Work Text:
---
Mikey bursting into his room unannounced is not an uncommon occurrence. Most of the time it's permitted because Donnie would have better luck slowing the earth's rotation than denying the personification of the sun anything . Other times, like right now, Donnie likes keeping himself to himself; headphones on, tucked away in his blanket cave and a refurbished iPad playing some slice-of-life anime because he doesn't feel like tinkering.
So when he hears his curtain flutter on the other side of the room and the familiar pit-pat of Mikey's bare feet encroaching upon his territory, Donnie is ready to ask his darling baby brother to buzz off politely.
Then he clocks the lack of excited babbling for Donnie to look at the nth drawing of an atomically inaccurate dinosaur. The lack of actual barging— it's more of a shuffle, since when does Mikey shuffle like he doesn't already own every inch of space in their hearts and home?—and the distinctive sound of sniffling—
Donnie lurches upright in bed, whirls to face his—yep, definitely really crying—baby brother, adjusts his glasses and asks “Who do I need to kill?”
Looking back, Donnie understands why Splinter would get a funny (read: disturbed) look on his face hearing from the mouth of a six-year-old child.
But there is no monster under the bed, nor a certain blue-clad brother to be maimed for being a 'meanie'. A shame.
Mikey had a nightmare and had woken up from his nap with the dream still fresh in his mind; pink blobby creatures chasing them through the sewers, gobbling Raph and pulling Leo into a deep, dark place, leaving only him and Donnie left to fend for themselves.
That... that is pretty horrifying, actually. Maybe Dad has a point about not watching certain movies while Mikey's around.
He shoves the thought away when Mikey bursts into a fresh round of crying, pudgy fists rubbing his eyes as big, fat Ghibli tears roll down his cheeks.
And while this whole situation gives Donnie hives because 'feelings' aren't something he's ever been good at in all six years he's been alive, he'll always try for his little brothers.
So he sets his iPad aside, reaches for Mikey and says, “C'mere, Peanut.”
(Leo and Donnie are The Twins, and Raph and Leo are The A Team after watching one too many shows where heroes are divided by the main cool guys and the dorky sidekicks. So Mikey, in a fit of childish jealousy, demanded he and Donnie have a 'thing' no one else could claim. They'd been eating peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, a special treat from one of Dad's trips to the surface. Mikey stared long and hard at the sandwich, then looked at Donnie and beamed—“We're da Peanut Butter and Jelly team!”
Thus, the PB&J Team was born. Donnie pretended to tolerate it, hiding how his feet kicked and his hands flapped under the table. Leo, of course, clocked it, but for once kept his big mouth shut.)
The nickname has the desired effect. Mikey hops into Donnie's bed and makes it his personal mission to become a leech, arms and legs wrapped tight around Donnie's neck and torso. Ignoring the shiver of discomfort, Donnie bundles Mikey closer, rearranging the blankets until they're both adequately swaddled, pulling his iPad back out and hitting play where he'd left off. He's glad he decided to wear his extra big hoodie today—it keeps most of the tears and snot at bay as Mikey rubs his face against his chest like an oversized cat.
Mikey calms as the cosy anime plays on, the bright colours and voices filling up the dark corners of Donnie's room. But the sniffles persist, the stray tear dripping and every other breath hitching as he puts his thumb in his mouth and sucks, big carmine eyes glued to the screen. Donnie watches from the corner of his eye and frowns.
Donnie would be content laying in the blanket nest watching anime in relative silence until one or both fell asleep, but Mikey seems more... dare he say, rattled by the nightmare than usual. Enough to keep him awake and clinging to Donnie like he might lose him. Like he lost Leo and Raph.
Right. Time for the big guns.
He shuts the iPad off again and sets it on the floor, plunging the room into semi-darkness. His glasses follow as he folds them up, resting them on his nightstand. Mikey's big eyes blink at him in confusion, until Donnie curls both arms around him and smushes their faces together, the little box turtle kicking and giggling madly. Pulling his thumb from his mouth, Mikey claps Donnie's cheeks in a playful struggle.
Step One: complete.
Snuffling Mikey's cheek, Donnie grins back, pulling away just enough to meet Mikey's eyes and ask, “Want me to do one of Daddy's songs to help you sleep?”
The smile almost dips completely as Mikey shakes his head. “Don' wanna go sleep. Monsters 'r gunna get us 'gain,” he whimpers.
“Monsters aren't real, no matter what Raphie or Leo say,” Donnie states primly, or as primly as a six-year-old can. “And I know for sure because I checked all over the lair. No pink monsters anywhere.”
Mikey sniffs. “Promise?”
“A hundred and ten percent. Besides, I wouldn't let them anywhere near you if they were real. I'd reduce them to atoms, which are—er, really tiny things that can't hurt you. Smaller than fleas.”
“Smaller than fleas?”
Donnie nods, unable to hide a grin when Mikey gasps in wonder. “'das real small.”
“And harmless. So you're safe. Perfectly safe right here with me.” And the day that isn't true will be the beginning of Donnie's villain origin story. He adjusts his hold so he's almost cradling Mikey like he's a baby again, though he isn't entirely sure he ever stopped being one, at least in Donnie's book. “So. Ready to sleep now?”
With unshakable faith that will, in later years, leave Donnie breathless, Mikey snuggles closer and nods. “Yes,” he chirps, chewing on his fingers. He doesn't complain when Donnie gently pulls his fingers out again, instead asking, “Can you do the one about the dumpling family? I like that one.”
Dumpling— ah, the dango. The disgustingly cute one Dad sang all about a little family of sweet dumplings. It's mostly nonsense and made Raphie take a minute to bite the living daylights out of his sensory toy in a fit of cute aggression, but, it still knocked them all out. And Mikey, for whatever reason, really, really loves it. “Okay okay, I'll sing the weird dumpling song. Now shush.”
With a final giggle, Mikey settles down against Donnie's chest and closes his eyes. Stroking his head with one hand and patting his shell with the other, the same way Dad does, Donnie takes a breath and, quietly, begins to sing.
“Dango, dango, dango, dango
Dango, dango daikazoku
Dango, dango, dango, dango
Dango daikazoku.”
When Donnie looks down, Mikey is starting to nod off. He keeps up the soothing motion of patting his shell and stroking his head, softly singing through the whole silly, disgustingly cute song until, at last, Mikey starts to snore, soft and kitten-like against Donnie's hoodie. A trail of drool leaks from the corner of his mouth, but it's not touching Donnie's skin so he doesn't mind. Instead, he smiles, pressing his nose against Mikey's temple. “G'night, Peanut,” he whispers. Mikey snuffles, mumbling nonsense under his breath.
Mission complete.
Now, Donnie could pick up his tablet and keep watching his anime with the subtitles on. But the risk of the light or even moving waking Mikey up is far too great. And the blanket burrito he's wrapped them in is pleasantly warm and comfy. And Mikey's weight on his chest, their heartbeats syncing, is already lulling Donnie into a doze. He feels comfortable. He feels safe.
Pressed cheek to cheek with his baby brother, Donnie is asleep in minutes.
He doesn't hear Splinter come in, looking for Mikey only to find the pair snuggling together. He doesn't see the utterly sappy look on his father's face, nor does he hear the tell-tale shutter of a camera, or a sniffle as the rat man fights off tears.
Instead, he squishes Mikey closer and dreams of a green dango family.
---
Ten years later...
The first thing to clue Mikey in that today is not a Good Day is the loud clang of something being thrown coming from Donnie's lab.
To coin a phrase, eugh boi.
Normally, this is the part where Leo swoops in with all the exaggerated swagger of a ninja turtle teen to figure the problem out with a few well-chosen words and fidget toys—or barge in like that one Phineas and Ferb meme and straight-up start acting like a bitch until Donnie hunts him down for sport, directing his twin's fury elsewhere until he runs out of steam and then opens up. The latter usually results in copious amounts of screaming, hissing, mystic guns and far more property damage than they can afford to fix. But the results are worth it to see the pair of disasters smiling in the aftermath.
Normally, that's what might happen. But Leo's still sleeping off his brush with death not even forty-eight hours ago. Raph is with him, having his eye looked at again by a vigilant yet 'teetering on the precipice of passing out' Future Boy. And April and Splinter are braving the surface to scrounge up whatever supplies they can get their hands on while the city rebuilds.
Still, not about to just let Donnie suffer alone, Mikey sucks in a breath and marches into the lab.
It's not as bad as Mikey thought—a toppled chair and strewn papers across the floor—but Donnie's swathed in his hoodie and clenching the edge of his desk hard enough to bend the metal, his whole frame quaking with every hissing, shuddering breath. There's a sniff, and the next breath is damp with tears.
Shit, Mikey thinks, pulling at his fingers habitually only to flinch—damn, he'd forgotten how busted his hands are—an involuntary chirp of pain escaping his beak.
The sound makes Donnie whirl, a snarl creasing his snout before he clocks that it's Mikey and not whatever imagined (or not) threat that has his tail lashing behind him. The blink-and-you-miss-it flash of murder in his eyes vanishes the second they land on the box turtle sheepishly waving from the doorway, and the fight drains from his body, shoulders dropping, tail limp, jaws relaxing.
Shit, Mikey thinks again with feeling. But his papa didn't raise a quitter (and nothing could ever make him truly afraid of his big brothers, ever), so he steps fully into the lab with a real smile. Tired, but real, because hey, they're all on edge and it's been a rough few days, but they're alive and together and that's something to smile about.
Donnie roughly scrubs his face clear of tears with the sleeve of his hoodie, looking several shades of shame and embarrassed for his behaviour—like Mikey hasn't seen everyone at their worst before, like being sad and scared after nearly losing your entire family is something to be ashamed of—as he hugs himself and stares at the floor. The rings under his mask are darker and deeper than the Hudson, and the red rimming the edges of golden eyes screams of sleepless hurt.
Mikey sighs.
He's not Leo, who knows Donnie on a level no one else does (not for lack of trying, mind you), and he's not Raph; big enough to squeeze Donnie with all the world-changing love and security. Two things Donnie sorely needs right now—something Mikey certainly wouldn't say 'no' to either if he's honest.
But there is something he can do. Something only he and Donnie have that no one can hope to take.
If anyone tried, well. Mikey already broke through space and time itself to bring Leo back. Give him a minute to get creative and see what else he can break for Donnie's sake.
So he smiles with all the love, warmth and sunshine instilled in him since birth, opens his arms and says, “C'mere, Jelly.”
The way Donnie's face crumples almost sends Mikey over the edge. But he keeps a brave face as Donnie takes two steps before collapsing against Mikey, his damp face hiding in his shoulder. Mikey holds him tight, minding his bare, healing shell under the soft, cotton hoodie (it takes one whiff for Mikey to coin it as the one Leo often steals). He sways them gently side to side. Donnie sniffs again.
“It's gonna be okay, Dee,” Mikey says. “Leo's the most stubborn dummy in the world next to you. Ain't no way he's going out without a fight, or bitching about the state of his med bay after Dad nearly ransacked it before Casey stopped him.” That earns him a wet snicker. Mikey counts the win and takes it to the freaking bank. “And Raphie's there to make sure of it. Raph is here and he's okay. We're all gonna be okay. That's a Dr Delicate Touch Promise.”
Because the day everything isn't okay will be the beginning of Mikey's hunt for the one dumbass who made him break that promise.
It takes a minute, but Donnie finally lifts his arms to return the hug. He boops Mikey's cheek with his snout, earning a giggle, and rasps, “I believe that, Angie. You're a freakin' miracle. You can do anything.”
And that. Well. He's always known his brothers believe in him, the most vocal being Leo, but still. It's pretty neat to hear, especially after the absolute bullshit of the last few days.
Tears spring in Mikey's eyes, but now is not the time to let them fall. Instead, he pulls back just enough to look up at Donnie and ask, “Wanna snuggle in Raph's bed for a bit to decompress? It's okay if you're not up to it right now—”
“Michel.” Donnie puts a grave hand on Mikey's shoulder. “I am a sixteen-year-old mutant turtle and have been awake for seventy-two hours straight. I would love to snuggle.”
“Oh! Okie-doki, then!”
Five minutes later sees them, as promised, snuggled up together in Raph's giant bean bag of a bed, a blanket of mismatched granny squares April and Splinter had crocheted last year draped over them. Between the comfort of dim fairy lights, the plush bed and the scents of their family blended in one space to make up for their missing physical presence, it's the perfect condition for a decompressing nap.
Except Donnie's eyelids refuse to droop even a little. His body is exhausted but his mind is working triple shifts with no overtime pay. Not even Mikey wrapping him up in the warmest, cosiest, love-you-est hug known to man is working, and that's just messed up.
Time for the big guns.
Mikey shifts to gently pull Donnie's head to rest on his heart. One hand cups the back of his head, the other rubbing careful circles on his shell. Donnie makes a curious noise but doesn't reject the motion or the touch, arms locked around Mikey's middle. With that, Mikey takes a breath and, softly, begins to sing.
“Dango, dango, dango, dango
Dango, dango daikazoku
Dango, dango, dango, dango
Dango daikazoku.”
The snicker Donnie lets out is breathless and damp. “Are you—are you actually singing me to sleep?” he asks, acting like his voice didn't break in the middle. Like he isn't close to outright bawling.
“Damn right, I am,” Mikey cheerfully replies. “Now hush up. Interrupt my beautiful singing again and there'll be consequences.”
“Oh mercy me, not the non-existent consequences of my actions,” Donnie snickers with a sniff he tries and fails to hide. He curls against Mikey, clinging for dear life. “Whatever shall I do, he asked sincerely.”
Giggling, Mikey presses a silly kiss to Donnie's bigass forehead. “You shall shut up and let me help you sleep, Dee. It's my turn to chase your monsters away.”
Donnie goes quiet after that. The contemplative, hopelessly thankful sort. It brings a churr from Mikey's chest as he continues to sing, keeping up the soothing motions of stroking Donnie's head and rubbing his shell, his voice low and soft. Bit by bit, Donnie begins to relax, eyes fluttering closed.
“Nakayoshi dango te o tsunagi ooki
Na marui wa ni naru yo.
Machi o tsukuri dango boshi no ue
Minna de waraiau yo.
Usagi mo sora de te o futte miteru
Dekkai otsuki sama.
Ureshii koto kanashii koto mo
Zenbu marumete...”
By the end, right before he drifts completely off, Donnie mumbles against Mikey's plastron—“Thanks, Peanut.” And then he's out like a light. Finally.
His heart full of love and life (and crippling gratitude to whoever's watching over them that he didn't lose this), Mikey nuzzles his beak against Donnie's cheek and whispers, “G'night, jelly.”
Mission accomplished.
Of course, given the aforementioned excellent napping conditions, Mikey follows Donnie into dreamland not two minutes later, snoring away.
He doesn't hear Raph come in, looking for them only to find them snuggling in his bed. He doesn't see the snapper smile so wide, so happy, chuckling about Goldilocks under his breath as he snaps a photo of them on his phone. He doesn't feel their biggest brother tuck the blanket over them, pressing kisses to their heads before tip-toeing out to continue his vigil on Leo.
Instead, Mikey dreams of a dango family, happy, whole and bathed in golden moonlight.