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Donnie received the call at three thirty-two in the morning.
He'd been pretty deep in a hyperfixation period—working on fixing up the escape pod Leo had broken, as well as creating extras to accommodate for Junior's unexpected appearance—so much so that he hadn't even initially noticed his phone going off. It was only when it'd started ringing a second time that he'd picked it up without looking at the number.
"You're conversing with Donatello," Donnie said dryly. "Although I'm a tad occupied with important work, so if this is a house call, I would recommend calling back later."
There was silence over the line. The person on the other end sucked in a sharp, warbling breath.
Donnie paused and pulled the phone away to check the number, recognizing it as Mikey's.
What was he doing up so late?
"Angelo?" he asked, gentling his voice. "Are you— my lab is open, the call wasn't necessary. Did I lock my door?"
"…Donnie?" Mikey's voice sounded shredded, like he'd been screaming.
Donnie straightened from his spot sat on the floor, dropping the tools held by his spider-shell and letting the limbs recede back in. He pulled his goggles up, shocked, because Mikey was not supposed to sound like that.
"Mikey?" Donnie called back.
"Donnie," Mikey whispered again, almost reverently. "I— I— I'm in t-trouble—"
"Are you in immediate danger?" Donnie questioned harshly, stumbling to his feet. He rushed and tapped the side of his headphones to switch out his battle shell, letting his spider shell automatically disengage of favor with one with flight capabilities.
"I- I need you, I don't know where— where I am, and— and—" Mikey let out a broken sob, like something horrifying was being torn free from his chest. "Please, I need you, D-Donnie, I meh-messed up—"
"I'm on my way," Donnie said, trying to force his tone into something calm. The tremble in his voice gave his anxiety away, his chest tightening into terrified knots.
Mikey sniffled over the line, and didn't respond. Donnie tapped his vambrace to check their trackers, shocked to see Mikey so far away from the lair. It'd be a ten minute journey, tops.
"You're far out," Donnie rushed out. "It might be better if I were to get Leo, he'd be able to portal us—"
"No!" Mikey cried. "Leo can't know!"
Donnie reared back in shock, sitting there and letting the words sink in.
"Is someone going to hurt you?" he asked.
Mikey let out a few tiny peeps, a self-soothing sound that had Donnie's protective instincts flaring. He shook in his spot, dropping his arm and letting his hand curl into a fist.
"No," Mikey whispered. "P-please just— please come."
Donnie's hand fluttered, tapping against his hip nervously. Before he even thought to respond he was rushing out of his lab silently, making his way to the entrance of the lair and activating the jet pack mode on his shell to speed himself up.
"I'm on my way," he announced. "Stay where you are."
Mikey sobbed, a terrible, agonized sound.
"Okay," he whispered, with reverent conviction—with unthinking, soul-deep trust for his big brother to make it all better.
(Sometimes, it terrified Donnie to be spoken to that way. What could have possibly done to earn it?)
The journey, even at his fastest, would have taken about ten minutes.
Donnie made it in five.
Mikey was deep in a labyrinth of alleyways, far away from the bustle of civilians. Donnie landed to the sight of him curled against a dumpster, hand clapped over his mouth as his body shuddered with sobs and terrified chirps. The cracks on his arms glowed, pulsing painfully, like they usually did when he was so distressed that he couldn't control himself.
What was more concerning, however, was the blood he was absolutely caked in, streaked across his upper-body and face.
Donnie didn't even stop to think before he was running towards him at full-speed. Mikey shrieked, a terrified sound, and punched at him with a wail of pure fear when he grabbed his wrists.
"No!" Mikey cried. "No, no, don't, please—"
"Mikey!" Donnie barked. "Mikey, Mikey, it's just me!"
Mikey whimpered, ducking his head and squeezing his eyes shut. Tears streamed down his face, and slowly he opened his eyes again, tilting his chin so he could meet Donnie's gaze.
"Calm down," Donnie ordered, unhelpfully. "Are you injured?"
"U-um…" Mikey blinked. "I think— my side doesn't feel good."
Donnie stared. "Your ribs—" he started, and then stopped. "The blood isn't yours?"
Mikey stared at him. He nodded, slowly and carefully, before grief and horror entered his expression and he burst back into another fit of tears. Donnie reared back in surprise as Mikey knelt over and keened.
"Hey…" he choked, uncomfortable. Comfort had never been something he'd excelled at—but he wasn't going to bow out, not when Mikey had trusted him enough to call him.
"I khh—killed him!" Mikey wailed. "I killed him!"
Donnie's heart dropped down to his feet.
"Hhh—who?" he stammered, suddenly terrified.
"I don't know, I don't know," Mikey sobbed. "He just— he jumped me, and he- he hurt me— and I couldn't, I just th-thought about, and my powers, they— they— I'm sorry— I'm so sorry! I'm suh-sorry!"
Donnie hovered, crooning in the back of his throat. Mikey shook all over, before his jaw dropped open and he retched. Donnie barely moved back in time to avoid being puked on as he spit bile all over the concrete, strings of spit and puke and blood hanging out of his mouth.
He whimpered and listed forward, his eyes fluttering. Donnie snapped forward to grab him by the armpits and gently pulled him away from the puddle of his mess. Mikey was limp and pilant in his hold, trembling violently.
Donnie was already starting to put the pieces together. He could smell something from around the corner, and he was almost afraid of the sight he'd see if he looked. Mikey's powers were unpredictable even on a good day, and considering the amount of blood he was coated in—
Mikey sniffled, throwing himself into Donnie's chest as he cried. Donnie held him securely and stared at where the trail of blood lead, hollow and numb.
"Wh-what were you doing out here?" Donnie asked.
"Nightmare," Mikey wept, shaking so hard that Donnie's bones rattled with it. "I— I wasn't thinking. I just— I kinda— I ran."
Donnie settled a hand on his shell and tried hard to let go of the breath he found himself holding. The lump in his throat made it hard. It was hard to process the fact that there was a dead man so close to them.
"I was so angry," Mikey said, almost numb. "S-so scared— I didn't wanna die—"
"It's alright, Michael," Donnie reassured. "You were acting in self-defense."
"I think he— he just wanted— my- my money," Mikey continued. "Didn't believe me when I said I didn't— that I don't got any. He just— he- he— he grabbed me, and— I thought—"
"I know," Donnie replied, hollow, because he did. Combat hadn't been the easiest thing since the invasion, and out of the four of them, him and Mikey had it better.
"I'm bad," Mikey warbled. "I'm really b-bad."
"I don't believe that's true," Donnie replied. "I don't think Raph and Leo— they wouldn't be upset with you, either. We can call them."
"But you're here," Mikey insisted, his voice high and whiny with tears. "They dhh-don't get it."
"Don't get it," Donnie echoed.
His hands trembled from where they were cradling his baby brother. He couldn't help but think about the several months before the invasion, when Mikey had began to ask him for everything, even things he usually would have asked their older brothers for. Over and over again he'd angrily state it was because they were acting stupid, but the shake in his voice was unmistakable.
That trust wasn't so easy to repair. It wasn't a bridge that could just be rebuilt in a day, he supposed. His mind was buzzing— he'd never been responsible like this, never felt like he'd had to take charge in something so far removed from his usual expertise. There was no one to look to but himself.
"We should get you cleaned up," he said calmly, his mind blank with static. He felt like he was speaking through a filter, unable to comprehend the weight of what just happened. He swept a hand up and down Mikey's shell. "I'll— I'll handle the body. But we should get you back to the lair first."
"It's really bad," Mikey whispered. "It's— it's so bad—"
"You didn't mean to," Donnie reminded, despite the horror pooling in his stomach. He was terrified to see the carnage Mikey had left behind, even if he refused to blame him for being afraid.
Mikey didn't respond. He was still shaking so hard, like he was in the first stages of hypothermia. When Donnie didn't continue to prompt him, he simply ducked into his shell, as if to hide from his scrutiny.
Donnie took it as a cue to move, easing himself to his feet and pulling Mikey's shell to his chest. He didn't think as he moved, following the pool of blood and rounding the corner to take a look at the damage.
What he saw made him understand why Mikey had been wailing. He suddenly wanted to wail, too.
The body was human. Donnie could only tell by the tone of skin, because whoever that'd once been, he'd been brutalized to the point of being unrecognizable. It looked like his whole face had been burnt off, his limbs torn from his corpse, and Donnie couldn't stare at it for too long without wanting to vomit.
He'd never been afraid of Mikey's mystic abilities. He wasn't keen on starting now, no matter how much it made his stomach sink and his hands shake. The sound of Mikey cooing from within his shell only served to remind him of the why.
He wouldn't force him to clean it up. He'd do it on his own— like he'd done with everything, just like the months he had after Leo had been first elected leader. Their older brothers didn't have to know.
(There was so, so much that Donnie never wanted them to know.)
"I'm sorry," Mikey whispered, his voice echoing despite being so quiet. "I— I'm so sorry."
"It's okay," Donnie said through a haze of dissociation, holding his little brother a little closer. He pushed through the phantom crawling sensation on his shell, sharply turning away from the body and activating his jet-pack again.
He didn't allow himself to look back.
(He wouldn't be strong enough if he did.)