smile. Honestly, April suspected she’d fallen asleep more times in Donnie’s lab than the Hamato’s makeshift guest room.

Why should now be any different? She knows he won’t mind, Donnie never minds.

Maybe that’s the problem…

Subconsciously, April’s thoughts flicker to the hand carved music box still sitting untouched in the living room.

The telltale gurgle of the coffee machine echoes in the kitchen and April looks up to see the last drop of coffee splash into the pot. Fishing two large mugs from the cabinet, April pours the tar black liquid into both, not bothering with any cream, or sugar. She breathes in the scent, feeling her sluggish senses perk up with the promise of cheap sustenance.

Sleep is for the undercaffeinated.

April throws her Dad’s old swampers over her feet and grabs his leather jacket still hanging on the coat rack. It’s about ten years out of style but the lining is warm and it smells like aftershave and the cinnamon Altoids he always kept in his pockets.

Balancing the mugs in her hands, April uses every bit of her ninja training to kick open the screen door, stop it with her foot before the hinges squeak, and place it back without making a sound, all without spilling a drop of coffee. A sly grin creeps up her face. Let’s see Karai do that.[SP3]

She follows the warm tendrils of Donnie’s mind, a glowing trail leading right to the barn. Her mind stretches out ahead of her, like a moth to flame…

She gets as far as the half-open doorway before she suddenly stops. The embrace of his consciousness is still there, waiting. Her mind impatiently tugs at her.

April bites her lip at the pang of guilt that stabs her heart. Her fingers curl tightly around the mugs as she stares at that crack of warm light in the dark.

What is she doing?

Ever since they’d come out to the farmhouse, wearied refugees of an alien invasion, April had been quietly avoiding Donatello as much as she had Casey. Her mind was awash with the pain of four minds all crying out in grief. Then there was Leo, whose mind had been a tempest trapped under a sheet of ice, still alive, but struggling.

Donnie, for all the guilt and grief he radiated after losing his father and caring for his comatose brother, had still been too tempting a comfort to fall into. He promised a refuge from the storm in her head. That first week, all she’d wanted to do was hide her face in his plastron and feel his arms around her as she cried for her lost father, for her lost adopted father, for her aunt, and her home, and everything normal left in her life.

She’d wanted to close her eyes and feel the safety of Donatello’s mind around hers, take in all his affection and understanding…

And love.

It’s so fucked up. She knows it’s fucked up.

Donnie has a crush on her, he always has. It’s as much a fact of life as stating “the sky is blue” and you would have to be blind not to see it. The feelings practically radiate off him like a small sun.

It’d really never bothered her before. Sure, he could be a little over the top and awkward, but it was sweet. She was obviously his first crush and it showed. But it was also nice to have a friend, someone she could text at 3 am because her aunt’s guest room was too quiet and she missed the sounds of her father padding around the house in those stupid sandals he wore over his socks, raiding the fridge for a late night snack.

With Donnie, there was always someone to ask how she was, someone to laugh at her dumb jokes, someone to cheer her on when she perfected another kata, and someone to show her how to do the move correctly when she failed.

She’d thought once Donnie had gotten to know her better, gotten comfortable around her, his feelings would fade. After all, she was the first girl he’d ever met. Sooner or later he had to realize there wasn’t anything special about her—Oh those simple days before she’d known she was the Kraang’s pet guinea pig. Not that that kind of special was a good thing…

Should she have told him back then he didn’t have a shot? That he was chasing a path that would only lead to heartbreak? Maybe…

But then April wouldn’t get to see his eyes light up when he looked at her, like she was the only person in the room, wouldn’t get to see that warm smile he reserved just for her. It was overwhelming and a little embarrassing, but it was sincere. And, to a girl who’d just lost everything, it meant the world.

She’d been waiting, almost with a sense of dread, for the day Donatello would wake up and see that she was just another girl. But that day never came. Instead, April found herself caring more and more for the turtle—the person—who was slowly becoming her best friend.

And then her powers had been amped up to a million and it felt like her brain would collapse into a pile of human/Kraang mush, except when she was around Donnie…

Honestly, April doesn’t know if it’s the way Donatello’s brain is wired or if it’s just the way he feels about her, but there’s something about Donnie’s mind that puts hers at ease. With him around it’s easier to think, easier to be herself. His presence pushes back the influx of foreign thoughts and feelings until only her own remain, his mind wrapping around hers like a cozy, protective blanket.

She doesn’t even mind the constant buzz of ideas flitting around his headspace, like pistons firing in an engine. To some it might be annoying, but it just reminds April of her father, the way his mind felt when he’d sequestered himself in his study, hard at work writing another article for the NYU psych journal.

April’s ashamed to admit she’s come to rely on it. Whenever she would come down to the lair, she could almost see her mind stretching outwards, searching for the familiar presence the way a child would for a comforting plush toy. It feels immature and weak, and April hates herself for it.

She’s always been fiercely independent. Whether that’s the result of her natural personality, or the fact that she’s grown up with an absent minded, single Dad who occasionally forgets to eat, she doesn’t know. But April was used to being on her own, taking care of herself, until the Kraang decided to swoop in and fuck everything up. Just like that, every illusion of control she’d had over her life was shattered. And it really, really, REALLY sucked.

Then, the invasion happened and there’s Donnie looking at anything but her while she cleaned and wrapped his wound, fiddling with his hands like he always does when he’s nervous. And suddenly he’s clearing his throat and looking at her with those big brown eyes and she knows. She knows exactly what he’s going to say. The only problem: she doesn’t know what so say back.

So, she took the coward’s way out, she cut him off before he could say it, distracted him with the pain of his injury. It was awful and spineless and she’s not proud of it. But could he have picked a worse time? There was a freaking invasion going on outside, Leo and Master Splinter were MIA and people were screaming in the streets as Kraang ships dropped mutagen on whole city blocks.

But Donnie is Donnie, and if he wasn’t making awkward declarations of love in the middle of an alien apocalypse then he wouldn’t be the turtle she’s come to know and love.

Love… she’s starting to hate that word.

April selfishly wishes he hadn’t said anything at all, because now it’s weird. If there’s one thing April O’Neil does not need more of in her life, it’s weird.

Donnie’s warm mind presses against her senses again, like a cat rubbing its cheek insistently against her leg. And all she wants is to go inside and ask him what he’s working on, see that cute little expression he gets when he’s concentrating on something where his tongue pokes out of his mouth. More than anything, she wants to put this awkwardness behind them and go back to the way things were.

Is it even right for her to want that?

“April, we’re together again. We can go back to the way things were.”

The memory of her fake mother’s words sends another shiver down April’s spine. That loathing she usually reserves specifically for the Kraang has suddenly turned inward, choking her. A toxic thought rises up from behind that locked door, coiling around her like a snake. Her eyes widen in horror. What if she’s using Donnie just like her mother—that creature—had used her, using him like the Kraang wanted to use her?

What if she’s no better than them?

One of us. One of us.

April’s jaw clenches, her body sways dangerously, and she’s positive she’s going to blow chunks then and there.

But, then her senses hone in on a hostile presence directly above her, and the all-consuming thoughts of self-loathing fall silent against her mind screaming DANGER!

Instinctively April tenses, acutely aware of the two full mugs of coffee in her hands and her tessen, sitting uselessly upstairs by her bedside table. Way to go O’Neil. She kicks herself mentally for such an amateur oversight. But there’s no time to play the ‘what if’ game.

The hostile leaps off the roof, landing silently on the dirt. Unfortunately for them, April can sense exactly where they are. Whirling around, the young kunoichi throws out one of the mugs sending a spray of scalding liquid at her would-be attacker.

Donatello barely manages to duck and roll out of the way in time, letting out a very un-ninja-like yelp.

“Donnie?” April stares down at the turtle, mortified, a hot blush creeping up into her cheeks. And sure enough, there’s his warm, familiar mind brushing against hers. Oh god… Stupid! How had she not recognized him earlier?

“April?” The lanky turtle straightens up and stares at her, dumbfounded, nictitating membranes lift to reveal those questioning brown eyes. “April, What are you…” He trails off, thinks for a minute, and starts again “Why are you-“

“I brought coffee!” She blurts out, holding up the one full mug left and trying not to think about the empty mug still dripping in her other hand. Her face must be as red as her hair.

The shock of seeing her must have worn off because Donnie takes one look at her, then to the steaming puddle of java next to his foot and his lips quirk up in a smile. “I can see that.” Amusement shines in his eyes and April just knows he’s holding back his laughter, the jerk. “Did you bring it for me or the ground?”

“Hey, you startled me,” April rebuffs indignantly, cheeks going even redder, “And you should know anything can be a weapon in the hands-“

“-of a Kunoichi.” He finishes, Donatello’s hands raise in mock surrender, his grin just wide enough for her to see the gap in his teeth. “Still doesn’t explain why you’re hanging around the barn at…” He pulls his T-phone off his belt and switches it on. “Oh sewer apples, 2am?! Is it really that late?”

April winces, last time she checked the microwave in the farmhouse kitchen it’d only been midnight. Then again, the thing was made in the 80s and notorious for running slow. She bites back a groan. Training is gonna suck tomorrow, Raph is sure to see her fatigue and use it to his advantage when they spar.

Trying to smile, she holds out the remaining mug in her hand “Coffee?”

Donnie lets out a sigh, but takes the mug, grinning appreciatively. “You’re evil, you know, feeding my addiction like this. Leo would not approve.” That said, he still takes a long sip, eyes closed in bliss as if the cheap general-store-joe was a gourmet blend.

There it is. The easy banter between them she’d so sorely missed. Even after the all awkward winter months, April feels herself slipping into it with ease. “Then I guess we won’t tell him.”

The purple banded turtle laughs and April savors the joy as it wraps around her. It sours, though, when those toxic wisps of thought start to rise again, rearing their ugly tendrils. April’s reminded of the time her English class focused on Greek mythology, the myth of Hercules and the hydra: Cut off one head, two more grow in its place…

“April?” She blinks and looks up to see Donnie still standing next to her, frowning in concern.

“Sorry,” April says automatically, brushing back a strand of loose hair and twisting it into her bun. “Didn’t sleep that well so I’m pretty spacey right now.” She averts his gaze, her tone doesn’t leave room for discussion.

And Donnie, bless him, drops it, because he’s Donnie and he cares enough to respect her space. Even after she’s ignored him, spontaneously kissed him, and thrown scalding coffee at him all over the course of a few months.

She doesn’t deserve it. She’s using him.

Oh stuff it! April beats back the inky black tendrils as they fight for dominance, taking great satisfaction in slamming them back behind that steel door and snapping the padlock closed.

Donnie frowns in concern for a moment more, but conceals the expression quickly. April can still sense the questions lingering in his mind.

Instead he opts for the safer course of action, falling back on wit. “So…Do you want to actually come inside? I take it that’s what you came here to do…?” He nudges her shoulder playfully, taking another long drag of coffee.

“Shut up,” April grins, shoving against his rock-hard bicep. He has the decency to flinch. “What are you working on anyway?”

“Thought I was supposed to shut up?” He asks innocently.

She gives him a look, trying hard not to grin.

He takes the hint, going over to the barn door and holding it open for her “Milady?”

April nearly groans, it’s so corny and over-the-top, but she would be lying if she told herself she didn’t miss it. She falls into stride beside him as they walk into the barn.

“Well the circuit breaker’s still on the fritz courtesy of our dear friend Mr. Jones.” The words drip with fond sarcasm as Donnie gestures to the slightly scorched fuse box on the wall that Casey had used to fry the Kraang monster. “But, it should be up a running as soon as you guys can get some more fuses in town. Good thing I made that back-up generator ahead of time, eh?” He grins and gestures to something that looked like it started out as an old tractor engine merged with a pre-war hairdryer and LOTS of duct tape. It hums and splutters along cheerily in the corner, occasionally rattling the old, rusted truck hull next to it.

“It can’t run very much though, that’s what all these are for.” He reaches up and taps one of the many propane lanterns he’s hung from the rafters, casting a warm, flickering glow about the room. “Old fashioned, but they definitely get the job done.”

April looks up and can’t help but admire her friend’s handy work. If she lays down on the hay bales and squints, it’s almost like seeing fireflies up in the dark ceiling.

“Just remember to switch them off when you’re done, okay? Dad always used to lecture me about being careful with these things whenever we had to use them. This barn is older than my grandpa, one wrong move and it could go up like dry kindling.”

Donnie scoffs, rolls his eyes, and says dismissively “April, genius remember? I think I know how to handle a primitive incandescent light source.”

“Says the genius who blew up his lab,” She counters with ease, a hand on her hip.

Donnie has the good grace to look embarrassed. “Hey that was one-“

“Six times,” She grins when she sees the warm blush creeping up under his speckled green skin.

“Okay, maybe-”

“In the past year.”

The blush is now prominently displayed underneath his purple mask, April can sense his affronted confusion. She’s having WAY too much fun with this. “How did you-”

“Mikey.”

Michelangelo, self-proclaimed troublemaker and reliable source of dirt and all things blackmail-related. Being constantly thought of as oblivious or dumb had its advantages, he was far more observant than anyone gave him credit for.

Donnie’s shoulders slumped in defeat “Of course. Remind me to thank the goofball later, maybe sick the chickens on him again.” He lets out this little huff and makes an expression that reminds her far too much of a pouting child.

April laughs and he shoots her a glare that would’ve made Mikey high-tail it out of the lab faster than Casey when confronted with trig, but it only makes her laugh harder. When was the last time she laughed? She clutches her side and feels tears prick her eyes. It wasn’t even that funny, but, oh God, had she missed this.

And maybe, she thinks, catching the grin on Donnie’s still blushing face that he’s trying to hide behind his hand, just maybe he’d missed her too…

A flash of pink catches on the outskirts of her vision and a familiar prickling shiver quickly drags April from her good mood. There, on Donnie’s work bench, is a mass of shiny metal, tangled wires, and circuit boards, all bearing the tell-tale design of alien engineering. Kraang tech.

It must’ve come from the stealth ship. It’s inactive and harmless, but April can still sense the latent threat lurking beneath. How was that even possible? April doesn’t know what’s worse, being able to sense the Kraang from their derelict machinery alone, or only thinking she’s sensed them, her mind playing some sick game with her.

Sensing the abrupt shift in mood, Donnie follows her gaze to the flayed insides of the alien machinery.

“They’re from what I suspect to be the navigational systems of the stealth ship,” Donnie explains, walking up to the workbench and fiddling with one of the circuit boards “Or, I suppose, it’s astrogation in this case. I thought it would be good to study the stealth ship’s inner workings. It might be a good century out of date for the Kraang, but it still lightyears ahead of anything we’re capable of.”

He gestures to the numerous diagrams he’s drawn of the ship and pinned to the corkboard above the desk. He’s sketched the exterior, estimating what it would’ve looked like before its crash landing, then the interior. April recognizes the long, vein-like designs running along the metal walls that she’s come to associate with the Kraang. In the margins is Donnie’s cramped handwriting, he’s drawn arrows to different sections of the ship, speculating what each part might do. April can almost read the chicken scratch, but then it drifts off into scribbled kanji and she’s completely lost.

“The structural makeup of the ship is fascinating,” Donnie continues, pointing out a rough sketch he’d drawn of what looks like the main control panel. It’s hard to tell, seeing as it’s the same streamlined, black as the rest of the ship’s surfaces when inactive.

“Most of the on-board systems actually rely entirely on a kind of neutral interface, able to recognize the specific brain patterns of its commanders and relay that information to the subordinates. Think of a Kraang broadcasting system, but all in the mind.” He points to a doodle he’s drawn of a cartoonish Kraang with an old TV antenna sticking out of its head and radio waves around it. “That’s why there are so few buttons, or recognizable displays. The entire thing literally runs on brain power.” Donnie snorts at his own lame joke.

“Honestly, it’s odd that they even built those robot bodies with translators and audio capabilities. The way they naturally communicate telepathically is faster and WAY more efficient, although it would explain their complete butchery of the English language. I mean why would you even need proper sentence structure when you could just communicate your intentions through thoughts and ideas? It’s a completely different way of doing things…”

April quietly watches as Donnie rambles on, completely lost in his own musings. He’s in his element, and it shows. She loves watching how his smile lights up, how his hands gesture excitedly as he talks, the way he’ll occasionally look at her as if to say, ‘Look at this? Isn’t it amazing! Please tell me you think this is as cool as I do!’ The joy that radiates off him is palpable; April can almost hear the gears turning, the pistons firing; it’s intoxicating.

She just wishes it doesn’t have to be about the Kraang. Sometimes it feels like she can never escape them. She should be enjoying listening to her best friend talk about what he loves and nerding out with him, letting that happiness wash over her and bury the horrible truths eating away at her mind. Instead all she can picture is that cartoon TV antenna sticking out of her head and the screeching trill of the Kraang as their thoughts infiltrate her own.

One of us. One of us…

“I’ve also been rooting through the information I stole from the ships memory banks.” Donatello says, pointing to his recently repaired laptop and the scroll of text on its display. He’s too absorbed in his explanation to see April’s momentary grimace.

“The commander didn’t exactly keep a captain’s log like on Space Heroes. But, there is a mission statement and a record of their findings.” He explains, “It’s all Kraang-speak so it reads like one big stream of consciousness, but from what I can determine, the ship was scouting out the area. It was one of hundreds the Kraang sent out to all the dimensions they’d marked for possible colonization. The ship was supposed to take samples of the atmosphere, determine if the planet-”

“If earth was good for them to come on in and make themselves at home,” She finishes sourly. Too bad for them, this planet had come with its own pest problem. April folds her arms tightly across her chest to suppress another shiver. She doesn’t miss the pang of concern Donnie throws her way, choosing to look intently at the laptop screen.

His snout wrinkles in similar disgust, coming out of his scientific detachment to acknowledge the uglier reality.

“Pretty much, yeah. From what I understand, the craft crashed while in the middle of running a scan of the terrain. The system experienced an error and abruptly shut down. Unfortunate for them, because the Kraang based the ship’s systems on their own minds. Everything was interconnected…”

He snags a few books left on a nearby desk to demonstrate, lining three up into a row. “It’s like a domino effect, when one system goes, they all go.” Donnie gives one of the books a light tap and April watches as all three fall, the final book tipping over the desk and hitting the dirt floor with a thump.

“It’s a pretty huge oversight and I wouldn’t be surprised if they’d corrected it over the past century, or however long that is in Dimension X-time. But if they haven’t, well…” He claps his hands together, a wicked grin crossing his face. “We may be able to use it against them.”

But the grin doesn’t last long as Donatello looks back at the laptop, scrolling down to the end of the ship’s records. He sighs and rubs at the back of his neck “Unfortunately for us, some emergency life support systems must’ve kicked in, putting the surviving Kraang inside the ship into a forced stasis. That is, until…” He trails off, looking at her in quiet resignation.

“Yeah,” She breathes, picking at a scratch in the old workbench and not looking at him.

Until good ol’ grandpa woke up the aliens in the basement and ended up cursing his entire bloodline and possibly kick-starting the alien invasion.

You know, typical dark family secrets. Everyone has them.

Most dark secrets don’t end up dooming the world.

After that there’s an uncomfortable stretch of silence that April desperately wants to break, but doesn’t know how. God dammit, why does it always come back to the Kraang and what they did to her, what they made her? The ache steadily increases in the back of her mind, toxic thoughts pounding relentlessly against the steel door, snapping the padlocked chain in two.

She feels Donnie’s gaze on her, those inquisitive eyes searching her face. He rocks back on his heels, fiddling with his hands, like he always does when he’s nervous. Donnie knows there’s something wrong, why else would she come find him at 2am after months of avoidance and painfully awkward small talk? April feels his need to fix things, to make it better.

She senses the question before it comes.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“Nothing to talk about.” She answers automatically, still refusing to look up. “Just couldn’t sleep,” April throws the entire force of her mental strength against the door, trying desperately to seal it shut.

I’m fine. Everything is fine.

“Mmm hmm,” Donnie hums thoughtfully. He’s trying to sound calm but his hands give him away, fingers plucking at the wraps over his palm. “That makes two of us. Although, I doubt you’re up this late because you’re excited about Kraang tech…” He trails off cautiously. The gentle push of his concern extends once more, but she pushes it away.

This should be the part where Donnie realizes she doesn’t want to talk and changes the conversation, uses one of his god-awful science puns to break the tension and make her smile. But, she knows her friend can only go so long with unanswered questions.

Just drop it. Please just drop it.

He doesn’t drop it.

Instead Donnie takes a deep breath and turns to her, “April, I hate to pry… but is this about what happened with your mother-“

April’s fists clench, her reaction instant and visceral. “That thing wasn’t my mom!” She snaps, finally looking up at him.

She feels the black tendrils of thought growing stronger and stronger, slamming violently against her mental walls.

Donnie’s eyes widen with shock and regret. “Sorry, poor choice of words.” He backtracks quickly. “It’s just… Well, it’s only been a few days and that was pretty intense-” He’s keeping that forced calm tone of voice, like she’s made of glass or something. April O’Neil: handle with care. It only makes the pressure in her head build, anger rising in her chest. She really, REALLY doesn’t want to talk about this.

“I’m fine!” She seethes through gritted teeth. “Just please drop it Donnie, okay?!” The dull ache sharpens to a needle’s edge, picking away at her skull. The steel door cracks open, black tendrils seeping out and rising to the surface of her mind, trying to choke her.

“Okay,” The word is almost too soft to hear. She looks up to see Donnie looking at her helplessly, brown eyes full of worry and hurt.

It wasn’t okay. Nothing about this was okay. She’s hurt Donnie, her best friend, the person who just wanted to make sure she was alright…

But that’s what she always does, isn’t it, hurt him? She uses him, uses all the kindness and love he offers so freely, only to give back uncertainty and pain in return. Just like the Kraang, like Irma, like that monster with her mother’s face. And the worst part is, even in the haze of heartache and concern that clouds his mind, April can’t sense any anger in Donnie’s mind.

Why isn’t he mad at her?!

April knows she needs to apologize, tell Donnie that all this is her fault and demand that he yell at her, condemn her for the monster she is. But her head won’t stop throbbing and the room won’t stop spinning.

April O’Neil, your mind belongs to Kraang

“April…?” She hears Donatello voice like he’s on the other side of the room. The loudest sound she hears is the blood pounding against her eardrums.

Her eyes furrow tight with pain, hands grasping at her temples. Something’s wrong. She closes her eyes, fighting off nausea, and seeing those black tendrils coil around her mind, consuming her every thought.

April… We can be together. No more pain… No more sorrow…

Her mother’s face flashes in her mind’s eye, mocking her.

“Are you alright?” Donnie sounds shrill and scared, she feels him press the back of his hand to her forehead, her skin hotter than normal again his cool scales. “You’re burning up…”

She can’t control it. The steel door is hanging off its hinges, thoughts and fears held back for so long come rising to the surface. Tears prick at her eyes and her brain feels like it’s going to explode.

“April! Please talk to me! What’s wrong? Are you hurt?” Hands wrap tight around her shoulders, keeping her upright. But his voice sounds farther than ever, drowned out by the horrible voice of her not-mother…

One of us. One of us…

She’s just like them, all she does is bring pain. Her father’s gone, New York is a mutated wasteland. It’s her fault…

She feels Donnie’s mind reaching out, scared and frantic. And there’s his love bobbing in the tempest like a lifeboat, trying desperately to wrap around her, protect her. But April pushes him away. Why can’t he see she doesn’t deserve it?!

“Leave me alone!”

April screams, the world goes white, and off in the distance she hears a loud bang.

—————————————————

“-lease wake up! April, I need you to open your eyes.”

The first thing April feels is a cool hand pressing against her cheek. Her eyes squint open, the light making her already overcooked head pound more. Donnie’s staring down at her, his eyes wide and panicked, cradling her head gently off the ground. He’s still trying to keep his voice calm, but it’s strained and fraying at the edges.

She lets out a small moan, her hands feeling the rough woodgrain of the barn floor. When did she end up on the ground? And did anyone get the number of the bus that’d hit her?

“That’s it,” He urges gently, “Are you alright? Can you tell me if you feel any numbness, lightheadedness?” She knows that tone of voice. He’s in full ��doctor Don’ mode, trying to hide his worry under the guise of clinical detachment.

But why is he in doctor mode? What did she-

April’s eyes fly open and she fights back a terrible wave of nausea as the light hits her all at once. Letting out another groan, April forces her shaking body to sit upright, and takes in the state of Donnie’s makeshift lab. Test tubes and beakers lay shattered on the workbench, their contents merging and dribbling onto a pile of books that fell on the ground. One of the propane lamps lays cracked and broken in the dirt, and the backup generator in the corner is little more than a smoking husk.

And there’s Donnie, kneeling next to her, studying her quietly, the concern in his mind mingling with uncertainty. There’s a long, thin gash across his cheek that’s dripping red, he hasn’t even noticed it yet.

A pressure builds in April’s chest, like all the oxygen has been sucked from the room. She can’t breathe.

She did this, all of it.

It’s her fault.

“Oh God… Oh god oh god oh god…” Her own voice sounds miles away. She stares at the shards of broken glass that litter the dirt, willing them to form back together, to fix themselves so she can keep denying that anything is wrong.

Her hands are shaking and her body begins to shiver, but she doesn’t feel cold, just numb. Hot tears trail down her cheeks. She can’t bring herself to wipe them away. It all feels empty somehow, like she’s on the outside observing this strange, ragged girl sitting there, surrounded by the destruction she’s created.

She’s just like them…

“April?” A hand lightly touches her shoulder, bringing her crashing back into her body and without thinking she jerks away with a cry.

She turns and Donnie is holding up his hands and slowly backing away. He looks confused and hurt, and April can almost see his mind going haywire behind that pained expression, not able to accept that he doesn’t know how to help her.

She’s hurting him. All she does is hurt him and she doesn’t know how to stop.

“I’m so sorry.” She chokes out and it’s a struggle to breathe as she forces small, choppy breaths into her lungs. She can’t even get out coherent sentences, but she needs him to know. “I don’t- I didn’t mean to- Oh God!” His purple mask blurs in her vision as more and more tears flow down her face.

“Hey, it’s okay.” Donnie’s trying to sound calm again, but she finds she doesn’t mind. He inches closer, tentatively touching her shoulder again. This time she lets him, leaning against his steady hand. “You’re okay. I need you to breathe deeply April. Can you do that for me?” She jerks her head in assent, letting his gentle tone wash over her and allowing slower gulps of air into her panicked lungs. The wheezing pants begin to fade. Don’s hand has migrated to the small of her back, his thumb rubbing slow circles between her shoulder blades. “Okay, in and out, nice and slow, inhale, exhale. There we go…”

April lets out another shuddering breath. “I’m so sorry Donnie, so sorry…” It feels like that’s all she can say, a broken record on loop. “I’m sorry.” April can’t stop the tears, or keep her body from trembling and she hates how weak it makes her feel. The steel door in her mind is melted and scorched, the padlock in pieces on the ground.

Donnie gives her shoulders a light squeeze, “It’s okay.” His words are meant to reassure her, but all she can do is shake her head and grab her arms tighter. Because, for once, her genius best friend is wrong.

“No! No it’s not!” He doesn’t understand that it’s her fault. She reaches into his mind and finds only concern, fear for her safety, a need to protect, and love… But there’s no anger.

Frustration bubbles up in her chest. Why isn’t he mad?! Can’t he see what she’s done? Her eyes trace the length of the lab, taking in the still smoking remains of the generator and all the jagged pieces of hot metal stuck in the walls. She looks at Donnie, the nicks on his forearms where he must’ve shielded himself from broken glass, the gash on his cheek, still dribbling a bit of blood. It came so close to his eye…

Can’t he see that she’s just going to keep hurting him, hurting his family? Because that’s what the Kraang designed her to do, isn’t it? She’s no better than that creature that wore her mother’s skin, a weapon in the guise of a human girl. Not even that, part-human.

“April, it’s alright.” He reiterates, stressing each word for effect, he kneels lower to meet her eyes, one hand still warm and heavy on her shoulder. “Seriously, I can fix-“

“Why aren’t you mad at me?” She doesn’t mean to say it out loud, but there it is. The words leave a void between them as Donnie stares at her, confused, like the very notion is a foreign concept.

“Mad at you…?”

“I did this. I ruined your lab, all your work.” April brings herself to look at him, eyes traveling to the gash. “I hurt you.”

Following her gaze, Donnie brings a hand to his cheek, surprised when his fingertips come back red. “It’s just a cut. I’ve had much worse. One or two stitches maybe and I’ll be fine-”

“That’s not the point!” April cries, her voice rising. How could she make him understand? “I hurt you and I couldn’t control it!”

“April, this isn’t your fault.” Donnie’s gentle tone is breaking down, his gaze insistent; like it is when he knows he’s right. But she refuses to let this be yet another thing he brushes off and just forgives her for. Not this time.

“Yes it is, Donnie!” April pushes herself to her feet, swaying dangerously from the head rush, but managing to stay upright. The tears are back, she wipes them away viciously with the back of her hand. “Why can’t you see that I’m just like them?”

“Them?” Donatello manages to look more lost than ever as he stands up to face her. His arms tense, ready to reach out and catch her if she falls. “Them who April? I don’t-”

“The Kraang!” She spits out the words like poison. “And that-that THING they created out of Mom! I’m no better than them, Donnie!”

Whatever he was expecting April to say, it wasn’t this. He gawks at her like she’s just told him something ludicrous, like the stars had decided to turn off. “What? April, you’re nothing like them!” He pauses, steepling his fingers “I mean, technically yes, if we factored in your DNA-”

“Exactly! That’s all I am, isn’t it?!” April insists, gesturing to herself in disgust “Some sick science project of human/kraang DNA! Just like Mom, just like all those freaky clones-“

“April-” The strain in Donnie’s tone is palpable, begging her to listen, but she can’t stop. Her mind is an open crater of black thoughts, spilling from her brain and out her mouth. He needs to know, he needs to understand.

“All I do is hurt people with these stupid powers.” The tightness in her chest is back and she’s choking on every word.

“April!”

“It was my half alien blood that allowed Kraang to just waltz right in and terraform New York.” Her fingers twist the fabric of her father’s jacket until they turn white and her eyes keep leaking hot tears. “It’s my fault our home is gone!”

“April,” Donnie struggles to find the right words, “there’s more to a person than just their DNA.”

“And I use people, just like they do.” She continues, the sudden, compulsive need to expel every terrible thought from her mind too great, but her cheeks burn with shame. Then she finally says it, no quieter than a whisper “I use you.”

April looks at Donatello, forces herself to watch as the words die in his throat. His eyes widen and his face crumples in confusion, and uncertainty, and hurt. It’s too cowardly to look away now. She takes a deep, shuddering breath and presses on.

“When I’m with you everyone else’s thoughts just… go away, and there’s just me again, and you. When I’m with you I can finally hear myself,” She admits. “And I know it’s horrible and weak, but I don’t want to go back to drowning in everyone else’s heads.”

Her bun nearly comes undone and she tugs a hand through her tangled red fringe. “It used to be so easy to block them out. But with everything that’s happened, New York, Dad, Master Splinter, I just… I’m so tired and I can’t turn it off!” She takes another shaky breath, exhaling with a humorless laugh, “I feel everything, the pain, the grief, the anger, everything.”

“April…” A warm hand presses against her shoulder and she wants so badly to fall into it, but she can’t. April holds herself rigid, hugging herself tighter as if to keep from floating away. She senses his eyes on her, but she can’t meet them, not until she gets out all she needs to say.

“I feel you, Donnie.” The gears turn in his mind as they try to process what exactly she means, but she senses them come to a grinding halt as he realizes the only thing her words can mean. She doesn’t even have to look to know he’s blushing. His thoughts are tinged pink with embarrassment, mingled with the same fearful uncertainty April’s feeling in her gut.

“Look…I know. I’ve known for a while.” She says, as if that somehow makes the situation any better. “And don’t you see? That’s what’s so fucked up!”

Uncertainty plummets into outright fear and she winces at how his voice cracks. “April I-”

But April cuts him off again, before he can come to the wrong conclusion. “I know how you feel and I still need to come out here and find you, be near you, even when I don’t even know what the hell I feel! I…” tired blue eyes finally rise to meet russet brown. “I just know I have to be near you, I- It’s stupid, and weird, and hard to explain…”

She fumbles, wracking her brain to find the right words. How can you tell someone that they make you feel normal just by being there? “You’re my best friend, Donnie, and when I’m with you it’s finally quiet and I’m me again…” She breathes, “Just me.”

Donnie’s gone still as a statue, his expression unreadable, his mind a jumble of warring emotions that makes her head spin.

“But I’m using you!” April cries in frustration, kicking pieces of stray glass as watching as they skitter across the floor. The shards blur as tears fill her eyes. Christ, why can’t she stop crying? “I know how you feel, I’ve known for so long and I… I just don’t know how I-” Her voice breaks and she can’t finish, “I’m so sorr-”

Long arms drape around her shoulders and April lets out a small gasp as she’s pulled into his embrace.

Her wet cheek presses against his cool plastron, the tails of her mask mingling with tangles of ginger hair. He smells like engine oil and leather and she closes her eyes and breathes it in, willing her breaths to slow and her hands to stop shaking.

Donnie’s not usually one to initiate physical affection, only offer it. He’s always allowed her to make the first move, always so careful and nervous when she does. Whenever she hugs him, or kisses his cheek, he goes all stiff and blushes, hugging her back like she’s one of the delicate inventions in his lab, so scared of ruining it and so eager to get it right.

But this embrace isn’t tentative, it’s firm and steady and so warm. Donnie’s hands press with gentle desperation into the small of her back, grounding her like a lifeline. Her still shaky hands wrap around his carapace as she clings right back, stray tears leaking from beneath closed lids. And there’s his mind, warm and extending out to encircle her own, wrapping around her consciousness, a tarp in the raging storm. She finally lets it in, lets it fill her to the brim until the dark thoughts are a distant memory and there’s only his heartbeat against hers.

Minutes pass, maybe hours, April doesn’t know, doesn’t want to know. This is the most at peace she’s felt in months, her mind a still sea stretching in all directions, finally quiet.

But off in the distance she hears Donnie’s voice, her eyes open as he pulls away slightly to look at her.

“April…” He implores.

“Yeah?” she breathes

“Shut up.”

And she does, wide eyed and bemused. The abruptness of his request steals the rest of the apologies away before they can leave her lips.

Donnie’s eyes widen too when his mind finally catches up to his words and breaks the hug to clap a hand over his mouth. Suddenly, the all too familiar, stuttering, blushing Donatello is back, fiddling with the leather strap across his plastron.

“Sorry, that’s was- what I meant to say was…please just…stop talking?” He facepalms, “Argh, no! It’s just…” He lets out a frustrated sigh and presses the heel of his palm between his eyes. It’s just such a Donnie expression that, in spite her confusion and aching head, April can’t help but crack a small smile

“April,” He looks at her, using that calm please-listen-to-me-I’m-using-logic voice. “You’re not some evil Kraang monster that’s going to hurt us. I know what your DNA looks like, remember? I’ve studied it.” He gestures to the laptop on the workbench, miraculously still intact amid the wreckage.

“You’re not just some monster implanted with fake memories like that copy of your mom, you’re not a mindless clone like those other Aprils at TCRI, and I know you’re not some Kraang bot in disguise.”

He places his hand back on her shoulder, eyes open and earnest. “You, April O’Neil, are a free-thinking person, who also happens to be part-alien. You may be able to tap into the Kraang’s hive mind, but they could never control you.” He gives her a shy grin, raising an eye ridge “I’d like to see them try. You’re you April, and you always have been.”

She wants to believe him, wants to fall into the certainty of his logic, but she can still feel the dark thoughts circling on the outskirts of her mind, right outside Donnie’s warm reassurance. The cut on his cheek has stopped bleeding, but it still looks raw.

“But my powers-” She protests. Subconsciously her hand reaches out to examine to wound.

Donnie follows her gaze and takes the smaller hand in his own before she can touch his cheek, his eyes never leaving hers. “We still don’t know how strong they are, or what you’re capable of,” He concedes, “But I know you would never intentionally hurt us.”

“And…” He adds, “If I recall correctly, those powers have saved our shells more than once. Need I remind you that the guys and I would still be stuck in that monster’s digestive track if it wasn’t for you?”

He’s right, but it was still her fault for not seeing that monster for what it was, allowing herself to be deceived until her friends paid the price. April breaks Donnie’s gaze, choosing the stare at the rough wooden boards and peeling paint of the walls. She focuses on a funny stain in the wood, probably slime from the monster’s innards when she’d blown it up.

“And you’re not using me,” He gently squeezes her shoulder, the insistence in his voice bringing her back. “Not if I want to help you.”

She looks at him and the quiet determination in his voice resonates through her core. This is the same Donnie that caught her when she was flung from a helicopter, the same Donnie that vowed he would find her father when he was kidnapped, that he would bring him back from the madness when he was mutated. This was the Donatello whose strength of mind was only rivaled by his heart.

“Look… If my mind can work as some sort of dampener on your powers and give you some room to breathe, I’ll do whatever I can to help.”

And April believes him, she always has. But she can’t let him do this.

“No,”

He blinks in surprise and a flash of hurt crosses his face. “No? April if-”

“Donnie, how can I keep letting you help me if I’m not even strong enough to help myself!?” She insists, slamming a hand to her chest. Shame burns in through her as April feels every ache and tremor in her frail not-quite-human body, her head a dull throbbing fog under the strain it’s endured.

Donatello opens his mouth to protest, but closes it when no words escape. He opens it again to let out a soft sigh and rub the back of his neck, eyes furrowed in thought.

Maybe he’s finally realized she’s not worth it.

To her surprise, the tall turtle walks past her, mindful to step around the glass, and sits down on the pile of hay bales in the corner. He gives her a strangely pleasant smile and pats the hay next to him, like she hasn’t just admitted to being the literal worst person ever.

April eyes narrow in confusion. What’s he up to?

But she does feel like shit, and her head hurts, and she’s pretty sure her shaky legs aren’t going to hold her up much longer, so sitting down it is. Glass that she’s too tired to avoid crunches under Dad’s heavy boots as she makes her way over to the hay and flops down beside Donatello.

Sitting down is heaven. April sighs as all her sore muscles scream with relief. Another spectacular downside to making uncontrollable psychic blasts with her mind, it always makes her feel like she’s overtaxed every cell in her body. She closes her eyes for a minute, savoring the warm darkness on the inside of her eyelids. Donnie shifts next to her, and April can feel him gathering his thoughts.

“Do you think Leo is weak because he’s using a crutch right now?”

The question catches her off guard, and he phrases it in that same light conversational tone he uses when posing a hypothetical idea. Her eyes snap open. “No! But…” Then April connects the dots and grimaces. “That’s different and you know it. His knee is still recovering”

“And your mind isn’t?”

April stares at him, her protests fading.

Seeing he has her attention, Donnie quickly elaborates. “April, the brain is a muscle, the most complex one we have. And if my theories are correct, your mind is a lot more powerful than most.” There’s a glint of intellectual joy in his eyes as he starts to ramble a bit, hands gesturing rapidly. “It’s able to not only think and process information, but receive and broadcast other electromagnetic wavelengths. It’s truly a marvel, like a human AM radio-”

“Donnie.” She gives him a look. Normally she’d be happy to watch him nerd out about science, maybe even join in, but she doesn’t have the same affinity for her “uniqueness” that he seems to.

“Right, sorry…” He gives a nervous laugh and clears his throat before getting back on track, “My point is that your brain undergoes a severe amount of stress every time you use your powers and you haven’t allowed it to recover.”

April holds back a frustrated huff. What is he talking about? They’ve been at the farmhouse doing nothing but recovering and living off her family’s emergency funds and questionably-expired canned food for months.

Donnie catches her disbelieving stare and holds up his hands defensively.

“Look, hear me out,” He begins carefully, “We’ve all been through a lot with your dad and Leo and…Sensei.” The word lingers uncomfortably until Donnie takes a breath and presses on, “And if you really can’t switch off your empathic abilities, if you’ve been picking up on everyone else’s emotional feedback…” He trails off, and tilts his head, and studies her in concern. “April, I think you’ve experienced everyone’s grief, but your own.”

What? She wants to protest, tell her friend how ridiculous that sounds, but the more April thinks about it, the less farfetched the theory becomes.

How often has she mistakenly someone else’s feelings for her own, channeled the emotions of others until her own sense of self becomes blurred and hazy?

Donnie takes her silence as affirmation to continue. “You know, ever since we were kids S-Sensei taught us the importance of strengthening our minds, building mental barriers to protect ourselves from outward invasion. Strength in mind and body and all that…” His hands fiddle absently as he speaks, picking up a piece of hay and methodically stripping it apart.

He isn’t looking at her anymore, shoulders hunching slightly. April watches him in quiet concern. She hasn’t heard him willingly talk about Splinter in months.

Out of all his brothers, April knows its Donatello who’s given up their father for dead. He’s quiet about it, never correcting Mikey when he talks about reuniting their family, never denying Leo’s claims about how strong and resilient their master is, never challenging Raph when he talks about storming back into New York and taking their home and father back. But there’s a fatal inevitability Donnie uses when talking about Splinter, a still, numbing grief that April can feel overtake his usually busy mind.

And she can see his reasoning: Donatello is a scientist; he doesn’t deal in things like denial and false hope, but in hard facts and certainties. And he’s certain there was no way Splinter could’ve survived. The sooner he can come to terms with this, the easier it will be to help his family cope with the loss when the time comes.

April understands, but she can’t share in his conviction, can’t bring herself to give up on the man who’s been like a father to her all these years. She hasn’t felt his presence in months, but who knows if she can even feel someone this far from the city…?

Donnie continues, a faraway look in his eyes “When we were seven he started making us meditate in the dojo for an hour every day before training. Imagine, making a kid like Mikey sit still.” He laughs quietly, hands still working on stripping the mutilated piece of hay down to its barest fibers. “Not that I’m one to talk. I could never shut my brain off for longer than five minutes, still can’t.” He admits, giving her a tight smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Mostly, I just faked it. I would sit there and count back the decimals of Pi in my head. Sensei… Splinter always seemed to know, though.” His father’s name comes out a bit choked and April notices how rapidly he’s blinking. She doesn’t say anything, just scoots closer to put a hand on his shoulder. Her touch seems to bring him back from wherever his mind wandered, because Donatello soon straightens up and refocuses on his point, brushing away stray bits of hay.

“You just haven’t had a chance to rebuild those barriers, because you can’t turn off that constant radio feed in your head, so to speak.” He touches his temple to illustrate his point. “But if you’re right, if I can somehow help you mute all external input for a while, it could give you time to rebuild, like a system reboot.” He’s choosing his words carefully, growing more technical in his terms the more nervous he gets, but his eyes never waver.

He’s so damn earnest and his words make sense, but April won’t let herself be convinced.

“But I can’t rely on you like that.” She interjects, shaking her head. He still doesn’t understand. “I can’t expect you to constantly be there just because I’m too weak to control my own mind.” Her fists clench over her knees. She spits out the word ‘weak’ like it’s a curse.

“April,” Donnie’s tone is incredulous, large fingers wrap around her closed fist. “You’re the strongest person I know. You just need time to heal, and I know you can.” His eyes meet hers in silent challenge. “Barely two years ago, you’d never even taken a self-defense class and now you’re nearly a first Dan kunoichi. Do you know just how hard that is to accomplish?”

She does. April remembers the hours of training spent in the dojo with Splinter and the turtles, the sparring sessions where she would get knocked flat on her ass again and again, tears mingling with sweat as she picked herself off the matt for another round, determined to get it right. She remembers the thrill she felt that first time she managed to get a hit on Raph, the way Leo beamed and Mikey cheered her on. Raph still had her face first on the mat soon after, but he’d complained the whole rest of day about the bruise she’d left on his shoulder, shooting her an appreciative smirk. She remembers Donnie’s proud smile the first night she joined them on patrol, how strong and powerful it made her feel…

When did she lose that confidence? How has she become so weak? The darks thoughts cling to her stubbornly, no matter how hard April tries to shake them off. They eat away at her, tainting her every thought.

Donnie gives her hand a gentle squeeze, pulling her back to earth. His eyes burn with conviction. “I’ve known you for almost two years now April,” He tells her, “Long enough to know that when life knocks you down you get back up and keep swinging. Sometimes you just need to know when to stay down for a bit, take the time to get better.”

April’s breathe hitches in her chest, letting the intensity behind Donatello’s words knock into her like a crashing wave, breaking against the dark tendrils gripping at her mind.

“And you are going to get better, just like Leo’s going to get back on his feet.” He insists, stating it like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

The sky is blue, the sun will rise, his brother will heal, and so will she.

Every dark corner of April’s mind cries out in protest, trying to drown out Donnie’s words. She’s weak, she’s part-Kraang, it’s her fault, she doesn’t deserve help… They’re so loud and insistent that it’s everything April can do not to slip quietly into the inky black and lose herself.

But there’s Donnie, holding her hand like a lifeline and looking at her like she can do anything, like she’s not weak and wildly out of her depth. He’s never given up on her, even when she’s given up on herself. So, gathering all the strength she can muster, April tries something truly crazy…

She believes him.

Breathe. Inhale. Exhale.[SP4]

She is April O’Neil and she is stronger than this.

The dark thoughts begin to shrivel and decay as April shoves them back into the shadows, letting Donatello’s quiet confidence fuel her own.

Inhale. Exhale.[SP5]

She may not see herself as the same person Donnie sees, but she wants to, and she will.

April is so goddamn done with crying. Her eyes are bloodshot and it feels like she’s cried more in one night than she has in six months. There just aren’t any tears left, so she laughs instead, letting the sound reverberate in her chest and out into the quiet barn. It’s breathless and colored with fatigue, but there’s joy there too.

Don’s still looking at her with poorly masked surprise and worry, but that only makes her laugh harder. Oh god, he must think she’s crazy. Truthfully, April isn’t sure she is completely sane. Completely sane people don’t have to deal with ninja clan feuds, or alien invasions, or have walking talking turtles for best friends.

Well, being sane is overrated anyway…

“So…” She finally says, “I’m going to get better. Is that your professional opinion Doctor Don?”

Sensing that his words must’ve had the intended effect, Donnie’s expression brightens, though mild confusion still lingers. “Actually yeah…I am this family’s resident physician after all,” He brags, then gives a shy smile before adding, “And you’re a part of this family.”

Dammit, apparently there are a few more tears left and they prick at the back of April’s eyes as she engulfs the tall turtle in a tight hug. “I’m sorry, Donnie,” She murmurs.

“There’s nothing to be sorry for.” He replies.

She breaks off the hug to give him a look, eyebrow raised, and gestures a hand towards the destroyed lab that will probably take a few days to clean. He will hold her accountable for that.

“Well…” Donnie amends, looking abashed. “Yeah, okay there’s a little to be sorry for, but it’s okay, no harm done.”

April looks at him skeptically, but chooses not to press the issue. Instead she scooches closer to lean against him, tucking her knees up to her chest.

“It still doesn’t feel right, though.” She admits “My mind using your mind space like some weird signal jammer.”

He leans into her and replies conversationally, “I can think of worse ways to be used.”

It takes a minute for Donnie’s brain to process his words, but when it finally hits him the look on his face is priceless. April’s decided pink on green is her new favorite color combination.

“Ah…Sorry that was…That came out wrong…I…” He stammers quickly, “It’s just, given my interests and my skillset I tend to fill a lot of roles in our family: doctor, weapons expert, maintenance-”

“You shouldn’t be used at all.” April grumbles, bumping his shoulder reproachfully. “You’re a person Donnie, not an appliance.”

He bumps her back with a small laugh, “Well, if you really felt so strongly, I‘m sure I could make something that could tune in to the electromagnetic frequency of your brain waves and bounce them back in a constant feedback loop. It would limit your ability to pick up on external pulses.” He mimes covering his non-existent ears. “Like noise cancelling headphones, but for the mind.”

It sounds like the perfect solution, but she hesitates. She’s gotten so used to feeling Donnie’s presence lingering in her mind, a quiet, reassuring comfort.

What would it feel like to actually be alone in her head?

“I mean, maybe if you have time.” She hinges carefully, playing with a strand of loose hair. “But you don’t really have to go to the trouble…”

“Ah I see…” He nods cryptically, shooting her a knowing smile.

Now it’s April’s turn to blush. “What! What‘s that supposed to mean?”

Donnie just smirks at her ire and shrugs “Well, I guess that you actually like hanging out with me for one, at least more than wearing a tin-foil hat anyway.” He says, adding, “I dare say, it’s like we’re friends, or something.” It’s meant to be a joke, she can see the guarded hope in his eyes.

“Yeah,” She agrees, returning the smile, “Or something…”

They hold on each other’s eyes a little too long before Donnie clears his throat.

“You’re not using me April. You never could. And, believe it, or not,” He nudges her gently “I like having you around too.”

Warmth rises in her chest, buoyed by her own relief at his words.

April supposes it the mark of a great friend when you can sit with a person in silence and still feel comfortable. April leans back, feeling Donnie’s cool reptilian skin against hers and breathes a quiet sigh.

There is something they haven’t talked about though, and it hangs ominous and palpable in the stillness. She’s sure he would prefer to let it lie, pretend it never happened, but April knows she won’t be able to face herself if she takes the coward’s way out again.

She bites her lip, gathering her courage. “Donnie… What I said before, about knowing how you felt. I-”

But Donnie cuts in before she can finish. “Look, April,” he sighs, trying to choose his words carefully, nervous hands picking at the fraying tails of his mask. “Life is crazy right now. Our home is a mutated no-man’s land, the seven of us are facing an army of advanced aliens, your dad’s MIA, and Splinter…Splinter’s gone.”

He swallows the lump in his throat before turning to look at her, eyes honest and open, “But you’re my best friend April, and I’m not going anywhere.”

His voice is steady and for a moment all the anxiety is gone and April can see the Donatello that caught her years ago, gaze fixed and resolute, never considering failure an option. Whether she believes him isn’t even a question. Donnie is as constant as the stars in the sky, maybe the one constant left in her life.

“Literally,” He adds, attempting to ease the intense emotions passing between them, nervous smile back in place with a self-deprecating laugh. “Casey has the keys to the van and I would probably die out there in the wilderness without a decent Wi-Fi connection.”

It’s not all that funny, but she can’t help but snicker appreciatively, giving her friend a watery smile.

“Seriously though,” He looks at her like he’s trying to convey so much more than he knows how to say. “I’m always going to be there for you, April, and nothing is going to change that. You’re stuck with me.” He holds her gaze, unwavering.

An unspoken acknowledgement passes between them, a quiet promise; it’s okay. They’re okay.

The crushing weight of her indecision lifts and April takes a deep breath for what feels like the first time in months.

It’s not the way things were, she and Donnie can never go back to that time, they’ve been through too much, know each other too well. But April finds she doesn’t want to go back, not when she has the time to explore who they are now, what they could become. And Donnie will be there waiting for her.

She sniffs and wipes her eye on the sleeve of Dad’s jacket. “Well, thank god for that!” She says, “Because when we save the world and send the Kraang back through that interdimensional hole they crawled out of, I’m going to be so far behind on my chemistry grades!” She laughs and elbows his side. “I’ll need my resident genius to help me get through to graduation.”

Because the world isn’t over and New York isn’t lost. Not if she has anything to say about it. They will defeat the Kraang, she’ll get Dad back, they’ll find Splinter, and life will go on like it always does.

They have time.

Relief crosses Donnie’s expression and his shoulders relax as he smiles. Playing along, said genius waves off the flattery and gives her a knowing look. “Please, you grasp the theory and concepts masterfully. You just need someone to double check your conclusions.”

“Well…” She concedes, faking a concentrated expression like she’s thinking hard. “I’ll also need someone to help me keep Casey from flunking out of Trig.”

Donnie lets out a disbelieving snort, “He was ever passing?”

“Be nice!” But he just laughs harder as she punches his arm. April tries hard not to smirk. “He’s smarter than you give him credit for.”

“Okay, okay,” he chuckles, rubbing his arm where she punched him and grinning. “I guess Jones does have his moments.”

A comfortable silence settles between them as Donnie finally quiets his laughter. But he’s still grinning so that April can see the adorable gap in his teeth, and the way his eyes crinkle at the corners. God she missed this, missed him.

“Hey, Donnie?”

“Hmm?” He tilts his head to look back at her.

She lays her hand over his own, quietly savoring his look of surprise and the blush that suddenly rises in his cheeks.

“Thanks,”

“My-” His voice squeaks at the first attempt to, but he quickly recovers, clearing his throat and giving her a warm smile. “My pleasure, April.”

Her eyes wander to the streak of red beneath his eye. “We should probably take care of that.” She tells him, gesturing to his cheek. Her fingers ghost along his scaled skin before she comes to her senses and pulls her hand back sheepishly, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “It could get infected.”

It’s probably a pointless thing to focus on, considering all the other open nicks and cuts speckled across his forearms from the glass, but it’s something she can fix.

“Oh right” He absently touches the side of his face where her hand had lingered too long. “There’s a first aid kit under the workbench, there should be some disinfectant and butterfly strips in there. Stitches probably won’t be necessary.”

“Roger that” And before Donnie can protest, April forces her aching limbs upright. She sways as the blood rushes to her head and the room spins, but she takes a breath and steadies herself determined to keep standing. Crossing the room and reaching under the workbench, her hand closes around the small, battered first aid kit. Pulling out a few bandages and disinfectant wipes, April starts as she hears Donnie behind her. How he managed to cross a floor littered with broken glass without making a sound is beyond her. Definitely a ninja thing.

“Hey! The coffee’s still intact.” He beams, pointing out the half-finished mug of coffee that’s sitting innocently on the workbench next to his laptop. He picks it up, checking over the ceramic for cracks before taking a sip, grimacing at the cold taste, considering it again, and quickly downing the rest of it.

He looks up at April’s laugh. “What?” Donnie shoots her a mock glare, setting the mug back down. “Couldn’t just let it go to waste.”

April shoots him a look that’s supposed to be stern but she can’t keep her lips from curling into a smirk. “Donnie, I think you have a problem.”

He just grins and shrugs “Everyone’s allowed one vice.”

She hums knowingly in reply, “Hold still.” Tucking a hand under his cheek, April reaches up and dabs a disinfectant wipe over the gash below his eye. She tries to ignore the way his breath hitches and how warm his face suddenly feels.

“So…what are we going to tell the others?” She asks, trying to keep her tone nonchalant as she unwraps one of the butterfly strips.

Even if the rest of the guys somehow don’t notice that the barn looks like a twister hit it, Mikey’s sure to see that Donnie looks like he got in a fight with his lab equipment. Mikey always notices these things. She peels off the strip’s adhesive nervously.

So far, April has been trying to keep the struggles with her powers quiet. Leo just woke up from a freaking coma, he has more important things to worry about than a possible liability on his team.

Not for long though.

April closes her eyes and takes a quiet breath, expelling the dark thoughts before they can take root. She’s stronger than this. She just needs time to heal, and a little help.

“Hmm…” Donatello turns to survey the state of the barn, with its scorched walls, stray shards of metal and broken glass. It’s definitely seen better days. “Think they’d believe Mikey’s chickens went on a mad rampage?”

April lets out a soft huff of laughter, turning Donnie’s head back to face her so she can place the bandages properly. “Yeah…Maybe not.”

“Worth a shot,” He jokes. Then his eyes dart to the twisted heap metal in the corner that used to be his jerry-rigged backup generator. Well, at least it wasn’t smoldering anymore.

“That generator was pretty rickety…” He admits thoughtfully, absently touching his newly bandaged cheek. “I may be good with machines, but that tractor engine was from at least 1923 and I’m not a miracle worker. Probably wouldn’t be too hard to convince them it blew up on its’ own.”

April gives him a relieved smile. The nerves uncoil in her chest and it’s a little easier to breath. “Thanks. I guess I just don’t want them to think I’m losing it, or something.” She says, trying to play it off as a joke.

Donnie frowns, but doesn’t address it. He just shrugs, “We’ve all been going through some pretty serious stress lately. Everyone just expresses it differently.” He smirks conspiratorially and leans forward to add, “There’s a reason Raph asked Casey to pick up some thread the last time you guys went to the store.”

“Wait, Raph asked for that?” She smirks and raises an eyebrow, playing along. “Casey said it was for Mikey…?”

Donnie sniggers before answering. “Well I’m not really supposed to know, but Raph found this old needlepoint kit in the attic a few weeks back. He’s been teaching himself ever since.”

April can’t help it. The mental image of Raph “fuck you and your prissy shit” Hamato threading a tiny needle and teaching himself to cross stitch is too much and she burst out laughing. “Oh god!” She cackles “Does this mean Casey’s getting an embroidered pillowcase for Christmas?”

“Only if he can figure out how to stitch dirty words into it!” Donnie replies, then adds in a more serious tone “Please don’t say anything to him. I like my face arranged the way it is, thank you very much. Besides,” He smiles fondly, “It really has been helping Raph deal with everything.”

April nods, still giggling, and mimes a zipper across her mouth, “My lips are sealed.”

“Thanks,” Donnie carefully maneuvers around the remains of the shattered beakers to grab a broom leaning against the wall. He starts sweeping the stray shards of glass and metal into small piles, trying not to step in any of the spilled contents.

“Seriously though, I could make them for you, those thought-canceling headphones, I mean. If only to help you sleep, or meditate. It’s no trouble.” He offers, stepping around the spilled contents of what April assumes was another attempt at retromutagen. She’s relieved to see the jar where Donnie put remains of The Creep is still intact on a nearby shelf. April shudders to think what would’ve happened if the horrific plant-mutant had gotten loose again.

“And I promise it would be slightly more stylish than your average tin-foil hat.” He adds with a grin.

April rolls her eyes and returns the smile. She goes to pick up a dustpan and brush hanging on the wall by the workbench and starts sweeping up the piles of debris. “Donnie, you could make it out of forks and the kitchen strainer and I’d still wear it if it helps me get some sleep.”

He laughs and turns to reply, but his smile twists into a concerned frown when he looks at her, taking in the dark circles under her eyes, the way her skin looks more gray than pale, how she sways on the spot while bending over to sweep up some glass.

“Hey, why don’t you lie down for a bit, I can handle this.” He tells her gently, nodding in the direction of the hay bales. “It’s not the first time I’ve cleaned up broken beakers and you look dead on your feet.”

But April just glares and stubbornly crosses her arms in protest. “No way! This place looks like a tornado hit it, or something. I can’t just-”

“Ah ah ah! Doctor’s order’s Miss O’Neil!” He says, having the nerve to pull rank. And before she can protest he’s walked over and plucked the dustpan and brush out of her hands. “The last thing I need is you passing out on the broken glass.” It’s obnoxious and a little patronizing and coming from anyone else but Donnie, April would’ve been offended. But the honest concern in his eyes and the fact that every muscle in her body feels like its threatening mutiny effectively kills whatever argument she has.

“Fine,” She capitulates. Reluctantly walking back over to the hay bales April sits back down and bites back an audible groan of satisfaction as her sore body eases into a more horizontal position. “But only for a few minutes. Then you can wake me up.”

“Mmmh hmmm,” Donnie hums airily, purposely avoiding her gaze as he grabs some rags off the workbench to clean up the chemical spills.

She knows he’s not going to, the stubborn know-it-all, but she’s too exhausted to care.

Shrugging off Dad’s jacket and bunching it into a more comfortable pillow, April snuggles into it, breathing in the familiar smell. It’s not the best thing she’s ever slept on, but it’s hardly the worst. And at least the hay is clean and dry. Her overtaxed brain is too foggy to care how scratchy it feels beneath her thin tee-shirt. The constant swish of Donnie’s broom scraping against the wooden floorboards creates a soothing rhythm.

She stares up into the rafters, the hanging propane lamps blurring into hazy balls of light. April thinks of the nights she spent with Mom and Dad, catching fireflies out in the woods. Maybe she could do it again sometime. Mikey would love it. He and Casey would probably make a competition out of who could catch the most…

Just as she feels herself drifting off she hears Donnie’s voice at the edge of her consciousness.

“You know, I’m actually glad you came here tonight and trashed my lab,” He says candidly, the soft scrapes of the broom quieting.

Well, it’s not every day a girl hears that. It’s such an odd statement it catches her half-asleep brain off-guard. “Oh? Why’s that?” She yawns, lifting her heavy lids to look at him curiously, wondering if he’s trying to lead into a joke.

But he just smiles back at her with a quiet fondness, leaning on the broom and responding in all honesty, “Because I missed you.”

He doesn’t need to say anything else. The four words seem to encompass all the months of unspoken strain that’d formed between them, a growing chasm fueled by his self-doubts and her fears. How they both had let it get this far mystifies her, but April makes a silent vow never to let it happen again. She needs Donatello and he needs her, the rest of the world will just have to deal.

“Missed you too Donnie.” She murmurs back.

Out of the corner of her eye she watches the color deepen in his cheeks, his soft smile widening as he turns back to his task. The gentle swish, swish, swish of the broom resumes once more and April lets it lull her back into that gray state of almost-sleep.

The warmth nestled in her chest burns like a tended fire. Her eyes droop and her breaths slow.

She can’t remember the last time she’s felt contented enough to fall asleep, not since the invasion at least. Usually she just lays on her bed and tries and fails to meditate before collapsing from exhaustion and mental strain. Occasionally she’ll jolt awake from a nightmare, her fear addled mind unable to tell if it was hers or one of the guys’, not that it matters. Nightmares suck indiscriminately, no matter whose brain made it.

But as she lies there on the hay bales, the soft leather of Dad’s jacket pressed against her cheek, April revels in the peaceful stillness of her mind, feeling more secure than she has in weeks. Her thoughts reach out to brush the presence beside her, just as warm and contented, separate from her own, but no less welcome. Donatello’s thoughts and her own curl around each other, purple and gold, mingling in a familiar dance that only they know. Soon, April can’t tell which love is hers and which is his, but finds that she doesn’t really care.

And, for the first time since they’d come to the farmhouse, since she lost her home and her father, April slips into a peaceful, dreamless sleep, wrapped securely in the reassuring embrace of her best friend.

If you’ve gotten this far then thank you so much for reading my fic! I’m super nervous about it so please feel free to leave a comment. I just hope I did these two characters and their relationship justice. Apriltello is important to me and I’d love to write more for it in the future.

That said, hope everyone has a happy Valentine’s Day! <3

#apritello day 2017 #my fanfiction #tmnt fanfiction #apriltello #april o'neil #donatello hamato #takes place during the farmhouse arc #post-buried secrets #because I am eternally bitter about how April's character was handled in this arc #we learned so many things about her but we never actually got to see how SHE felt about it #also I wanted to explore how her psychic abilities affect her and her mental state #because she can't turn them off #and that must SUCK #April O Neil is such a strong character and this show does not deserve her #tmnt 2012

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