Chapter 1: Dad has bought a new car now, We're fine, no one's gonna catch us now
Chapter Text
It was his birthday.
Mikey woke up, excited and wriggling, because it was his birthday. And not just any birthday. His eighteenth birthday. He was an Adult now. He could buy cigarettes, loiter and pay his taxes! Or well...maybe not taxes. But he could do all those other things!
(Somewhere, a random accountant sneezed.)
Mikey hopped out of bed and rushed to brush his teeth, practically vibrating the whole way. He spat out quick and washed his mouth out with a viciousness that definitely didn't fit the activity and went to go find his socks before he even thought about going to find his pants.
Three minutes in, Mikey was jumping on one foot shoving his left sneaker on his right foot. Left on right foot Mikey rushed in the dark kitchen.
The lights were off. Mikey glanced around, thoroughly and utterly suspicious. And he only screeched with joy(horror) when everyone jumped out from the murky darkness and the lights flashed on.
—||—
Cake for breakfast. Party popper confetti in orange sodas. And thirteen big hugs from each of his family members. (Each. He got thirteen from each. Best day ever, what can he say? It was all pretty awesome.)
It was great.
But...little did he know. It would get even better.
—|| —
"...a sun festival?"
—|| —
Mikey peeked behind just to make sure he was by himself. Giggling to himself when he found that he was. He couldn't believe that worked. Just sneaking away? They were ninjas. All sneaky and the like. Mikey can't believe he managed to wiggle out of their sight.
Well, it was a festival and there was like, a million yokai walking around. So maybe he shouldn't have been that surprised.
And they shouldn't worry anyway. Mikey was eighteen now, he was a full blown adult and the greatest mystic ninja master to live. He could handle himself just fine. (And they had phones for a reason, duh.)
So Mikey wadded through the crowds, taking in the sights and sounds and excitements of just being by himself. Of doing this by himself. Everything was lit with bright yellows and oranges. Lanterns hung in rows above him and stalls were set up with barely even a inch of wiggle room between them. The various yokai were selling so many things. Mikey caught glimpse of sun-shaped donuts, golden hair accessories, milky glass quartz orbs, grilled meat on black obsidian skewers, crocheted dolls, bleached shirts and little trinkets that Mikey couldn't even begin to describe. Everything smelt like cardamon, dirt and cinnamon charcoal. The air was heavy but warm, Mikey pulled off his hoodie within minutes to tie it around his waist.
Mikey was sure he was going in circles but every stall he passed looked new, every trinket shinier then the last and every shirt print more and more creative. Mikey had some yokai money (curtesy of Draxum and various legally dubious processes) and even though he wanted to buy just about everything he passed, he refrained. Just in case he saw something really, really cool.
(Though under everything, Mikey couldn't help feel like he was being watched. With so many people it was hard to tell but...was he being followed too?)
Mikey talked to a few people, smiling and learning something new each time. He didn't know much about the festival but apparently yokai really liked the sun and moon, even though they didn't really have access to it unless you cloaked and went to the surface. Maybe they liked the sun and moon even more because of that. It certainly seemed like that case.
They celebrated each of them separately, and today was the sun festival. Apparently it had been going on for four days and would continue for another day or two. It was awesome.
Mikey had to wonder if they yokai vendors sold different things on different days. It would certainly make it more exciting.
Mikey wandered around. He didn't really have a destination in mind. He just wanted to see everything he could. He took just about a million pictures too. He knew for sure he wouldn't forget about this anytime soon but having photo and video proof could never hurt.
Mikey kept walking, kept wandering and eventually he made it to a sparser area. Less in the thick of it. There were less stalls and less people and the air wasn't as thick or heavy with lamp castoff. Mikey took a deep breath and noticed a bit of grass smell hanging in the air.
The ground beneath him and transitioned from stone bricks to more of a cobblestone with weeds growing out of the cracks sort of ground. He kicked up dust more often then not but at least he wasn't getting any in his eyes. Mikey kicked a couple rocks and watched them roll. Smiling at the tick-tick-tack noise they made when they bounced against the cobblestone.
Mikey kept walking, enjoying the white noise of people slowly fading into the background. He slipped his hands into his pockets and craned his neck to look at the sky. Or well, the crystal cavern that made up the sky.
Yokai were slowly being accepted in human society more and more. Yokai were renting apartments with humans and humans were buying groceries with yokai. It was really great to see everything meshing so well. Sure there were little spats but for the most part it was smooth sailing.
Maybe it helped that quite a bit of yokai were human law makers and influencers in disguises. They were your hot dog stand attendant. They were your lawyer. They were your babysitter. Yokai had been among humans in human disguises for a really long time and since they were your nice neighbor that raised chickens and gave you a carton of eggs every other week...well it made accepting the whole a lot easier.
(There were issues, there was always going to be issues but good outweighed the bad, and that's all that really mattered in the situation.)
It was good that things were working out. Mikey and his brothers could go out in public more, people—for the most part that is—were okay with them. It felt good to be accepted. To be, in some way, loved.
Cheesy but it didn't stop Mikey from feeling good about it.
Mikey was just about to launch another rock when he heard something.
"Hey! Kappa!"
Mikey blinked, and turned. Because it sounded like it was being addressed to him. And as far as he could see there weren't as many people around.
A crow-like yokai with streaked pink feathers and fun-sized wings fluttering out from her waist jogged up to him. She was wearing a bandana-tied tube top and a pair of shredded denim shorts. The numerous bracelets and ties around her wrists and ankles that clattered happily as she moved.
She stopped in front of him, a smile on her beak. "I love your top,"
"Uh, thanks!" Mikey recovered quickly, giving the yokai a bright smile. "I love your bracelets!"
She gave a little laugh and spun on her talons, jangling the jewelry. Her wings flapped and she smiled wider. "Thanks! I got them from my sister! I like how they make my feathers look."
Mikey nodded appreciatively. "They do look nice," He paused for a second, realizing he should probably introduce himself. "Michelangelo, but everyone calls me Mikey."
The yokai's eyes glittered. "Fiona Nightingale," She gestured lightly, looking wry. "I know I'm a corvid but great-great granddad was something of a poser and great-great grandmama was Rich capital 'R'."
(...o...kay?)
Mikey, a little bit confused, nodded. Not that he wasn't opposed to the talking, it was just a little sudden. "My family's a little weird too. My Dad's a rat and my other Dad's a goat and I have a sort of wine aunt/step mom who's a spider." Mikey explained loosely. He wanted to continue the conversation, even though it came out of nowhere.
The yokai—Fiona—cocked her head. "Oh wow, that's exciting," She paused and looked back at a group of yokai behind them, all talking loudly and gesturing playfully with each other. She turned back to him with a grin, eyes sparkling. "Hey! You wanna hang out? I know it's sorta out of nowhere but we're about to go get drinks and I think you should totally join us!"
Mikey blinked, thrown off. He glanced to the group and one of them waved at him. Mikey gave a half-hearted wave back before noticing Fiona's excited expression.
And...drinks?
"Oh, um, I can't drink any alcohol, I'm only eighteen," He informed.
Fiona's expression blanked and her head tilted a fraction. "Is that a family rule? You know the drinking age is sixteen, right?"
Mikey balked. "Sixteen??"
Fiona raised feathered brow, smirking. "Yeah, did you not know that? Dude," She looked at him, expression so earnest it might've been satire. "That is seriously sad."
Mikey felt his face warm. "Well, uh...it's not a family thing, its a...cultural thing?"
Fiona hm'd. "Huh, that's weird."
"It's not, it's weird that yokai can drink at sixteen." He countered.
She looked at him like he was the weird one. "Are you not a yokai?"
"Well—" Mikey faltered and then frowned, it's not that he was ashamed of his lab and mutant origins he was just...hesitant with the details. "It's complicated."
"Riiiiiiight, sure, complicated. Okay, I'll believe that," Fiona nodded along. "Okay then, Mr. Complicated, how would you like to come with us for drinks and you'll have a soda water?"
"Um..." Mikey, again, faltered. This is time was the words 'Stranger Danger' running through his mind. Mikey didn't know if going with her was the right option. But every time a reason to not go came forward another thought countered it. You have your phone. You're a superpowered super solider that's awesome at ninjitsu and has sick mystic powers, seriously. What could they do to you?
Mikey glanced at the yokai group and some of them were glancing curious, right back at him. And Fiona had enough excitement and eagerness to power thirteen nuclear warheads.
Mikey thought about it, chewing on his cheek. It couldn't be...bad, right? Mikey was pretty smart and observant, he'd notice if anything got weird. He's saved the world twice, if things got dicey or dangerous he could save himself from a couple of college students right? By the looks of them, they couldn't be older then him by a few years and even if they were twice or even three times his age? Well lets just say he had experience fighting people both three times his age and three times his height.
He'd be just fine. Mikey fished out his phone to make sure his location was on, and it was, before he turned back to Fiona. Who somehow smiled harder at the attention.
"Yeah sure," Mikey gave her a small smile in return. "But I'm only having soda water,"
Her beak stretched wider and her black eyes glittered. "Perfect."
—||—
Mikey's mind was soup. Slugging and swirling and sweltering. He felt hot and alarmingly sensitive. There was a pressure on his brain that made everything a giant, watery blur. His eyes pulsed and his heart whimpered, confused. Every noise that came out of him was garbled and slurred. Every thought wilted before it could even attempt to bloom and every twitch at movement was him grasping at straws.
Mikey groaned, feeling hot.
"—as that too much?"
"How should I know? Isn't he supposed be, I dunno, super-immune to everything?"
"More like too little. That amount would've put a kraken in the hospital, I'm surprised he's still even conscious."
Mikey squinted his eyes, the lights were too bright and every face around him was an indistinct smear. He tried to sit up and immediately crumpled back face first onto the table. He whined in confusion, his eyelashes fluttering. What was happening? Where was he? Why did he feel so weird? Where were his brothers?
Mikey's breath hitched and he whimpered, his stomach lurched sharply and he could taste pre-acid on his tongue. He was starting to feel sick.
"Is he gonna throw up?"
"Why are you asking me? You're the one training to be a pharmacist!"
"Pharmacist technician, they are two separate things."
"Okay, pharmacist technician. Still, shouldn't you know these things? You're the one that got it."
"Ladies, ladies, you're both ugly. Lets just move him before anyone notices."
Mikey curled tighter, nausea putting pressure on his guts and throat. He couldn't think and breathing felt like he was doing it through a wet rag. Everything felt terrible. Distant. Where were his brothers?
"Yeah okay,"
"Hm."
"I'll get the goose-truck,"
Mikey whined a little louder, tears pricking at his eyes. Another way of nausea washing over him. His hands and feet were cold. Bloodless maybe. (Were they always so cold?)
Where were his brothers? Where were his brothers? Where were his brothers? Where were his brothers? Where were his brothers? Wherewerehisbrotherswherewerehisbrotherswherewerehisbrotherswherewerehisbrotherswherewerehisbrotherswherewerehisbrotherswherewerehisbrotherswherewerehisbrotherswherewerehisbrotherswherewerehisbrotherswherewerehisbrotherswherewerehisbrotherswherewerehisbrotherswherewerehisbrotherswherewerehisbrotherswherewerehisbrothers—
Mikey felt arms haul him up and Mikey's knees buckled, unable to hold his weight. His head lulled and silent tears leaked from his eyes. His lips tasted like salt.
He was being moved but he couldn't do anything about it, he couldn't do anything about it, he couldn't—
Everything was fading in and out. He couldn't tell if he was going forward or back or left or right or—
Another wave nausea hit him and Mikey swallowed thickly, mouth dry. Everything was terrible. Everything was horrible—where—
Where were his brothers? What was happening to him? Why—
Why couldn't he think straight?
"He's crying."
"He'll be fine, drugs make people emotional."
"Not this one—"
Mikey's brain felt so heavy, so covered in static that he could barely grasp the words being said. His head lulled again as he was moved. He tried to look around, to see what was happening to him but it didn't really do much. Everything was too blurry and his brain to was too slush to understand it anyway.
"Watch his legs—"
Mikey was fully picked up and loaded in somewhere. A...car...maybe?
"Selene's got the room prepped."
"Perfect, one of you grabbed the receipt right?"
"Yup."
"You guys are awesome, seriously."
Mikey was settled somewhere and he tried to blink. He really, really did. But the nausea was just terrible and everything felt so out of place. It was hard to keep up. It was hard to try. Everything was so distorted and blurry and confusing that he could barely keep his breathing line, let alone parse together what the people around him were saying.
His eyes kept getting heavier and heavier and the questions in his mind somehow got louder and even more muddled as the seconds passed.
Where were his brothers? Where were his brothers? Where were his brothers? Where were his brothers? Where were his brothers? Where were his brothers?
Mikey couldn't move. He couldn't think. It was even hard to breathe.
Mikey reluctantly shut his eyes.
And the next time he opened them up, he was hogtied to a chair.
Chapter 2: You said something dumb again, she's mad, at least that's what they say
Notes:
Hi, things are a little crazy. I started up college again, classes are already crazy, I have work and a bunch of issues are popping up so um, yeah. It's uh, it's a lot but I'm here! :D
And Mikey's having a really bad time. So enjoy!
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Mikey woke with his arms tied behind his back and a gag in his mouth. Mikey's brow furrowed and he opened his eyes, squinting against the light in the room.
And he immediately yelped because someone was in face. The face smiled and Mikey's brain was swimming circle laps in whatever goop kept his brain from sloshing against his skull. Mikey grunted and blinked, trying to bring himself back to well...himself.
The face reared back to its body and Mikey finally remembered what had happened.
The bird yokai.
The jokes, the exchange, the laughing.
The drink.
They put something in his soda water.
Mikey's breath hitched and he tried to stand or escape or do anything but it didn't work. He breathed slowly and tried to calm his racing heart. It was fine, it was fine, it was fine. He'd be fine. These were, well they had to be reasonable people. They had to be. They just had to be.
"You sure took your sweet time, huh?" The corvid yokai—Fiona—remarked.
Mikey grunted again and tried to push the gag out of his mouth. It didn't work.
Fiona giggled and Mikey's brows twitched. Mikey glared, eye narrowed. He'd get out. He'd get out his rope and attack her or throw her through a wall or something. (There was fear, of course there was fear but he wouldn't underestimate them a second time.)
Fiona giggled again, light and airy and unconcerned. "Oh don't be like that. I doubt you would've come with us willingly."
Mikey still glared.
Fiona rolled her eyes. "Oh please."
Mikey squirmed and reached for the warmth in his core, for his Ninpo.
But was met with something cold.
Mikey's eyes shot wide, terror immediately crawling up his shell.
No, no, no, no, no, no, no. That didn't make any sense. His Ninpo wasn't gone. His Ninpo wasn't dead. That didn't happen. It just didn't.
Mikey reached for it again but was met with the same void where his Ninpo should've been. Don't panic Mikey. Everything is fine. It's not gone. It's not. There's no way it was. That sort of thing just didn't happen, that sort of thing just...didn't—no, there's no way that it. There's just no way.
Fiona watched his growing struggle with a smile. She waited another moment or two before she tapped over and fished the gag out of Mikey's mouth with a flourish. She watched him glittering eyes, her feather puffed up and her bracelets jangling every time she moved.
Mikey, as soon as the gag left his mouth, said: "What did you do to it?"
Fiona smiled blankly, like she didn't know what he was talking about. "What do mean?" She asked sweetly, her tone vanilla soft. It made Mikey sick.
Mikey breathing shuddered and bit his cheek, he tried to get out of the knots but that didn't work either. "What—my Ninpo!"
Fiona's smile dropped into something confused, like a puppy. "...is that another weird family thing?"
Mikey grit his teeth. "My—my Ninpo! My mystic mojo—my-my—" My family. My love. You took my love. How could you take my love?
"Ooooooh," Fiona nodded. "Your mystics, yeah, we got rid of them." She said pleasantly, like that didn't shatter his very psyche.
"W...what?" Mikey's uttered, every part of him suddenly cold.
Fiona nodded, unable to suppress her chittering laugh. "Fun huh?"
Mikey floundered. "W-wha—"
"Well, not really."
Mikey's head snapped to the new voice. It was a sort of...lizard with colorful frills all along their jaw and a fedora perched atop their scaley yellow-blue head.
The lizard yokai nodded casually. "We can't...get rid of someone's mystics. That's like...torture, or something."
Then what did you do to them? He wanted to ask but his mouth was glue shut by the cold in his fingers.
Luckily—or unluckily—the yokai lizard continued. "It's more like a...lock down on them. Just making them inaccessible."
"If we did it right." Another yokai, one that almost looked like a deer, added on.
The lizard yokai nodded. "If we did it right, yeah. Sure it's like...permanently detrimental to the core but," The yokai shrugged. "It's not like you're going to need them."
"Wh..." Mikey swallowed, he felt cold and heavy and why couldn't he break through the ropes yet, why couldn't he—"...why won't I need them?"
"Because we just need your body babes," Fiona answered, eerily chipper. "All that mystics would just get in the way."
"In...in the way of what?" Mikey asked, voice thin. (Think positive, think positive, think positive, think positive, think positive—)
"Of being the vessel of Amaterasu of course!"
Mikey breathed, he did, he really, really did, he tried— "And...who's—"
"Amaterasu?" Fiona cut in. "She's the great holy one!"
"The one who will rain stars down from the heavens."
"Goddess of the Sun."
"A total baddie."
"Heat death of the universe type stuff."
Every answer was given cheerfully and matter of factly. Like there wasn't any other way to think about it.
Mikey kept trying to get his ropes loose because for some reason his super strength wasn't working. (He kept reaching for his mystics but he kept coming up dry and kept wanted to puke from terror because of it.)
"That's um, great!" Mikey smiled awkwardly. "That's um...but what does that have to do with me?"
"Weeeell, we tried a bunch of other yokai and it just wasn't working and we really needed someone to prove that our club is still viable and—"
"Yeah they were gonna shut us down if we didn't have someone at the end of the day—"
"And Fiona's got this nifty trinket that lets her see mystical compatibility—"
"It belonged to my grandmama."
"And you just so happened to fit the bill!"
"And we didn't even have to interact with those other kappa, you left all on your own. Which made it a whole lot more convenient."
Mikey was reeling. They were following him? They knew he snuck away from his brothers? They grabbed him just...just because??
"But-but I'm not...compatible with a...goddess? I'm just...Mikey, me." He was also made in a lab and engineered to destroy humanity or whatever but he wasn't going to tell them that.
Fiona looked at Mikey like he was dumb. "No, you're super compatible. Like, super."
Mikey frowned, and tried the ropes again. "I...can you just let me go?"
The whole group glanced around at each other and Mikey became more and more anxious as the second passed.
"...alright, Morris can you untie him?" Fiona instructed, expression blank. (Mikey had a bad feeling about it.)
The deer yokai nodded slowly, a weird expression on his face.
Mikey shot to his feet as soon as the ropes dropped to the floor. Sure the world spun for a moment and his legs felt like grape jello, but hey. He wasn't tied up anymore.
Mikey smiled in appreciation. "Thanks um...Morris."
The yokai nodded, clipped, expression still weird.
Fiona gestured to a door on the other side of the room. "Just go through there, the mystics leak should wear off after you leave. Give it thirty minutes or so."
...oh that was good to know. Mikey almost collapsed with relief, glad that this whole debacle was over.
"Thank you," He said sincerely.
"Of course," Fiona replied, eyes wide and portraying a cold nothing.
Mikey frowned, his intuition starting to paw incessantly at him. This was fine, this was fine, this was fine. They were letting him go. This is good. And, and his Ninpo would come back and he'd be all good. Everything would be fine.
Mikey made his way over to the door and only briefly wondered why there was such a heavy duty lock on the outside before he opened it.
He barely had a second to breathe before they pushed him into the closet and slammed the door.
—||—
Mikey's eyes shot wide as he heard the door slam closed behind him. He quickly realized there was nothing in here and that they had lied to him. It was a closet. It wasn't the exit. There was no hallway to freedom or even a window to climb through. It was barely wide as he was tall. It didn't even had the decency of leg room. It was a closet. They put him in a closet.
They tricked him into going into a closet.
'Click'
He whirled around and jiggled the door knob, his heart being wildly in his chest. It wouldn't budge. The door knob wouldn't budge. They had locked the door. Mikey swallowed thickly, something crawling around in his stomach and nesting all throughout his throat.
Mikey slowed his breathing and put on a shaky smile.
"H-hey guys? You—uh, you locked the door, I-I'm sure you didn't mean to—" Not to mention they lied about it being the exit. "I won't be mad, I know you guys like...totally kidnapped me and all but, uh. Can you let me out please, my brothers are gonna really start worrying if I don't...answer any...phone...calls..." Mikey trailed off. Of course, his phone. He can't believe he actually forgot he had a phone.
Mikey scrambled for his pocket.
"Sorry, we really can't have you leaving after we went through all that trouble." One of them (Morris?) said.
A chorus of 'yeah's and 'mhm's were muffled but heard through door. Mikey's gut clenched. He miss-typed his password twice trying to open it.
"And hey," Another of other 'club' members pipped up. "Don't worry too much, we'll be back around seven-ish tomorrow and we'll bring take-out, you like orange chicken?"
Mikey wet his lips and fumbled for his phone contacts. "Um, I...yeah," Mikey cleared his throat, still smiling shakily. (Maybe to himself, maybe to the 'club' members on the other side of the door. He didn't really know which.) "I like orange chicken."
"Nice, we weren't sure if we were gonna get Thai or Chinese but—"
"Chinese is better."
"Uh, sure that."
Mikey was barely paying attention. He clicked on Raph's contact. It rang. Once, twice. Three times.
There was a little more back a forth before: "Anyway, we'll bring some food tomorrow, there should be a couple water bottles down by your feet. Selene has ballroom tomorrow, so they won't be there. But, the rest of us will be."
Raph didn't pick up, Raph didn't pick up.
Mikey's breathing went wobblily and he tried Leo's. He glanced at the door and moved a hand to jiggle the door knob. It rattled and didn't do much else under the pressure he gave it. Mikey's chest went tight.
"—yeah, all that too."
Another chorus of 'yeah's and 'yup's and 'mhm's floated around, muffled but unmistakable. Mikey grit his teeth as Leo's contact went to voicemail as well. Mikey flailed for Donnie's and tried the door again.
"L-look guys, I know you like...think I'm a god or whatever but I'm really not, I-I'm just a guy!" Mikey tried. He was frazzled, breath coming in too fast. His hands shook and he could feel his heart beating through the back of his throat. "You, you don't have to keep me in here, we can...we can just hang out...like friends."
They weren't friends. Friends don't lie. Friends don't drug each other. Friends don't lock each other in closets.
"Look man, I don't know what to tell you, you're the vessel for our eternal savior and beloved Amaterasu, Goddess of the Sun and The Stars that Rain From the Heavens. It's pretty cut and dry."
Donnie. Didn't. Answer.
"Mikey."
Mikey felt cold.
Fiona voice was excited but firm all the same. "Being in a closet isn't so bad, I go in closets all the time! Besides it's only going to be like, twelve hours. We have to make sure you don't leave, it was hard enough tracking you down in the first place! Finding another proper vessel for Amaterasu would take ages."
Mikey breathing was shallow and he tried April's number. He tried Barry's. He tried Dad's. He tried his brothers' numbers all over again. But nobody was answering. No matter how many times he called them, no matter how many texts, nobody answered.
(He felt small. Mikey felt very, very small. And something delicate in him cracked under the pressure and trembled under the betrayal.)
"So you just sit tight, we'll be back before you know it!" Fiona voice smiled, like she was reassuring a dog that she'd actually come back from work and not just leave forever. (But Mikey wasn't a dog. He was a whole person!)
"Bye Mikey!"
"It was good meeting you."
"Hm."
"See you tomorrow."
And many other such goodbyes were heard. Mikey panicked so hard he almost dropped his phone. He pounded against the door (not too hard) and jostled the knob, trembling despite himself. "Wait! Don't-" Mikey's voice cracked. "Don't leave! Pl...please don't leave."
Even though they were terrible people. Even though they lied to him. Even though they drugged him. Even though they locked in a goddamn closet. He didn't want to be alone. Mikey didn't know if he could handle being alone.
Mikey heard the footsteps slowly getting farther and farther away and his heart lurched. "N-no, look, I'm sorry guys—I-I'm sorry—" He didn't know what he did. He didn't know what he did. He didn't— "Please don't leave, please don't..." Mikey's voice caught and he shuddered.
But his pleas, his begging seemed to fall on deaf ears. Because their voices where just as sympathetic and warm as they were before but it was pretty obvious they had no intention of letting him out of the closet.
"We're real sorry, honest! But a lot of us have homework to get to, we'll be back tomorrow."
"Gotta feed my roommate's cat."
"It's hair-day."
"Yeah, homework."
But such platitudes were empty. They were reasons sure, but to Mikey they felt like excuses.
Mikey's eyes burned and he listened desperately as he heard the final footstep walk away and the distant click of the door as it closed. Like the lid of a coffin or the screw on top sealing the fate on jar of writhing beetles.
The ornate box turtle listened for a beat, then two, then three. He shook, he trembled and felt his heart pound with erratic terror behind his eyes and wedged between his throat. With a sinking realization, Mikey realized they were gone. They were all gone and they had locked him in a closet.
Mikey swallowed thickly and tried the door again. No luck. He choked on something wet and sunk to the floor, knees to his chest.
As tears rolled down his cheeks Mikey tried to regulate his breathing.
In for five, out for eight. In for five, out for eight. In for five, out for eight. In for five, out for eight. In for five, out for eight. In for five, out for eight. In for five, out for eight. In for five, out for eight. In for five out for eight. In for five, out for—
Mikey tried calling his family again. Frantically going through each one like methodically bent clockwork. Raph, Leo, Donnie, April, Barry, Dad, the saved number for Run of the Mill.
They rang, once, twice, three times before going to voice mail. Every. Single. Time.
In for five, out for eight wasn't working. In for five, out for eight wasn't working—
Mikey was shaken. He felt like something, someone had scrapped out all of his insides with a spoon, leaving a raw, twitching mess behind. He tried to reason. To rationalize. They weren't answering because they were busy. Or there phones were dead. Yes. Yes that had to be it. They wouldn't not answer, would they?
Mikey brought his knees closer and his face into them.
It would be fine. It would be fine. It would be fine. It would be fine. It would be—
His brothers would come. They would break down the door and they would all hug and Mikey would never have to be left alone in a dark closet ever again.
He wouldn't...
He...
Mikey shuddered, he took a deep breath and he shuddered. He turned his phone again, the light burning into his retinas. It was 8:02pm. He unlocked his phone and tried calling his family again. Like last time, nobody answered. His heart sunk a little deeper and a new batch of tears welled up and over. His cheeks felt hot and his hands were cold, staticky somewhere deep under the skin of his palms. His teeth were itchy.
But it was fine, it was fine, it was fine, it was fine, it was fine it was fine it was fine it was fine it was fine—
Mikey tried breathing again. In for five, out for eight. He kept going, focusing on the rising and falling of his chest. He hoped it was helping. God he hoped it was helping.
(His heart was loud. The organ in his chest was so goddamn loud. It was overpowering red beating into his skull. A horrible beast, a horrible monolithic pressure that squeezed and squeezed and squeezed and squeezed—and panic reared it's ugly head and sneered venom black thoughts—
It was too much, it was too much, it was—)
(It was fine, it was fine, it was fine. Mikey was calm, he could be calm. He would be calm.)
(Mikey...)
(...)
His breathing was coming a little slower but his hands wouldn't stop buzzing and the tears weren't stopping. He rubbed at them with his sleeve, sniffing pathetically and a fresh wave of tears came anyway for his troubles. Mikey couldn't help the whine that came out of him.
This was stupid, this was stupid, this was so stupid—
Mikey twisted around to see and try the door knob again. It barely even budged. He pushed hard with his hands. No luck. Mikey shakily got his feet, and pushed against the door with his whole weight. It didn't even creak.
Mikey's breath hitched and he didn't push so much as he slammed this time. All he got was a bruised shoulder for his efforts. His breath hitched again and his shoulders hiked. He mutter a small 'ow' and felt terrifyingly helpless.
Why couldn't he do this? He breaks regular doors if turns the knobs too hard. He's broken their sink before just by gripping the sides too hard while brushing his teeth. He's thrown villains three times his sizes. And with the help of his mystic weapons, he's thrown fishing boats, he's thrown skyscrapers. So why? Why couldn't he open this stupid door. Why couldn't he—
It didn't make any sense. Why didn't it make any sense?
Why him? Why him? Why—
Why kidnap him? Why couldn't they have taken literally anyone else—?
In for five, out for eight. In for five, out for eight. In for five, out for eight. In for five, out for eight—
His brothers were coming. They were. They had to be. They wouldn't leave him. They wouldn't. They loved him and he loved them. They would smash the door into a million piece and everything would be okay. Everything would be okay. It all had to be okay. Mikey needed it to be okay. He needed—
In for five, out for eight. In for five, out for eight. In for five, out for eight, in for five out for eight—
Mikey squeezed his eyes shut and complained something helpless. Echoing like clear water and tap inside and out.
He felt stuffy, nose clogged and nostrils flared. He rubbed at his cheeks again, the hoodie fabric the only nice thing in the situation. The turtle sniffed wetly and took a deep breath. In for five, out for eight. In for five, out for eight. In for five, out for eight. In for five, out for eight.
Mikey fished out his phone again and tried calling his family for the nth time. The very core of him shaking with each and every voicemail each and every tense, shaking phone call went to. He sent texts. Fingers aching at how fast he was typing each and everyone of them. And each and everyone sent him spiraling further.
Fruitsalad:
leo
leo
leo
please ive be kidnped plase
Nothing. Absolutely nothing. Raph's contact yielded nothing as well.
Sirhugsalot:
raph raph
pleaes
help
THEY LOCKED ME IN A CLOSET
He sent probably twenty. Waiting, watching, hoping for those live-saving thinking dots to appear. Everything was delivered but nothing was being read. What was happening? What was happening? Why wasn't anyone answering their phones—why—
Were they ignoring him? Why—
Smartiesinajar:
donnie
dee
you have trakers rite? can oyu check them pls?
ive been kidnaped they wana scarfice me or smthing
plese
pls answer
please
plse
please
Nothing, nothing, nothing, nothing—
Sirhugsalot:
raf pls
Smartiesinajar:
dee
pls plese
i rly need help
please ansewr
Fruitsalad:
leo?
Mikey choked. He choked on tears and desperation and goddamn fear. He called them, over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over—
Nobody was answering.
Nobody was answering.
Why wasn't anybody answering? Why wasn't—?
Mikey couldn't breathe. Mikey couldn't—
In for five, out for eight wasn't working. In for five, out for eight wasn't working. In for five, out for eight wasn't working—why wasn't it working—
Mikey crashed to the floor, curling up, gripping his mask and heaving wet, ugly sobs. He gasped and choked and he couldn't breathe. He felt like he was being flayed alive. Roasted and skewered and choked with hot coals and smoke. He couldn't breathe fiber glass, he couldn't breathe smoke— he twitched and shook and sobbed and sobbed and sobbed and sobbed and sobbed and sobbed—
Everything was terrible. Everything was horrible. Everything was—
He couldn't breathe, he couldn't breathe, he couldn't breathe—
Why wasn't anybody answering him? Why wasn't anybody picking up their phones? Why wasn't anybody even looking at their text messages? Why weren't they—
Was it him? Was he the problem? Is that why they weren't answering? Or—or even picking up their phones? Did they just...not like him? Did they actually hate him? Did his brothers really—
No. No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no—that didn't make any sense. They—they loved him. They were going to smash the door into a million-billion pieces and-and-and and and and and and—
But then why weren't they answering? Why weren't they—?
And hug him and love him and make everything okay again—
Why. Weren't. They. Answering? Why—
He couldn't breathe, he couldn't breathe, he couldn't—
Mikey gasped and shuddered and scalding hot tears racked blistering scars down his face. Icy hot and torturously cold. Mikey gripped his mask in lieu of hair and gagged on his own saliva. Everything hurt. Everything hurt, everything hurt, everything hurt, everything hurt—
Everything.
Hurt.
He.
Couldn't.
Breathe.
Mikey.
Couldn't.
Breathe.
He gasped and shuddered and burned and burned and burned and burned—
He choked and gagged and retched. Searing hot bile came out, filling his nose with the horrible, pungent odor. It splattered on the ground and mixed with the puddle of tears. It soiled his hoodie and dribbled off his chin.
Mikey wheezed and his shins hurt from kneeling so long. The puddle stank something foul but Mikey couldn't even move. He was so useless he couldn't even get out his own pile of sick.
Mikey keened helplessly, calling out for family that wasn't even there. He cried and sobbed and hoped that somebody, anyone would hear. That anyone would hear anything and open the door. That anyone would help.
Please please please please please please please please please please please please please...
...please. Please. Help him.
Please.
—||—
Mikey sort of floated in and out of himself for a while. He didn't know how long he sat, curled over his own filth, but eventually he shuffled up right and eased himself against the door. Breathing shallowly but steadily. He took to staring at the wall. Even though there wasn't much to see. It was pretty dark in the closet.
...
There were grains in the wood. Well, from what he could see anyway. (Wasn't there always grains in wood? Isn't that what made wood, wood?) The grains went in a sort of swirling pattern, going in and around each other. Mikey mapped them with drowsed eyes and wondered if they would change shape if he stared long enough. Maybe if he didn't move his eyes, not even for an inch or even a second, they would finally curl a little more. But...
They never did.
...
Mikey couldn't really smell the puke anymore. He wasn't sure if he'd gotten used to it or if it just sort of faded into the background. If he moved his foot two inches to the right his sneaker would get ruined, or at the very least stained. It was probably dry now. The puke that is. Crusted over. Gross. Maybe even grosser then before. Was puke grosser dry or wet?
...wet, probably.
...
Mikey took a breath and let it out. He did it again, and then did it a couple more times after that. It felt good. To breathe that is.
...
The wood grains were the same pattern. They hadn't changed. Not yet anyway. Maybe if he stared long enough they would. Eventually. The light coming from under the door had clicked off a long time ago, taking a lot of Mikey's own visibility with it. But he could still see. Hazy outlines and actual details if he squinted hard enough. That's what he did. Stared long and hard and squinty at the wood grains. Memorizing their shapes and forms. How they moved in and out of one another. How...wood like they were. And if they ever changed. The pattern hadn't changed.
But maybe if he stared long enough they would.
...
Mikey stared at the grains and swayed a little. Maybe he trying to self-soothe, maybe he was trying to bring feeling back into limbs. He didn't know. Either way, he still did it. It was painstaking work, to sway from side to side. Reality was a slight buzz just beyond the horizon, something he couldn't quite touch or feel. Just know. Just acknowledge, just idly wonder if it would ever come back. His thoughts were slow and breakneck fast at the same time. Still. Too sharp. Prickly in the ways bees or wasps or needles were. Piercing but never slicing. Hurting but never really harming. Reality was a few chapters away and Mikey couldn't seem to turn any pages.
...
He swayed from side to side. The turtle scrapped that last bits of energy he had to do it. The motion was barely even there and Mikey couldn't dreg up any feelings of pride or hurt or hope or wonder or fear. He couldn't. He just...couldn't feel it. Couldn't really feel anything except the slight buzz of reality in his peripheral. Mikey swayed back and forth.
Moving his muscles, any muscle at all, was Sisyphean. It was all he could handle at the moment. Swaying from side to side, back and forth and stare at the wood grains. Memorizing their patterns and wondering if they would change if he stared long enough.
...
Time was weird. He couldn't tell if it was passing or not. Logically, he knew that it was but something about the idea of anything happening at all seemed quaint and ultimately meaningless. He knew that time existed but could it really be real if just...he couldn't feel it? If he couldn't feel the minutes turning the seconds over sour or see the sun moving just beyond the curtains? Was time really real if none of that was happening? If none of that was felt? Seen, smelt, or even grazed with pale finger tips? Was it even there? Was it even real in the first place?
There were no curtains and there was no sun. No windows. No actual light. Just a slight haze coming from under the door, emanating from a signal light that told you the fire alarm charm was active and working.
Mikey swayed side to side and wondered if time was passing. Everything moved lethargically, hand over syrup and hand under fuzz. Nothing seemed real. His thoughts churned like butter and spoiled like milk. Nothing was going anywhere and anywhere was doing nothing. Time was water in his cupped hands, fingers splayed and palms domed. It was all spilling onto the floor. Every second, every minute, every hour. All of it, everything—it was all spilling onto the floor.
If reality was a slight buzz just out of reach and just out of sound, then time was the thing that fell and filled the cracks. It rolled out into the crevices of his mind and dribbled out through his ears. Reality itched its tiny little fingers against the insides of Mikey's skull and teased a single, sharp hitched breath out of him before the air evened out again. Shallow but steady. He stared at the wood grain and time dribbled out through his ears and spilled all over the floor.
Mikey swayed from side to side. Wondering if he could scoop up the dribble that spilled through the cracks.
—||—
Mikey didn't know how long it had been. He didn't know how he'd been sitting there. Staring at the wood grain and wondering if things would ever be real again.
Things became real. Not completely, not absolutely but they became real enough. They became real enough for him to blink and rub the crust out from his eyes. They became real enough for him to breathe a little deeper and a little more deliberately. Everything became a little clearer. Not better, no. Not better by any means but clearer nonetheless.
Mikey swallowed, mouth parched. He was tired. Bone-deep exhausted. He didn't know how doing nothing could be so exhausting, but somehow it was.
Slowly, painstakingly slowly Mikey stretched, first hands and then his toes. Popping his neck and rolling his shoulders. His muscles ached, even though he hadn't really be doing anything.
Mikey had to use the wall to stand up. His legs shook and his feet were definitely asleep. Mikey took a couple minutes to kick the tingles out of them.
Once satisfied that they were sufficiently untingled, he took another deep breath for himself. His ribs creaked and his shell felt heavy. Mikey's tongue was sandpaper dry and he grimaced. He had a vague memory of one of the 'club' members mentioning they left water in with him.
(He didn't dwell on the thought of them too much. He was too tired and he didn't feel like crying again.)
Mikey felt around until he found them. He picked one up and cracked the lid. There was a flicker of relief when he heard the crack. Knowing that meant that it didn't have anything in it. (Probably.)
Mikey drank. The water soothed his throat, and overall felt really good. He drank until he was full and screwed the lid back on. He held onto the water bottle, just having it in his hands helped.
Mikey closed his eyes and leaned against the door. He ran his fingernails all along the textured edges of the bottle, just to feel something. Just to know something. And when that wasn't enough, he crunched the plastic and rattled the bottle hard and fast just to hear the remain water swish and splash like it's water-y life depended on it.
Mikey breathed slowly and tried not to let his mind wander too far, too deep. Mikey was in a terrible situation but that didn't mean he wanted to feel more terrible.
So listening to water swish and splash it was.
Mikey let his head fall against the wall with a thunk and put the rest his weight against the wall, his angled feet and something physics related was the only thing keeping him from total, floor centered collapse. His legs trembled and the box turtle scrunched his toes inside his sneakers. Focusing on doing the two activities at the same time made it a little easier not to think. Not to wonder. Not to cry. (Mikey didn't know if he could handle crying again.)
Mikey breathed deeply and focused on the sounds and sensations that came with scrunch his toes and violently rattling the water bottle back and forth.
Maybe he would fall asleep like this. Standing up right and tired beyond belief.
...
He hoped not.
Notes:
I'll try to update next week but things have been a little insane, so we'll see. :>
(Also there's a mystical reason why none of his brothers aren't getting his messages/texts they aren't ignoring him.)
Chapter 3: Mum and daddy aren't in love, that's fine, I'll settle for two birthdays
Notes:
I'M BACK AGAIN! AND GUESS WHAT! I HAVE A CLASS SCHEDULED AT 7:30AM! AND I'M CONSIDERING GETTING AN ENERGY DRINK ADDICTION WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!! :DDDDDDD
Have fuuuuun :P
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Mikey was blinking blearily at the wood grain on the ceiling—he'd migrated to the floor again at some point—when he heard voices. Happy, excited ones.
At first he didn't believe it. Voices? In the infinite darkness and nothingness that had slowly begun to consume him? That didn't make any sense. None at all.
His mind was slow moving. A creeping, lethargic pace that didn't really do anything and didn't really go anywhere. His thoughts ran in circles and that always somehow ended up with him staring back at that wood grain. His fingers had gone numb and so had his toes. His cheeks were tacky with long dried tears and his mouth was a dessert again. He hadn't drunken anymore water since the first time he cracked open the water bottle.
The cluster of voices grew louder and it took Mikey an embarrassingly long time to realize they were getting closer to the door. He barely had time to do anything remotely close to composing himself before he heard the latch click open and the door following suit.
Light flooded in and Mikey slammed his eyes shut. His shoulders hiked to his ears and the light came pink-brown through his closed eyelids. It burned. The light burned.
The air coming from the open door felt so good. It smelt so good. So good. It smelt so much better then the bile and caked red fear that ate away at him.
Was he free? Was he actually free? Were they letting him go? God he hoped they were letting him go—
"Oh. Oh man, dude," The voice was feminine and Mikey couldn't place it immediately. "Not be that girl but you look like shit."
He certainly felt like shit.
The air in Mikey's lungs jumbled and clattered around like rat skulls being shaken inside a glass jar. The box turtle swallowed thickly and tried to will the terribleness away. He peeled open his eyelids and blinked at the stupid bright intrusion. He gave himself another second or two of blinks before he looked up. Oh. It was...Fiona. The 'club' leader.
Her top crow feathers were done up into a high pony tail and she was wearing an ensemble that could only be described as jazzercise inspired. A white, cropped tank top flowed loose and casual from her shoulders and a pair of barbie-pink yoga pants clung to her legs. She still had her bracelets from when he first meet her.
(Mikey's breath hitched.)
Mikey broke eye contact to look at the 'members' behind her. It was same cast of colorful characters expect one of them as missing. (Someone mentioned something about...ballroom, right?)
Mikey worked his mouth but nothing came out except a pathetic croak.
Fiona winced, she took a step and hovered awkwardly. "Uh here," She hauled Mikey up by his armpits, Mikey wobbled and instinctively grabbed onto the yokai. Her eyebrows (which were just off colored feathers) furrowed, displeased. She easily pulled away from him, taking a graceful step back. Mikey wobbled as a result but he didn't fall. Which was pretty lucky all things considered.
Mikey breathed and swayed and did not fall. This was fine, this was fine, this was fine—
"You..." Mikey wet his lips, eyes darting wildly between all of them. He couldn't believe, he didn't know why—in all the darkness, in all the time didn't exist, in all the wood grain burned into his memory—he didn't think they would come back for him. Somewhere along the way he didn't think they'd open the door. "You came back, you...you opened the door." His voice sounded terrible but he couldn't really focus on it. Not really.
"Uh, yeah. We said we would." Lackey number 2 said. "Hey are you like, okay?" The deer yokai looked genuinely concerned.
...was he okay? Objectively, the answer was no. No he was not okay. He was shaking and thirsty and tired and he'd puked from sheer stress and fear alone. And all of that wasn't okay. He was still feeling it too. The buzzing of reality. Of non reality—nipping and remembering at the edges of his mind, tickling his brain and squeezing tears out through the cracks. The dryness in his throat that felt like an ever pervading force, lapping at the roof of his mouth and marching like soldiers on his tongue. Pitchforks and torches in hand.
The feeling of dread, of absolute and overwhelming betrayal that every single one of his text messages went through but not a single one of them was read. (He was still feeling that one the most, to be honest.)
"I..." Was he okay? No. Would he say that? ...no. "I...I'm okay."
Lackey 2 looked doubtful.
Another of the members walked over to look into the closet, sniffing subtly. They grimaced, their snout curled from the smell. "Morris," They said, their attention still on the open closet. "You know some good cleaning charms, right?"
"Yeah, my mum taught me a few before I came back for sophomore year, I guess she heard about the bathrooms."
The whole group of college students collectively shuddered. Mikey wanted to ask what happened with the bathrooms.
"You want me too...?" Morris(?) offered. The other by the open closet nodded, expression grim. Morris(??) mirrored the nod and walked over to the closet. Mikey turned to watched but he was grabbed by one of the others. His breath hitched and memory of smeared color and drugged paralysis flashed through his mind.
He was sat down and a box of Chinese was shoved in front of him. Mikey felt dizzy, his internal compass and clock were spinning way out of range and ability. Everything inside of him simultaneously screaming and cowering and sobbing choke spittle and mouthfuls of gargled glass. Twisting and spitting and bleeding out all over the floor—
The yokai around him all settled down with their own boxes of takeout, speaking in groups of two's or three's, and chowing down.
Mikey swallowed and his eyes slowly moved to box in front of him. It smelled amazing.
He was so hungry.
He wanted to eat it so badly. His stomach clawed its ways through his liver and was attempting to crawl up his throat. His heart clenched and his hands were shaking. His eyes burned from the light and unshed, frustrated tears poked white-hot spears through the flesh of his eyelids. The air was stifling and yet more refreshing then any under-the-door breeze could be. The lights ate away at his tiny-black pupils and he could taste the food around him through his nose alone. His mouth was a paradox of watering from the smell and being dirt dry from exhaustive tears and not drinking anything for hours. It was all mixing up to be a very, all around horrible feeling.
He wanted to eat whatever was in front of him so badly. He didn't even care what it was. He just wanted it in his mouth.
Mikey's fingers twitched and his stomach swooped terribly. There was a traitorous thought. One that strangled its way closer and barked something fiercely dark.
What did they put in it?
It wasn't did they put anything in it. It was what did they put in it.
It was an objective truth that filled Mikey with anxiety and unease. What did they put in it? (But...they didn't right? He wanted to believe they wouldn't. They were nice people, sure they kidnapped him and drugged and locked him in a closet but...but they were nice, right? They had let him out and, and now they were feeding him. So...so they had to be good, right? They...he...)
They...they didn't put anything in it.
(How do you know that?)
They didn't put anything in it. They didn't. The drugging him thing was a one time thing.
(Was it?)
Yes.
(Really? What have they done to prove that? What have they done to earn that trust from you?)
He—they wouldn't. They...
...
(Wouldn't they?)
...he...
He didn't know. Maybe. They...he...
Mikey didn't know. He didn't understand and everything was flipped backwards and upside-down and never right side up and he was nauseous just from thinking about it. The conflicting thoughts and feelings, the want for them to be good but at the same knowing they slipped something in his drink the first time around...? He didn't know what to do about it. And he certainly didn't know how to feel about it.
Mikey stared down at the box, his stomach twisting with hunger and nervous, fearful tension. After a hesitantly scared second, the box turtle picked up the plastic fork provided to him. He knew some of them were watching him. A weird, distorted sense of performance anxiety clawed its way to fore front of his mind and Mikey gnawed on his tongue and only barely stopped when he tasted blood.
The anxiety was trying to climb out through the tiny holes where his ears were.
(He was sure of it. They had to be. They just had to be—)
He didn't...he wouldn't look up. He wouldn't look or glance and he certainly wouldn't acknowledge it. Mikey gripped the plastic and heard it creak. He eased his grip. He knew breaking the fork wouldn't help his jitter crying brain anymore then it would help ease his stomach from trying to strangle him from the depths of his guts. So he eased his grip and tried not to shatter the plastic fork before he got half way through the meal.
Mikey took a deep breath and slipped the the top folds free from the notches and let the box open.
It was orange chicken and fried rice.
His stomach did a little flip and Mikey screwed his eyes shut to prevent any stray liquids from coming out. He didn't know why he wanted to cry so badly. He didn't if it was because it smelt so good or because it seemed to so nice in comparison to the absolute hell he was subjugated to for twelve hours.
(There was still the worry. The fear. That maybe, just maybe, they had slipped something into this too.)
Mikey shook as he ate. It was cheap food but the flavors were rich against the dessert in his mouth. Somebody handed him a coke and Mikey drank. The fizz somewhat upset his stomach but he didn't care. Not really. It tasted good and filled his belly and that's all he really cared about at the moment.
There was conversation happening around him but he didn't care.
All he cared about was that he had food to eat.
Notes:
Big Tehe moment for real.
Chapter 4: Devil Town is colder in the summertime, I'll lose my mind at least another thousand times, hold my hand tight, we'll make it another night
Notes:
WE'RE BACK BITCHES!
BITCHES WE ARE BACK!
(If you get that I'll kiss you on the mouth sloppy style in a very platonic and friendly fashion)
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
The circle was drawn in chalk. Intricate circles and reoccurring patterns all copied and hodgepodged together from six different tomes.
Mikey stood watching, occasionally glancing towards what he was pretty sure the exit to the room. (But he also knew they were watching him, and his legs still felt like jelly, so it wasn't like he could make a run for it.)
Fiona was at the forefront, hopping delicately between the lines and occasionally bend over to make a quick adjustments—add dot there, elongate a slash through there—before snapping up again. Tapping between each stroke of chalk and then bending over to do it again.
If Mikey had more then half a mind right then he'd say she looked like ballerina with the movements she was doing. But he didn't have half a mind at the moment so he just frowned and let his gut clench as he saw all the lines coming together.
It didn't take long for them to finish.
Fiona straightened with a smile. "Alrighty, time to summon a goddess."
"You think I can film it?"
"This looks awesome."
"You think we could turn this in for an assignment? Mr. Bones'end takes rituals as extra credit, right?"
Mikey listened to them babble on about one thing or another but all he could feel was dread's ice fingers trailing frost-brittle lines down his shell. His gut twisted into snarled knots and his palms sweat like there was no tomorrow. What was going to happen to him? What were they going to do to him?
One of them suddenly came behind him and went to grab his shoulders. Mikey flinched two inches before contact and danced away. (Every one was watching him. Everyone was watching him.)
"H-hey, um," He started, trying to placate whatever was going to happen. "We...we don't have to...do all of this right? I'm sure...there's an...easier way to summon a goddess, right? Does she take phone calls or...or is that a work week, um, day only type thing?"
One of the club members—the one with the deer antlers and wet nose—looked apologetic. "Yeeeah, sorry. We tried that, no dice. And it turns out this is the phone call, wild huh?"
A lump formed in Mikey's throat and his smile faltered. "O-oh, that...sucks." He tried to inch towards the exit.
The deer yokai nodded, expression exasperated. "You're telling me."
"Hey, y'know t-there was this thing I heard about—" Mikey kept yapping, trying to keep their attention on him but not on him. Maybe he could keep them interested enough to somehow not notice he was trying to get to the door.
But it didn't. Work.
One them—the burly one with night-blue scales and glowing red eyes—stopped him. He stared down at him.
Mikey laughed nervously and tried to find a way around him.
"You're not trying to leave are you?" The bigger yokai asked, eyes narrow.
"Wh—what, ha ha, no that...that'd be crazy." Mikey brushed off, cooling sweat making his neck tingle unpleasantly. He tried to remember the yokai's name. "...Uh, Tre..vor..?"
The yokai's expression darkened and Mikey faltered. It...wasn't Trevor was it?
"Uh, Taylor, Travis, Tanner, Timmy...Trey...ton? "Mikey rambled off, with each missed name the yokai's eyes hardened and his mouth snarled back further. Mikey sweat dropped.
Mikey's eyes darted around, looking for openings until—
There!
Mikey used his Rad Ninja Skills to swoop around the yokai and he bruised his shoulder with how hard he slammed into the door. His hands latched around the cool brass and he rattled so hard the screws should be popping out. But—but it wasn't opening. His heart plummeted to his feet and Mikey's breath caught. He rattled harder, his heart pounding and pounding and pounding and pounding and pounding—
Why wasn't it opening? Why wasn't it opening? Why wasn't it opening—
It wasn't opening it wasn't opening it wasn't opening it wasn't opening it wasn't opening it wasn't opening it wasn't opening it wasn't opening it wasn't opening why wasn't it opening—?
(Mikey was cold all over. Bit lip and bloodied teeth. His nerves were frayed. Shocked, buzzing with desperate energy and a manic, trembling mantra. Please please please please please please just open please I don't know if I can handle any more of this I don't know—
His chest felt too tight and he couldn't get any air in. Strangled and collapsed lungs. Because they must be right? That's the only reason he couldn't breathe, right? His lungs were dying. He was dying. He was dying, he was dying, he was dying, he was dying, he was dying, he was dying—)
Mikey wheezed something sharp and he trembled. Tears clogged his throat and his breath hitched. He shuddered and tried to breathe and everything shuddered and he choked on his on spit and his breath hitched again. And again and again and again and again and again and again and again and again and again and again and again and again and again and again and again and again and again—
Mikey choked and cried and choked—
"Hey, hey, give the guy some space."
Mikey whined.
"Um,"
Mikey's lungs shuddered and he felt cold. So. So cold.
Hands touched his shoulder, light and hesitant. Mikey flinched but barely half a second later he was hugging whoever the hands belonged to. He buried his head into their chest and just hugged.
(He barely cared who they were. How they had hurt him and if they were going to hurt him again. He needed this. He needed—)
Someone was talking above him, maybe they were talking to him, maybe they were talking to someone else. It didn't matter. Not really. Not right now. Not to him.
Hands, just as light and just as hesitant, touched down on his clothed shell, rubbing small comforting circles. Mikey sobbed harder.
He wanted to go home. He wanted to go home. He wanted to go home—
He just wanted to see his brothers again. He just wanted to hug Raph and ramble to Leo and paint little designs on Donnie's tech with the soft shell pointing out all the new and improved cool bits. He just wanted to eat leftover straight out of the tupperware at 3am. He just wanted to convince Dad to let him watch something just a tad too mature for him and cover his eyes when the sex scenes came up or when someone was slashed through the neck. He just wanted to walk through the rain with April, a shared umbrella between the two of them and a pack of double stuffed Oreos primed for munching in his pseudo sister's backpack.
He just wanted to go to bed in his own bed. He wanted to eat his own food. He wanted to get hugs from his own family.
(He just wanted to feel his Ninpo again. He wanted to feel mystics coursing through his veins and tingling through his fingertips. Giggling and excited to wreck havoc. It was locked, stagnant. Trapped. Whatever they had done to him had trapped his mystics.)
Mikey cried. He choked, he sobbed, he cried. He kept crying until he couldn't anymore. Until his fingers vibrated and shook with non-reality and his cheeks were tacky dry. Until he shuddered and settled, only able to muster up enough energy to feel faded and unnerved how quickly he fallen into feeling nothing.
(Or whatever was closest to it anyway.)
He sniffed once.
And then went quiet.
(He felt terrible.)
(He didn't feel anything.)
(Mikey didn't know what was wrong with him.)
"—kay?"
Mikey blinked slow. It took him a moment to answer. He nodded, a little jerky but it did the job.
(He felt tired.)
(He didn't feel anything.)
Mikey—even though a part of him plead and begged and just wanted to be held— untangled himself from the other, already mourning the loss of contact.
Mikey sniffed miserably and barely even glanced up. His cheeks warmed.
"...sorry." The box turtle mumbled, fiddling with his sleeves. (He probably needed deodorant at this point.)
(Maybe they'd give it to him if he asked nicely.)
The yokai, the deer one, waved him off. "All good, you uh, looked like you needed it." He looked a bit confused and something in Mikey wilted further.
Mikey nodded numbly and let his eyes flick to the door. A couple second of awkward silence lilted until he said something. The question burned away at him. He gnawed at his cheek and scrunched his toes against the roof of his sneakers and again, sniffed wetly and miserably. Tears still clung to his throat and stuck to his eyelashes. And he was still shaking.
(He didn't think he'd ever stopped in the first place.)
"Can..." Mikey's voice was small. Trapped, quivering and hoping. Mikey was goddamn hoping. "...can you let me go?" He was working himself up again. Despite his best interests and desperate floundering attempts, he was getting worked up again. Riled and going and trembling. Heart beating and apathy being squandered foolishly with anything and everything that resembled hope and want and need.
Need, need, goddamn need—
The deer yokai was put off, Mikey could tell. "Um—"
"Sorry."
Mikey jumped. He had completely forgotten about the corvid yokai.
(Why was his heart beating so fast? Why did the mere sight of her send his heart beating and his thoughts scrambling in a panic? Why, why, why, why, why, since when was she so scary—?)
(Why did he want to break her jaw on the corner of a ceramic countertop?)
Fiona tapped over, legs arcing elegantly. She looked properly apologetic. (If her expression could even be called that.)
"I know you want to but we really need a vessel for Amaterasu," Fiona hands ghosted over Mikey's shoulders and Mikey's heart—his hope his hope his hope— crashed down to pieces somewhere between his feet. "It won't be that bad, you'll be a god, that's pretty great right?" She smiled.
Mikey twitched. ( Flinched. He flinched. His mouth was stuck. Stuck, stuck, stuck—his throat was dry and everything was terrible. Everything was terrible, why did everything feel so terrible—)
But he managed. "Wh—" Mikey trembled, breathless. "No." He stressed, unable to do much else.
How could he explain how terrible it would be? Losing own personhood to something beyond your compression? Beyond your understanding? Beyond human? Not to mention it sounded painful as hell.
(He wanted to go home, he wanted to go home, he just wanted to go home—)
Fiona frowned, beak pursed. She looked unhappy with his answer. (Something in Mikey curled black and wilted further.)
"Hm," The corvid parsed through something in her mind for a moment before smiling again. "Well, I think you'll like it and if it doesn't work we'll...send you home I guess."
(Her tone was off. Blank at the end. Like she was lying.)
Mikey's chest fluttered. "Wh—wait, really? You'll send me home?"
"Um," Again, Fiona mulled something over. "Sure, I guess. Just, get in the circle." She said and not so gently nudged him towards the epicenter of the chalk array. Mikey stumbled, feeling hesitant.
"I..." He stalled, of course he stalled. (Because he just had to hope it didn't work.) "You'll let me go home, just...just after this?"
Fiona looked at him, blank. "Sure." She chirped, tone as blank as her expression.
Mikey swallowed, nodding haltingly. His eyes flickered to the array and dragged over the lines. He didn't know what any of them meant.
(He believed them. Right? He—they had be telling the truth. They had to be good people. They just had to be.)
Mikey took slow steps to the center of the circle, stomach doing flips and strangling itself with both his kidneys. Finally at the center, he paused and looked up. Unsure.
"Um...okay, what...what now?" Mikey asked.
Fiona smiled. "Nothing, just sit there and look pretty and we'll do the rest."
Mikey, again, hesitantly nodded. "...okay."
(Nothing was going to happen right? Nothing—nothing was going to happen right?)
(...what would happen if something did happen? Would...)
(Would it hurt?)
The group of yokai around him all gathered around, withdrawing small notebooks from their pockets. They stood in equal parts distance from each other around the circle. As the second passed Mikey grew more and more nervous but kept repeating 'they'll let me go if I do this, they'll let me go if I do this, they'll let me go if I do this—' in attempts to calm the racing, fluttering organ in his chest.
Mikey waited with bated breath as they began to chant in something old. Latin maybe. The runes and arrayric patterns lit up and Mikey's breath hitched. He watched as the glow reached its climax. His markings flickered and an uncomfortable shiver went through him. But other then that...
Nothing.
Mikey blinked and glanced around as the light from the runes died out. His own markings dulled and went quiet quick. The chanting stopped and the yokai around him muttered to each other, confused.
Mikey almost collapsed with relief. It didn't work. Whatever it was didn't work. Thank god.
"So...so I can go now?" Mikey was already inching towards the door.
But Fiona's words stopped him dead. Dead in tracks and dead in soul. Spitting on his shattered pieces of hope and mocking him for ever thinking he could leave. Ever escape. Ever go home again.
"Hm...no, sorry." She didn't sound sorry. Not. At. All.
Fiona wasn't going to let him go. They lied. Again. They all lied again.
(Maybe they weren't good people. Maybe they just wanted to hurt him. Maybe Mikey was letting them.)
(He didn't want to hurt. He just...)
He just wanted to go home.
But Fiona. Wouldn't let him.
"Sorry, man. Business is business, y'know?"
No. He didn't know.
Notes:
haha, look at that.
He's crying :>
Chapter 5: I still get a little scared of something new, but I feel a little safer when I'm with you, falling doesn't feel so bad when I know you've fallen this way too
Chapter Text
Mikey hit the closet door hard and crumpled to his knees harder. A sob wedged itself somewhere behind his eyes and somewhere tangled in his throat. He swallowed and breathed and strained his ears to hear the voices outside the door.
"I don't know where we went wrong."
"Was it the verbiage?"
"How would I know? You're the vocab major."
"If you're going to get my major so grossly wrong then just don't mention it."
"But...you are a vocab major? Or something like that?"
A sigh. "I...guess."
Mikey tried to calm his breathing, he blinked away at his tears and rubbed at them sleeve. He sniffed loudly and tried to compose the wobbly thing that whittled out of his throat.
"H-hey...um," Mikey swallowed and kept going before his composure suffocated. "I...I know you guys think you ha-have to, to do this but," Mikey bit his lip and swallowed again, thicker and more terrible this time around. "But you really don't have to, I...I have to go home, I..." He trailed off, the words getting caught.
(...failure.)
There was silence. Thirty seconds of it. Mikey counted. (He wished he hadn't.)
One of the 'club' members spoke up, Mikey couldn't remember if they had a name or not. "...I know this probably sucks but—"
And then another one. "But we have to keep you in there when we're not here."
Mikey gapped and terror was shoved down his throat. He scrambled, eyes darting. "N-no! No you don't, I can—I—" Shame. His insides were scooped out and shame was dribbled in through the cracks and he was choking and throwing up because of it. "I can just...sit...? In the room? It's, it's not a big deal," It was. It was a big deal. "If you guys really want me to um, stay. Then, then I'll just stay in the room? E-easy right?"
More silence. This one was only seven seconds.
"Sorry," It sucked even more because they actually sounded sorry. "But the closet is part of the Payload Lea—ow! Fi? What was that for?!"
Mikey breathed. Heavy and slow. (Panicked and ashamed.)
"Because Nivek! You can't just tell him about that! The whole point is he doesn't know how it works!"
"...well he can hear you saying that. Any smart person would start asking questions."
"W—" A mildly frustrated sputter. "Well just don't tell him about that! It'll give away the game!"
Silence. Four seconds.
"...right. The game."
More silence. Fourteen. Seconds.
Mikey shuddered and wanted to try again. (He wanted to get out. Please, please, he just wanted to be let out. He didn't want to be in his own sick and filth and horrific panic again. He didn't want to choke so hard he threw up and then stare at the wood grain until his eyeballs fell out of his skull. He didn't want to be in this fucking closet again.)
"L-look, it's, it's really dark in here, right? And, and cramped. It's just..." Horrible, terrible, shoved down his throat and licked up his own throw up and drank his own piss and tears and dragged his finger nails until they bled and popped out of the chewed cuticles and sobbed. "B...bad, it's...it's pretty bad in here."
Someone laughed and Mikey's heart sank. "Yeah, that's on purpose."
"W-" Mikey couldn't feel his fingers. "What?"
"No, don't freak him out. Well, the dark's on purpose but everything else...I mean, it can't be that bad, right?"
Mikey shot to his feet, knees wobbly but locking in the white hot that crackled through him. He barely noticed that he did it at all.
He didn't know where the anger came from. Maybe it was the fact that he had soiled himself somewhere along in those twelve hours. Maybe it was the fact that he fat plum scared of every second of his existence that had ticked past in how...however long. Maybe it was the fact that none of his calls were going through and this bitch had the audacity to say it couldn't be that bad? Who did she think was? Who—?
"You—!" Mikey ground his teeth and felt hot. " 'It can't be that bad?' It can't be that BAD? I can't SEE in here! I don't have any food or entertainment or wiggle room! I can barely stand up! It's dark and terrible and I keep throwing up and it—" Mikey heaved, tears gathered in bunches and he just couldn't breathe. "I-it's—" Terror was crawling back. Memories and repressed feeling and panic panic panic panic panic panic panic panic panic panic panic panic panic panic—
Please please please please no no no no no don't send him back don't make him go back he doesn't want to it's scary he can't handle it please please it's terrible and horrible and bad bad bad bad bad bad bad bad bad bad badbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadsosososososososbad—
He just wanted Raphie and Dee and LeeLee and Apple and Dad—
Please please please please PLEASE—
"I..." Mikey lungs shuddered with every hitch, knuckles white and his words slurring in though his nose and tapering out, dead and gasping, in the back of his clogged, fluttering throat. "...I..." He shook, he shook, he shook, why couldn't he stop shaking? He choked on another sob and pushed it down. He sniffed wetly and hit his palm against the wood again. Over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over andoverandoverandoverandoverandoverandoverandoverandoverandoverandoverandoverandoverandoverandoverandoverandoverandoverandoverandoverandoverandoverandover—
"P—puh-please," Mikey whined, snot dribbling past his lips and his eyesight only got blurrier. The inside of his mouth tasted like copper. "I—I canhhan—can't—d-do it ah—again. Pleeahhlse, I-I—"
"—I dunno, he seems really upset."
"It'll be fine. It's just...him getting used to it, is all."
Mikey hit a couple more times, each hit getting weaker and weaker until his arms just dropped to his side. He lifted his head and his that against the door too.
"I'm pretty sure it's not supposed to be that bad—"
"He's fine, Morris, we're coming up on our hour. Did you turn in the cleaning form?"
His head went thunk and then went thunk again. A headache sparked behind his eyes and his face was dry and soaked and terrible. He sobbed and grieved and just wanted to get out. He just wanted to see his family again. He just wanted—
Mikey hit his head over and over and over and over and over—
His knees buckled and he let himself slid to the floor, face dragging on wood. He hoped he wouldn't get any splinters. He listened but only because maybe, just maybe, he could get himself to shut up that way.
"...yeah, yeah I did."
"Good, now lets leave, he's bumming me out."
"...I guess."
Mikey's eyes shot open, a miserable, distressed sound leaping from his throat. He shoved himself against the door, manic energy anew.
"No no no no no no no no no no n-uhnononononono—" Mikey shuddered and shook his head frantically, even though nobody was there to see. Nobody was there to see him trembling and sobbing and clawing at the door and bawling his eyes out and begging begging begging begging begging begging begging begging begging begging begging begging— "N-nuh-noooo, no no, p-pluh-please d-don't, don't go—nnhh, no, no no no no no—" His words devolved into wheezing slurs as he choked back his own bile and misery. He didn't do very well.
He pushed against the door and pushed and pushed and pushed and pushed and pleaded and begged and wanted wanted wanted wanted wanted wanted wanted—
Let him out please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please just let him out please—
Why wasn't it opening? Why wasn't the door opening? Why wasn't—
Why—
He can't he can't he can't he can't he can't he can't he can't he can't he can't he can't he can't he can't he can't he can't he can't he can't he can't he can't he can't he can't he can't—
No no no no no no no no no no not again please anything but this please—
PLEASE—
Mikey hiccupped and gagged and choked and sobbed and raked his nails down the wood and swallowed back bile and spit and terror and fear and fear and fear and fear and fear and fear and fear and fear and hit against the wood and banged his head against the door and whined and pleaded and begged and wanted and scrambled and groveled and whined and whined and whined and whined and whined and hit hit hit hit hit hit hit hit hit hit hit hit hit—
(Was his head bleeding? It sure felt like it.)
Mikey was shaking so hard he could barely moved but somehow he managed to curl into himself, shins down, head between his calves, shell curved up. His fingertips buzzed. His head pulsed angrily and it was definitely bleeding now.
He listened, desperate. For anything, anything at all.
But it was quiet on the other side of the door.
And something delicate in Mikey, cracked even further.
—||—
His phone had died at some point.
Mikey started sobbing all over again.
He threw up twice.
And then tore a nail clawing at the door.
—||—
He flinched when the door clicked open.
(Some part of him heard the voices. Some part of him heard them getting closer, chatting quietly but he couldn't react. Not all that much anyway.)
The door gave a small creak when it swung open, light spilled in like liquid gold and Mikey's breath caught. It was nice and good and pleasant and whole and perfect and like fresh cut grass and home cooked meals and warm blankets and soft tv static and cuddles and face kisses and giggling and painting nails and reading comics together and throwing flour at each other while you baked and and and and and and and and and and and—
Mikey choked on something that reached forward and begged. He squeezed his eyes shut an pulled his body closer inward. He wanted he wanted he wanted he wanted he wanted he wanted but he couldn't have—
Why couldn't he have—
He just wanted—
He—
N—
N-no, please—he—
"Um, he's not...dead...? Is he?"
Somebody gave him a light kick. Mikey whimpered and pulled closer inward still.
"No, just...sad, I guess."
"Man, I'd be sad if someone locked me in a closet."
"Come on dude, you know it's apart of the whole...thing."
"I mean...yeah but...is this really the best way to go about it?"
"You know what Fiona said—"
Mikey shook his head, and squeezed his eyes tighter shut. He didn't want to see them. He didn't want to see pain and fear and panic and worry and anxiety and unease and agony and absolute tragedy. He didn't know if he could do it. He didn't know if he could do it again, he didn't want to do it again, please don't make him do it again—
"Well...pull him out, we've gotta try the circle again."
"And do food stuff."
"Right, that too."
Mikey suddenly couldn't breathe. He was scrambling and begging and groveling and hoping and fearing and choking on glass and broken ribs and sticky syrup and wet cotton and stuffy hot air and heavy pillows and gross dirt and horrific screeching and bleeding bleeding bleeding bleeding bleeding bleeding bleeding bleeding bleeding bleeding bleeding bleeding—
Somebody grabbed him by the hood and Mikey kicked.
He choked and sobbed and begged begged begged begged—please no no no no no don't don't don't don't don't leave me alone please please let me go please please I'll do anything please please please—
He didn't know what he was begging for. He didn't know. He just knew that he just wanted to stop feeling so scared—
Mikey ended up in the middle of a drawn circle. His hoodie was hot and eyesight was blurry and all he could smell was his own sick and sweat and fear and those goddamn roman candles and—
He tore up his hands trying to get out of the circle but someone, the big one, with night-blue skin and gold eyes, shoved him back. Mikey yelped and clawed at the hands that held him. He didn't he didn't he didn't he didn't he didn't he didn't want to—
"Stop movin—ah! Someone get a rope!"
Mikey's wrists burned and they tied him up, hands behind his back and tied to his feet. Mikey sniveled into the ground and tears rolled down his cheeks. He knew he was a big crier but he'd probably cried more in the last day or so then he had his whole miserable eighteen years of existence. It was loud, his teeth clenched so hard he swore he heard his jaw pop. Mikey heaved and tried to calm down.
He didn't want this he didn't want this he didn't want this he didn't want this he didn't want this he didn't want this he didn't want this he didn't want this he didn't want this he didn't want this he didn't want this he didn't want this he didn't want this he didn't—
They were talking around him. Of course they were fucking talking.
Mikey couldn't breathe, he couldn't breathe, he couldn't breathe, he couldn't—
His brain was coming out of his ears and his insides were boiling and empty and scrapped clean and his eyeballs were buzzing and there was glass under his skin and all his bones were grinding against each other and his nerves were burning and alight and freezing stiff and his lungs were being sucked dry and his stomach was raking its way up his throat and his tongue felt fat and he couldn't breathe through the tears and betrayal and hornets and fear and spiders and snakes and the dark and the wood grain and panic panic panic panic and dread and anxiety and no no no no no no no no no no please no please and and and and and it was all under his skin and stuffed through his eyes and shoved down his throat and rattling around on his insides and wheezing cut and dribbling through his nose and slick slimy insides and scrabbling for any hint of good and joy and peace and not just horrific terrible terrible terrible terrible terrible terrible—
Stupid stupid stupid stupid stupid why did he keep believing them they kept leaving and leaving and leaving and it was bad bad bad bad bad bad—
Mikey wheezed and shuddered and it was all bad bad bad bad bad bad bad bad bad bad bad bad bad bad bad bad bad bad bad bad bad—
They chanted and Mikey sobbed. The circle lit up and Mikey howled as something sharp and mystic and not his and stop stop stop stop its bad bad bad make it stop please please please please—flickered through him. Mikey was shaking but its not that he'd started, its just that he'd never stopped.
He was shaking and bawling his eyes out and he couldn't breathe through the tears because everything was just bad bad bad bad bad bad bad bad—
The feeling, the feeling the feeling—it came and built and Mikey shuddered and coughed out a chunk of blood and saliva. His eyes squeezed shut as the feeling tore at his stomach and swore bloody vengeance on his lungs and clawed and raked picked apart and-
And and and and and and—
And then it left.
Mikey's body tensed in and out and in and out and in and out and in and out and in and out and—
Mikey was shaking but the cries were ripped out of him.
He...he didn't know how to feel. It felt like someone had yanked all his guts out and then rearranged them when putting them back in. Everything was wrong, everything was mismatched and wrong—
"...did it work?"
"I...don't think so?"
"Titan, why does Fiona have to be gone the day things almost seem to work."
"Bad luck I guess."
"You think its the Leak?"
"I...maybe??"
Mikey whimpered and craned his neck down and to the side. He didn't want to be here anymore he didn't want to be here anymore he didn't want to be here anymore he didn't want to be here anymore he didn't want to be here anymore he didn't want to be here anymore he didn't want to be here anymore he didn't want to be here anymore he just wanted to go home—
The ground was rough and cold and bumpy and all his insides were squirming and wriggling and icky and gross and he could feel every drop of sweat and every pump of blood and he felt so hot and tired and terrible-
"We still gotta feed him."
"I've got it."
The ropes were gone and Mikey didn't move. He lulled his head and barely even cracked his eyes open.
He didn't want to be here he didn't want to be here he didn't want to be here he didn't want to be here he didn't want to be here he didn't want to be here he didn't want to be here—
Food was forced down his throat and his gag reflex threatened him with pre-acid. He keened and his fingers twitched. He didn't want to be here he didn't want to be here he didn't want to be here he didn't want to be here he didn't want to be here he didn't want to be here he didn't want to be here he didn't want to be here he didn't want to be here he didn't want to be here he didn't want to be here he didn't want to be here he didn't want to be here he didn't want-
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he didn't want to be here he didn't want to be here he didn't want to be here he didn't want to be here he didn't want to be here he didn't want to be here he didn't want to be here he didn't want to be here he didn't want to be here he didn't want to be here he didn't want to be here he didn't want to be here he didn't want to be here he didn't want to be here he didn't want to be here he didn't want to be here he didn't want to be here he didn't want to be here he didn't want to be here he didn't want to be here he didn't want to be here he didn't want to be here he didn't want to be here he didn't want to be here he didn't want to be here he didn't want to be here he didn't want to be here he didn't want to be here he didn't want to be here he didn't want to be here he didn't want to be here he didn't want to be here he didn't want to be here he didn't want to be here he didn't want to be here he didn't want to be here
he didn't want to be here he didn't want to be here he didn't want to be here he didn't want to be here he didn't want to be here he didn't want to be here he didn't want to be here he didn't want to be here he didn't want to be here he didn't want to be here he didn't want to be here he didn't want to be here he didn't want to be here he didn't want to be here he didn't want to be here he didn't want to be here he didn't want to be here he didn't want to be here he didn't want to be here he didn't want to be here he didn't want to be here he didn't want to be here he didn't want to be here he didn't want to be here he didn't want to be here he didn't want to be here he didn't want to be here he didn't want to be here he didn't want to be here he didn't want to be here he didn't want to be here he didn't want to be here he didn't want to be here he didn't want to be here he didn't want to be here he didn't want to be here
he didn't want to be here he didn't want to be here he didn't want to be here he didn't want to be here he didn't want to be here he didn't want to be here he didn't want to be here he didn't want to be here he didn't want to be here he didn't want to be here he didn't want to be here he didn't want to be here he didn't want to be here he didn't want to be here he didn't want to be here he didn't want to be here he didn't want to be here he didn't want to be here he didn't want to be here he didn't want to be here he didn't want to be here he didn't want to be here he didn't want to be here he didn't want to be here he didn't want to be here he didn't want to be here he didn't want to be here he didn't want to be here he didn't want to be here he didn't want to be here he didn't want to be here he didn't want to be here he didn't want to be here he didn't want to be here he didn't want to be here he didn't want to be here
he didn't want to be here he didn't want to be here he didn't want to be here he didn't want to be here he didn't want to be here he didn't want to be here he didn't want to be here he didn't want to be here he didn't want to be here he didn't want to be here he didn't want to be here he didn't want to be here he didn't want to be here he didn't want to be here he didn't want to be here he didn't want to be here he didn't want to be here he didn't want to be here he didn't want to be here he didn't want to be here
he didn't want to be here he didn't want to be here he didn't want to be here he didn't want to be here he didn't want to be here he didn't want to be here he didn't want to be here he didn't want to be here he didn't want to be here he didn't want to be here he didn't want to be here he didn't want to be here he didn't want to be here he didn't want to be here he didn't want to be here he didn't want to be here he didn't want to be here he didn't want to be here he didn't want to be here he didn't want to be here he didn't want to be here he didn't want to be here he didn't want to be here he didn't want to be here
he didn't want to be here he didn't want to be here he didn't want to be here he didn't want to be here he didn't want to be here he didn't want to be here he didn't want to be here he didn't want to be here he didn't want to be here he didn't want to be here he didn't want to be here he didn't want to be here he didn't 'ant to be 're he 'didn 'ant to b're he 'didn'ant to b're he didnt w'nt' to'b'ere he didnt he didnt he didnt he didnt he didnt he didnt he didn't he didnt he didnt he didnt he didnt he didnthedidnthedidnthedidnthedidnthedidnthedidnthedidnthedidhedidnthedidnthedidnthedidnthedidnthedididnt he didn't-
Mikey found himself staring at wood grains again.
Mikey wanted to die.
Notes:
Man I love using Magic as an explanation for things. I can get away with anything! :D
Chapter 6: We're all dead in Devil Town, That's fine, 'cause nothing's gonna scare us now, We're all in our dressing gowns, mine's white and stripey, Yours is green and brown
Notes:
HOME STRETCH FOLKS :D
>:D
y o u k n o w w h a t t h a t m e a n s d o n ' t y o u?
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Time was passing through his fingers. It was nail biting, teeth wrenching, blood spitting, eye buzzing, aching pulling reaching retching scrambling raving shoving thumbs into his eye socket and pushing till his eyeballs popped out and scrapping through your insides and pulling and pulling and pulling until everything was wet and wriggling on the floor and everything was soaked and rotting and squirming with maggots and broken teeth and shattered ribs and yanked out bloodied chunks of hair and the garbled voice that screamed into the nothing as your tongue sat limb and pink in your hands, blood between your thighs and staining your used to be white jeans.
Everything was terrible terrible terrible terrible bad bad and bad and bad. Mikey was smoking on nothing and feeling woozy and not there and terrible. He wanted to reach inside the surely there gapping hole in his guts and pull out his kidneys and liver and lungs and rib bones and arrange them all in a neat circle. He'd cough and bleed out and cry and sob and then he'd collapse and die and the worms would eat him-
There was nothing in here. There was nothing in here. There was nothing in here—
Every glance ended back up with the wood grain and even when he was pulled out he was still staring at the wood grain. They chanted and lit up their cigarettes and laughed and Mikey was still staring at the wood grain. For all the nothing and all for the nothing he was still staring at the wood grain. The college students ribbed at each other and talked about assignments and weird professors and fed him Chinese take out and pushed already cracked open orange sodas into his hands and Mikey ate and drank and he was still staring at the wood grain. They pushed him into the circle of deliberately drawn shapes and patterns and arrays and Mikey bit down so hard that he was sure if he opened his mouth his tongue would fall out a bloodied stump on to the ground.
It came, it rushed, it tore through him. Mystics and magic and no no no no no god no please make it stop please I don't know if I can take it anymore please please PLEASE—
Every moment hurt, every second hurt. He didn't like it. He wanted it to stop. He didn't want to be here he didn't want to be here he didn't what to be here he didn't want—
It hurt and it bleed and made him double over screaming and crying and begging—
But whatever they were trying to do wasn't working and it was hurting and they kept trying and saying it would be okay and that it wasn't that bad and they felt bad for doing it and they would stop once they figured it out for sure and he would be okay if just held out for just one more round but it was never just one more round it was always more then just the one there was always more then just the one there was always more then just the one—
They fed him and held him and shushed him and rubbed his shell and shoved him back in the closet and didn't let him leave and he hated them and wanted them back he wanted to die he wanted them to just open the door again—
Please please please come back please I don't want to be alone anymore it's scary and dark and I'm still bleeding please please please I hate it here please just open the door I can't do it anymore I can't do it anymore I can't do it anymore I can't do it anymore please please please come back please come back come back come back come back please please please please—
Mikey would claw at the door and yank at the door knob and punch until his knuckles bleed and claw and claw and claw and claw and his fists and and nails and knuckles were bleeding and his hands were scrubbed raw and then they would come back Morris would give him a hug and Fiona would have them cleaned his tore nails and put little bandages on them and give him little dollops of healing potion that made it not hurt so bad and Mikey would hug them and blubber his thanks and choke down his own hatred and fear and no no no no no no please don't touch me it hurt I can't do it anymore it's scary scary scary and it hurts—
And they would put him back in the circle and he would scream—
Nothing was right anymore. Mikey didn't know where he started and the pain ended. Everything was wrong wrong wrong and wrong and he didn't know what to do anymore and everything was scary scary scary all the time and he was always crying crying crying and he clawed at the door and all he could see was wood grains—
Mikey couldn't count. He couldn't. There wasn't time, it wasn't real, it wasn't wasn't wasn't, there were no numbers, he clawed marks into the ground with his blood and ragged nails to count. One two three four five six seven eight nine ten eleven—
But when ever he came back they were gone gone gone gone like they were never there in the first place and Mikey kept carving carving carving but they were always gone when he came back and he didn't know what to do anymore and they were always gone and he was always staring at the wood grain again and he just couldn't do it anymore and he was screaming himself hoarse and scrambling and desperate and sobbing until every ounce of liquid that was squeezed out of him like a dirty dish rag—
He'd curl up into a tiny tiny tiny ball and shake and shake and shake and whimper and mumble and want want want want want he wanted it to stop he want someone to open the door again he wanted out out out out out out it was scary and he couldn't do it anymore and it was horrifying and he didn't want to be alone anymore and he didn't want to see the wood grain anymore because it hurt—
It hurt it hurt it hurt it hurt it hurt it hurt it hurt it hurt it hurt it hurt it hurt it hurt it hurt he just wanted it to stop hurting so much—
He wanted out he wanted he wanted out he wanted out he wanted out he wanted out he wanted out he wanted out he wanted out he wanted out he wanted out he wanted out he wanted out he wanted out he wanted out he wanted out he wanted out he wanted he wanted out he wanted out he wanted out he wanted out he wanted out he wanted out he wanted out he wanted out he wanted out he wanted out he wanted out he wanted he wanted out he wanted out he wanted out he wanted out he wanted out he wanted out he wanted out he wanted out he wanted out he wanted out he wanted out he wanted he wanted out he wanted out he wanted out he wanted out he wanted out he wanted out he wanted out he wanted out he wanted out he wanted out he wanted out he wanted he wanted out he wanted out he wanted out he wanted out he wanted out he wanted out he wanted out he wanted out he wanted out he wanted out he wanted out he wanted he wanted out he wanted out he wanted out he wanted out he wanted out he wanted out he wanted out he wanted out he wanted out he wanted out he wanted out he wanted he wanted out he wanted out he wanted out he wanted out he wanted out he wanted out he wanted out he wanted out he wanted out he wanted out he wanted out he wanted he wanted out he wanted out he wanted out he wanted out he wanted out he wanted out he wanted out he wanted out he wanted out he wanted out he wanted out he wanted—
But he wasn't out-
And it was hurting hurting hurting and he couldn't do it anymore—
He...
...he wanted Raphie...
But it was dark.
And Raph wasn't here.
And all Mikey had was the wood grains.
—||—
Mikey leaned against the door, eyes closed, barely even in his body. He was waiting for the hitch and unlatch that sent him spiraling into elation and heavy, desperate sobs. Because the latch meant out. The latch meant he didn't have to look at the wood grains anymore.
He was leaning and heard voices. Ones that he was very familiar with at this point.
"Titan, I really don't know what we're doing wrong."
"I still think it's the verbiage."
"It's not the verbiage, we've got that down, I know that."
"Then what is it? The circle? The Payload Leak?"
"...it might be the Payload Leak."
"Shit, what do we do if it is?"
"I...I don't know, Fiona, what do you think?"
"It's not the Payload Leak, it's perfect remember?"
"I mean...it could not be perfect? There's always that chance?"
"No, it's perfect, I made sure."
"No but what if—"
Mikey was leaning and listening and hoping. He wanted out he wanted out he wanted out please let him out he just wanted out—
The voices were bickering, talking but they weren't getting closer. Mikey leaned against the door, begging begging begging begging begging for one of them to unlatch the latch and finally let him out and let him eat and hug and cry and blubber his thanks to just one of them—
But they were weren't getting closer why weren't they getting closer why weren't they—
"...titan's ass."
"What? What's wrong?"
"It's a new moon, we can't do it today."
"...shit."
"...yeah."
"What do we do then?"
"Come back tomorrow, I guess."
"What about well, y'know."
"...he'll be fine, I'm sure. It's only a day, that's a lot faster then the usual breaks between sessions."
"...you're sure? Um, he hasn't been looking too hot recently."
"Of course he'll be fine, he saved the world or something. I'm sure he can last a few more hours in there."
"...if you're sure."
"I am."
"...right. You're the boss Fiona."
"Hehe! You know it!"
That wasn't right. They weren't supposed to leave, why were they leaving why were they leaving THEY CAN'T LEAVE NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO—
Don't leave don't leave don't leave don't leave don't leave don't leave don't leave don't leave don't leave don't leave don't leave don't leave don't leave don't leave don't leave don't leave don't don't leave don't leave don't leave don't leave don't leave please please please he couldn't do it anymore he just wanted to let out don't leave don't leave he didn't he didn't he didn't he didn't he didn't he didn't he didn't he didn't he didn't he didn't he didn't he didn't he didn't—
He pounded he pounded he pounded he pounded he pounded he pounded he sobbed—
Don't leave don't leave don't leave don't leave don't leave don't leave don't leave don't leave don't leave don't leave don't leave don't leave don't leave don't leave don't leave don't leave don't leave don't leave don't leave don't leave don't leave don't leave don't leave don't leave don't leave don't leave don't leave don't leave don't leave don't leave don't leave don't don't don't don't don't don't don't don't don't don't don't don't don't don't don't don't leave please—
He muttered, he mumbled, he blubbered, he cried—
"Don't leave d-don't dohhn't d-don't pl'se pl'se no no no no no n-no n-nhooo ghnn noo no no pl'se pluh-please no no—"
He crumpled and cried and begged—
Don't leave don't leave don't leave don't leave don't leave don't leave—
They left they left they left they left they left they left they left they left they left they left they left they left they left they left they left they left they left they left they left they left they left they left they left they left they left they left they left they left they left they left they left they left they left they left they left they left they left they left they left they left they left they left they left they left they left they left they left they left they left they left they left they left they left they left they left they left they left they left they left they left they left they left they left they left they left they left why did they leave—
Mikey couldn't breathe he couldn't breathe he couldn't breathe why could he never seem to breathe—
And Mikey.
Was alone.
And all he could do was stare at the wood grain.
—||—
Mikey wasn't here. He wasn't alive. Not really. He was dead, he was sure. There were worms eating his body and skull had turned soft and caved in. He was dead. And there wasn't much else beside his corpse in the closet.
He was dead in the closet and all he could see was the wood grain.
...was this hell?
...he...
...he didn't want to be in hell.
But he wanted them to open the door even more.
—||—
Mikey was dead when he was staring at the wood grain.
Mikey was dead when he heard the gaggle of club members come in the room through the actual door. The outside door.
Mikey was dead when he heard them joking and laughing with each other. They probably had takeout again.
Mikey was dead when he heard them hush down and then start up again in confused and then alarmed voices.
Mikey was dead when he heard wood break.
Mikey was dead when he heard the club members yelling.
Mikey was dead when he heard angry voices that sounded so familiar that it made him want him to throw up again.
Mikey was dead when silent tears rolled down his face, shuddered violently before pitching over to throw up, barely moving as it dribbled down his chin and slumped back down the inch he moved.
Mikey was dead when he heard things breaking and the angry voices getting louder and more demanding.
Mikey was dead when he heard something that sounded like breaking bones and bodies hitting the floor.
Mikey was dead when he heard the angry voices hunker down and approach his own personal hell.
Mikey was dead when he heard the latch break and give way under something heavy.
Mikey was dead when he saw felt smelled knew hoped dreamed cried begged knew knew knew knew knew that the door was open.
Mikey was dead when he heard someone gasp, cry and growl furiously all in one breath.
Mikey was dead when he felt soft, calloused hands gently reach for him and pull him close like something precious.
Mikey was dead when he heard someone whisper his name, horrified, scared and stained glass delicate all at once.
Mikey was dead when he felt someone else tears on his face.
Mikey was dead. He knew that.
Mikey knew he was dead because when he finally mustered enough energy to lift his head, he saw his brothers.
And Mikey knew that was impossible. Because they weren't here. They never were.
Mikey was dead but maybe being dead was better then being alone. Maybe being dead and seeing his brothers was better then any alternative. If being dead meant he was held and loved and cried over, then he could be dead.
So Mikey, being dead, closed his eyes. And was happy.
Mikey was dead and happy.
He was dead and happy and he was with his brothers. Being dead and held and hugged close and precious was better, would always be better then being alive and staring at the wood grain.
Notes:
:)
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Writing_Raven_Cove on Chapter 1 Sat 16 Aug 2025 11:05PM UTC
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Last Edited Tue 26 Aug 2025 09:10PM UTC
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Last Edited Fri 12 Sep 2025 06:44AM UTC
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Last Edited Wed 17 Sep 2025 01:37AM UTC
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