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1.
Even as his ribs threatened to cave in on one another, Leo couldn’t help but acknowledge how ungrateful he was for wishing that he’d just die.
He’d asked for this, was the thing. Delivered a whole speech, said all the right things to make sure the moment stuck, brought the message full circle. It was a good way to go out. After all, it made him look like a hero, and that was all he ever really wanted. To be a hero, or maybe just to be good. To be good was to be unselfish, so a jaw-dropping sacrifice should’ve done the trick.
He was selfish, was the thing. The instant that the portal shrunk up into nothingness, there’d been a weight pulling on his shit-eating grin. It’d been an interesting sensation when combined with the floaty fuckery of the zero-gravity dimension. How was it that he could feel so untethered yet simultaneously trapped by every worldly thing in existence?
Donnie would probably know that. Maybe even Mikey, for all the nuggets of wisdom the little guy had tucked in his back pocket. But they weren’t here. So it didn’t really do Leo any good.
As soon as the Kraang turned away from the space in space where a portal used to be, all Leo knew was that he wanted it to be quick, and boy was that a change of pace. He used to drag things out like there was no tomorrow. One more joke, one more heartbeat, one more chance for everything to slot into place, come on, Leo, this is your job. He used to be so annoying. Still was. Still would be, for however much longer he had left.
He hoped it wasn’t long.
Because for as stupid as he was, even he could tell that the Kraang was pissed. Like, Donnie when he thinks that someone deleted his Nintendogs account pissed. Angry and very targeted at the source of all that had gone wrong in their lives – Leo knew that things weren’t looking good for him, even before the Kraang started lumbering toward him, eyes dangerously focused as if Leo had literally anywhere else to go, come on, man. Oh no, better keep an eye on him before he fled to the other patch of infinite darkness!
For sadistic warlords, the Kraang really did need to learn to get good.
His smirk strengthened a little at the thought, just in time for the first blow to hit. It didn’t differentiate that much from the second blow, or the third, or the fourth fifth sixth seventh –
The Kraang yelled something, but it was drowned out as the weightlessness piqued again, the ground underneath him cracked, soon accompanied by the –
Eighth ninth tenth eleventh twelfth thirteenth blow, and it didn’t stop there. It didn’t stop at eighteen or twenty three or eighty seven. It didn’t stop when Leo felt something in his shell split, or when his fingertips clenched the photo tight enough that a rip formed, or when the Kraang bellowed, “Wipe that grin off your face!”
He almost didn’t feel the impact of the Kraang’s fist against his jaw, only the aftermath as a bruise near instantly blossomed. His head snapped back to collide with the ground, but the foundation wasn’t there for long before Leo was falling through it again. There was an attempt at twisting, because he was realizing fast that landing on his shell over and over again wasn’t an option, but the Kraang only snatched his flailing form out of the air and slammed him, carapace-first, into the rubble.
Shell, that hurt.
Leo gasped out, blinking back tears. Had those formed from the onslaught the pink pimple-puss prick was wailing on him, or was the reality of it all hitting him? Because he knew. While the Kraang backhanded him into a crumbling support beam, he knew that he wasn’t getting out of here.
He’d known it from the moment the whole selfishly selfless plan had come together in his head.
Sacrifices weren’t sacrifices if the hero got off scott-free at the end. No such thing as a free lunch, right? Someone had to pay the piper, and that someone also had to give their two-cents in idioms while they were doing so.
Leo had always loved words. Loved the way they could sit in his mouth, twirling just so when he voiced them into being. Just a few dropped syllables here and there, and all of a sudden he was useful. Donnie might have the brains, Mikey the soul, and Raph the heart, but he could stumble his way through buying them just a few more minutes of time
There wasn’t any time to be bought here. Because he wasn’t getting out. He was sitting quietly and waiting to die, and if his last moments could be spent with his eyes on the photo, that’d be great.
A nauseating slimy tentacle shoved his head against the dirt hard enough for rubble to find its way into his mouth. He tried to spit it out, but with the wind absolutely knocked out of him, there wasn’t really time to get his bearings before he was yanked into the air. He scrambled for purchase against the tendril, only for his palms to slide off the moment they made contact.
Holy hot pocket, it was like sticking his hands into a vat of caramel sauce; solid yet malleable under his skin, and stubbornly insisting on clinging on, what the shell, it wouldn’t come off! He gagged, rubbing his hands against the ground for only a moment before another weight made contact with his chest.
He gasped out. Damn, he could practically feel his heart rattling around in there. There was a frustrated growl above him. He had a half-second to register another familiar sound, crisp like a blade, just as a swinging force came hurtling toward him.
He flinched. Of course he flinched, because he’d flinched when the needle-sharp tentacle had aimed for him in the beginning of all this, so he absolutely flinched when it targeted him again. This time, though, Raph wasn’t here to save him. Raph was never going to be here to save him again, ‘cause he was home, home with Donnie and Mikey and April and Dad and everyone else, everyone else who was safe now, now that Leo was gone, Leo couldn’t hurt them anymore, Leo wasn’t safe so that meant that everyone else was.
“ Ah!”
A river of blood gushed out of the gash stretching across his face. It quickly stained his belt and his pockets, his mask tails and his wrist wrappings, the photo –
No, no, no, not the photo.
He squirmed, twisting his head as far away from the photo as possible. His face hurt, shell it hurt, and as he pushed it into the dirt, he could practically feel the burgeoning infection take root, but he couldn’t get the photo dirty. Not his family, couldn’t hurt his family again, because that was all he ever did. Hurt them, put them in danger, ruin them with his stupid problems.
He cried out, mangled sob getting caught half in his throat.
“Why won’t you die?” the Kraang shrieked.
That snick-snack went off again. This time, he didn’t have the chance to flinch before the Kraang was going at him again like Mikey slicing fresh yellowtail. Four slashes buried themselves in his plastron in the time it took for him to finally work out a scream. He tried to turn shell-up, but he was just batted back to exposing his vulnerable side without a second’s hesitation.
Leo tried to shield himself against the onslaught, but that only brought the photo closer and he couldn’t let his family take the hit for him again, so all he could do was close his eyes as the Kraang carved out millions of thin little scars on him. A handful at his throat, more than he could count on his face, and a vindictively high amount at his hands. It was those attacks at the photo that made the tears in his eyes prick up the most. He whimpered any time that the thin bones in his fingers grinded together at the pressure, but he had to keep his family safe. It was the least he could do for them.
“Interesting,” the Kraang murmured, and increased the assault on the photo tenfold.
Leo finally tried to wriggle away, gasping out as something in his knuckles distinctly shattered. He brought the photo close to his plastron, but no – couldn’t, couldn’t, couldn’t. Blood oozed from the wounds, it’d ruin the photo, ruin his family, ruin everything.
An awful game began. He’d push and pull the photo away, disgusted with himself but aware of what exactly would happen if the protection faltered, as the Kraang cackled above him. Every so often, the alien asshole would strike at his legs, or his shoulders, or his head instead of the photo, and Leo would get awfully excited that he was the target again, before his hands crumpled underneath the Kraang’s sole again.
At some point, a glob that must’ve been a mix between his blood and the Kraang’s goop hit Mikey square in the face, and the loudest noise Leo’d made during the entire invasion clawed its way out of his throat. It was somewhere between a shriek and a sob, and it made his entire body double over as he wretched. His breathing picked up speed, leaving him shuddering on his hands and feet.
It was only when his right arm buckled underneath his own weight and he had to grit his teeth in order not to smash the photo underneath him that he realized that the Kraang had paused his assault.
He glanced up to see the Kraang, grinning with all his teeth and looking down on him like a particularly interesting speck.
Leo should’ve ran. He knew that. But he didn’t, because even on day zero in the Prison Dimension, he wasn’t stupid. He knew that no matter where he ran, the Kraang would catch him. Where else would he go? The other patch of infinite darkness?
The Kraang leaned forward. His tentacles turned rubbery as they slowly reached for Leo. “Let me teach you something, you pathetic pest.”
Leo had committed to learning nothing since he was a tot, and like shell was he quitting now.
He bolted away on all fours, not even bothering to make it to his feet, but the Kraang snatched him out of the air and slammed him shell-first against a boulder. His tentacles twisted into a fist-like mass that wrapped itself against his throat. Leo tried to push him away, but he was half the Kraang’s size with a tenth of his strength. It didn’t do shit.
The pupiless eye at the center of the exo suit’s head tilted toward him. He was being studied, Leo realized. But studied for what? “You may have won, pest. But how long do you think this will feel like a victory?” The Kraang’s grip tightened. Leo thrashed in his hold, clawing at the hand at his throat that only reformed moments after it was disturbed in the first place.
“Treasure that sanity of yours for as long as the void will allow.” There was a toothy grin in the chest cavity of the suit, the Kraang pilot practically giddy from himself. Leo felt something in his stomach plummet. The Kraang had been furious beyond belief a few short minutes ago. What had changed? “You will not age or die,” the Kraang continued, “and I will be here for every second to watch the clarity drain from those eyes.”
Then, quick enough that Leo couldn’t process what was happening until it was all said and done, the Kraang hurled Leo back onto the ground. He landed on his hands and knees, photo slipping from his grip to end up right underneath him. A splotch of blood slid down from his chin to hit the border, and he flinched. He tried to scramble backwards, but sticky-strong tendrils held him in place. They pushed him down, even, ignoring his panicky whines as his bloody face veered less than an inch away from the photo.
“ Stop,” he croaked. A fresh wave of tears pricked up in his eyes. They quickly rolled down his chin to hit the photo. Donnie’s face blurred underneath the watery onslaught. Leo keened, struggling against the hold. His shoulders flexed, his very bones shook, but the Kraang just kept laughing as his family drowned underneath him. He needed out, he couldn’t keep – he didn’t – he needed, he –
“You wanted this,” the Kraang reminded him. “You did this to yourself, to your planet, to me. You practically asked me to do this for you. Now, be grateful. Mindless pests such as yourself don’t get to be selfish.”
And Leo sobbed, and watched as that too killed his family.
2.
Leo – hadn’t been counting.
That’d been a stupid choice of him, not to count. He could’ve kept how long he’d been in the Prison Dimension snug and safe in his head, or maybe even carved it into a particularly distinct set of rubble. Maybe at the one-year mark, he could’ve even thrown a little party with the Kraang. Scrounge up some pointy hats, start a fire so they could blow out candles together, haha. That’d be – That’d be fun.
It’d been a year, he was pretty sure. Or maybe it’d been nine months. Maybe it’d been a decade. Not like Leo would know, because he was stupid idiotic pathetic worthless weak weak weak weak weak weak weak weak weak – and he hadn’t. Hadn’t counted. He hadn’t done that. Why hadn’t he counted?
Behind him, hardly a half-mile back, there was a set of slow, lumbering steps. He flinched into the tattered blanket he’d wrapped around himself.
Oh yeah. That was why he hadn’t counted. Because Kraang had designed a little game between the two of them, only the two of them, no one else. Leo had made sure that there was no one else. It’d been his victory that’d paved the way for all the other fun games they got to play together.
The game – the game the game the game the game – the game was that Kraang would find him, and hold his flailing body close, and ask how long it’d been since Leo’d won. And Leo would answer, and then Kraang would hold him down and sink his needle-like tendrils in wide slashes against Leo’s skin that many times. Twelve times on the twelfth day, thirty-four times on the thirty-fourth day, fifty-eight times on the fifty-eighth day ninety-nine times on the ninety-ninth day one hundred and forty-six times on the one hundred and forty-sixth day three hundred and twelve times on the three hundred and twelfth day –
Until Leo was screaming that he didn’t know, he didn’t know he promised, he was stupid, far too dumb to know how to count, he was just an awful pest who didn’t know anything and shouldn’t know anything and shouldn’t couldn’t wouldn’t ever count again he wasn’t lying he promised.
And then Kraang smiled, and said that they wouldn’t play that game anymore. He’d set Leo down, even patted him on the head, and it’d felt nice, sort of. Nice enough that Leo hadn’t pulled away when Kraang pushed him down to his hands and knees. They’d both stayed there, Leo dazed but content because this was better than the alternative, as Kraang pet him like a dog.
They’d stayed like that for an hour. Maybe two. And then Leo had asked who’d won the game, because he really did like winning.
Then Kraang started counting counting counting counting down, and Leo was scurrying away, his hands already red and raw against the dirt but there was no time to stand, because that was the new game.
The new game, as explained by Kraang the next time he won – because he always won, but Leo wasn’t supposed to say that – was that Leo needed to be good. If he was good, then when Kraang found him again, he’d give him a reward. A good reward for a good pet, he promised.
He didn’t tell Leo how he was supposed to be good, though.
He did tell Leo that if he was bad, then the Kraang would catch him, and he’d teach him, over and over, until he was never, ever bad again.
So. Game. Game, game, game, game, game. Leo liked games. He liked games because Kraang liked games, and he liked whatever Kraang liked, promise. Promise. Pro-o-o-o-mise.
He pursed his lips, feeling the word drag out on his tongue. “ Pro – mise,” he whispered, and giggled. He didn’t really know why, but that was okay. He was too stupid to make sense anyway. So stupid, he really shouldn’t even try thinking. He’d just hurt himself, and then Kraang would have to make him better again.
Kraang was so good at making him better. He – He would hold him underneath the watering pool and get all the blood off of him, even when Leo was a pest and flailed as his lungs strained for air, and he promised! Promised! Promised that Leo would never ever never die, because he wasn’t allowed to. Not unless Kraang said so, and Kraang didn’t say so.
Behind him, the ground trembled as Kraang stomped closer, and closer, and closer. Until Leo could make out the pink light pass over him. “ Peeeeeeesssssst,” Kraang called, and Leo could feel himself shrinking into himself. He didn’t duck into his shell, only because he knew that if he did, Kraang would nearly split him open in his efforts to pull him out. “Where are you hiding?”
Leo should come out. Give up first, so that Kraang didn’t have to make sure he really understood what it meant to lose. But then Kraang wouldn’t really be a winner, and Leo knew exactly how Kraang got when he didn’t win. He still had the scars littering his plastron from the first and only time Leo had won.
He had all the scars. Every single one, he promised. He’d count them if he wasn’t too stupid to count.
“Ah, there you are, pet.”
Kraang popped out from behind a cluster of boulders. He was grinning as he always did, because this was his favorite game in the whole wide Prison Dimension. Leo stayed very, very still. Maybe this was what it meant to be good. Maybe taking his punishment like the wretched little pest he was meant to be – maybe it wouldn’t hurt this time – or, or – maybe he’d even get that reward. He wanted it, because Kraang said he should want it, so he did. Promise.
Kraang sighed, and the sound made him want to cry. “I thought we were past this tiresome game,” he said, and for how disappointed he sounded, his smile never wavered.
It’s your game, he wanted to shout, but he didn’t. That wouldn’t be good, right right right? So if – if he did say that – he would never say that – he might not get his reward. Reh-wardddddddd.
Kraang reached for him, and Leo screamed, and he was very bad because he scrambled away, heaving himself over the boulder even as a tentacle hooked itself around his ankle. He sunk his nils into the dirt as he was pulled away, but it didn’t do a thing, never did a thing.
He was shoved this way and that, the ground unsteady under his feet. Everything spun before him, and the only consistent thing in his vision became Kraang’s toothy grin. Kraang was happy. That was – something sharp buried itself into his thigh, and he shrieked – that was good, yeah? He was good, wasn’t a pest anymore?
Everything stilled for a heartbeat, and he nearly wretched at the change in motion again, only to be brought toward Kraang’s chest in what could’ve been called a hug if it didn’t make him whimper.
Sssssticky. It was – he gagged – so. Sticky. Clung to him. Would never ever never let him go, let him go, let him go he didn’t want to play anymore. Never wanted to play, actually, but he wouldn’t tell if Kraang wouldn’t. Wouldn’t do anything if Kraang didn’t, would do anything if Kraang asked because he wanted to be good, wanted to be more than a pest.
A slimy coil worked its way down his throat, and he gagged. Sunk his fists into the putrid pink mass, only to be pulled deeper in. The wriggling substance coated his entire face until he was – just – that’s all there was, wasn’t it? Only Kraang and his pest, winner and loser in every game ever. There was no other sensation than the sticky-slimy goop covering his everything. The infinite darkness stretched on forever, but that didn’t matter, because the games went on and on and on, longer than forever dared to go.
His head breached the other side, but the rest of his limbs remained trapped. He felt his fingers twitch as the goop retreated from his nail beds. The remnants of his clothes clung to his skin, glued together by pink paste.
He didn’t scream when a reedy little tentacle inched its way across his face and began scrubbing at his cheekbones. Didn’t scream when it was accompanied by thousands of its friends, all working in tandem to massage themselves into his flesh.
“Such an unfortunate color that you decided to take on,” Kraang mused from everywhere. He really was all that existed in the entire universe. His voice rumbled from the patch circling his waist and from the splotchy sensation swirling atop his tongue and from the streak stretching across his plastron. “You almost look just like me, Pest, only a touch too strong. I wonder how long it will take for the red to drain out as the rest of you has.”
Kraang’s armor plates veered closer, and Pest got to see firsthand in the reflection as his crescents were smothered underneath a pair of wriggling pink half-moons. They burbled on his face.
“Much better. What do you say, Pest?”
Pest’s mouth was stuck shut the first few times he opened it, but eventually he managed to swallow and rasp out, “Th – Tha-a-ank youuu.”
“Such a good Pet,” Kraang said, and Pest’s heart soared, because maybe it was time to play again, and maybe this time he could be even better, better enough to finally get that reward, until – “But not good enough.”
Kraang’s tendrils grew sharp, and Pest wailed as little needles sunk into his face.
3.
Wasn’t easy for him to dig when his hands were so slip-p-p-ery with blood. Pest’ blood? Yeah. Yeah, probably. Definitely. Kraang didn’t bleed, only Pest ‘cause he was so weak. Weak, weak, weak, stupid and weak and awful! Needed Kraang to help him. Help him with… everything? Help him be good, yeah. Help him listen, Pest, are you listening, I don’t think you are. Help him dig.
Dig dig dig.
A fat sandworm burst out of the hole Pest’d made. He ripped it in half before he even thought about it – stop thinking, Pest, you’re so bad at it! – and smeared the guts on his face with his fingers. Kraang liked him messy. Liked him low to the ground and pathetic Pest was always pathetic haha, and if Pest found a way to punish himself before Kraang found the chance to, then Kraang got so happy that he might just skip straight to the reward.
Reward. Pest hummed, clawing back dirt even faster at the thought. Then he nipped at his hand, because no no no, no thinking, Pest. Wasn’t allowed. Wasn’t good for him, and Pest always needed to be good.
His other hand drifted toward the scraps he’d tucked his treasure his treasure his treasure into. He brought it out and smiled. Hi. Hi there. Did they see the hole Pest was digging? See how good he was being, how he was following orders even when Kraang wasn’t here?
His treasure smiled back at him, all five faces. The twin wide-mouthed beaming ones and the smirking silly and the kind eyes of the biggest and the creasing grin of the small one. He looked soft, that one. Pest would like to know how his fur felt. Softer than anything Pest should have, probably.
Once, he’d found a sweatshirt. It had only been missing one arm, the rest smooth under his palm. Pest had been so excited when he’d found it, and he’d been about to pull it on when Kraang yelled at him so loud so angry, and he’d handed it over immediately. And Kraang had asked if Pest would like to wear it while Kraang tore it to shreds, or if he wanted to rip it apart himself. Pest had been good and chewed the thing to pieces. He’d known.
A greasy feeler snaked its way around his neck to give a not-too-bad squeeze. Oh. Kraang was here. He was wrong. He was always wrong. Why was he surprised? This was – should’ve expected it, should’ve known that Kraang was always here, never went away.
“What are you doing, Pest?” said Kraang, and his voice was right beside Pest’s ear but Pest didn’t look his way. Just tucked his treasure away again and kept digging.
“D – Digging,” he croaked. His voice was dry, but it always was, so – so yeah. Yeah. Pest didn’t need to be dunked into the watering pool again. No thank you.
“Why?”
Don’t make him mad, be good, don’t make him see how far Pest could stretch before something snapped again. “Kraang t – toldddduh Pest. Pest dig. Dig. Dig. Pest digs.”
He shut his eyes tight and remembered how Kraang had made him run in circles for time-time-time-there-was-no-time-here until Pest collapsed in a heap, only to scream, “You lazy idiot! Why don’t you go bury yourself so that I need not do the job for you, Pest?”
And Pest had picked his twitching form off the dirt and ran, ran, ran until the ground was soft under his palms, and he’d dug.
“Hmm, yes. I supposed I did say that. Such a good listener, my Pet.”
Pest’s hands stilled. He looked up, toward Kraang, who was smiling at him as always. Smiles were good. Kraang told Pest he should smile when Kraang held him upside-down until he cried. So he did. And he smiled when Kraang traced the scars he’d left on his Pet and he smiled when Kraang told him to beg and he smiled when Kraang decided that good wasn’t good enough.
Kraang used to slash at Pest’s mouth whenever he smiled, but he’d changed his mind since. He’d asked for this, Kraang said, so he should be grateful. Smiles were good if they were smiling for what Kraang liked, he said. So Kraang’s grin grew, Pest’s did as well. “I think you deserve another chance to prove yourself good. What do you think, Pest?”
Pest nodded frantically, almost overbalancing in his crouched position. “Ye – ehs. Pest good. Chance ple – ee – ease.”
“Well, since you asked so nicely.” Kraang rose to his full height and turned, marching off toward the mountain of rubble he once made Pest try to eat. It hadn’t worked. “Follow.”
Pest was at his heels as soon as the syllable dropped. He darted forward, hands nearly sliding into his feet as he kept low to the ground, always stay down, don’t get up or I’ll force you back myself, Pest.
They passed the watering pool and Kraang’s favorite place to suspend Pest in his goop and the sandy dunes Pest remembered collapsing into more times than he could count. Which was none. Pest couldn’t count, haha.
They stopped at the Technodrome ruins. Or, Kraang told Pest to stop. In the center of it all, actually. Funny, funny, funny. Kraang reached down behind a large piece of debris and brought out –
Oh. No, no, no. Pest didn’t think he could be good, not the way Kraang wanted him to be.
This was the third – Pest didn’t count that, he didn’t – time that Kraang took out the sword. Blue at the hilt, sharp as Pest’s teeth, and shiny all the way through, Pest hated that sword. Hated the way that Kraang handed it to him, hated the way his fingers wrapped around it like he was missing something, hated the way Kraang studied him. Like a bug. Like a pest.
The first time that Kraang gave him the sword, Pest swung it too widely, and he’d nearly nicked Kraang. So Kraang punished him, because Pest was bad, the second time Pest had the sword, he’d tried to punish himself. ‘Cause – ‘Cause wasn’t that the point? The point of the sword? It was here so Pest could slice off his wrists all by himself, see! Wasn’t Kraang proud? Wasn’t Pest good?
Kraang had not been proud. Pest had not been good. Since Kraang had finished with him for turning the sword onto himself, Pest hadn’t been able to stand on two feet without his spine creaking.
“Do you know what to do, Pest?” Kraang got very, very close. Close enough that Pest had to tighten his grip around the hilt to avoid hitting him with the blade. Pest shook his head, and Kraang sighed, disappointed. “Of course you don’t. You’re too stupid to know anything, aren’t you?” Pest nodded, and Kraang’s eyes sparkled. “Tell me just how stupid you are?”
Anything to keep him from using the swords. “Pest no think. Ca-ah-nt. No ‘member, no tr – yyyy. Need Kraang, Kraang he – helps. Helps Pest. Pest li – st – ens, Pest brain bad. R – Rotten. Bro – ken.”
Kraang threw his head back and cackled. His teeth were so sharp. One tentacle twirled in the air as his whole body shook with laughter. The tentacle shot forward to grab Pest, pulling him close. “How wonderful the truth is to hear.” He leaned in, just a breath away from Pest. “Because you’re exactly right, for once. You’re just a mindless animal that finally learned its place: at my feet. Honestly, I should carve you into bits for ever daring to consider yourself my equal.”
Pest trembled in the hold. He knew now, was this thing. Knew how dumb he was, just an animal, better now at Kraang’s feet. He didn’t need to be punished for how he used to be, promise! He was good now. More good than before, at least.
Kraang sighed again, though this time his grip around Pest loosened the slightest. “However, we have work to do. Next time, next time.” Pest was lowered back onto the ground, where he hugged the sword close to his plastron. “Pest, it is time to create a portal. Bring us back to Earth. Now.”
The sword trembled. Pest didn’t know how to do that. Didn’t know how to do anything, really, but especially not that. He couldn’t do that. Couldn’t, don’t do that, this was the line that he needed to draw of things that he wouldn’t do, every game would be for nothing if he finally went home.
“Pest,” Kraang snapped, and Pest flinched. “I told you to create a portal.”
The sword shook in his hands. He swung it this way, that way, this way. Pest didn’t know what he was supposed to do. Create a portal, Pest, but Pest couldn’t do that. Couldn’t do anything. He was useless, he promised.
Something tugged at his heart. He expected it to be one of Kraang’s tendrils, but Kraang stayed a few feet away, watching Pest with a frown. Oh. The only thing worse than when Kraang smiled was when he frowned. Unhappy. He wasn’t going to be nice.
Kraang growled. “Fine. You want to be difficult? I can work with that.” A flurry of tendrils shot Pest’s way, and he yelped but stayed still. Some skewered themselves through his flesh, some cradled his jaw in soft ways, and some rifled through the fabric scraps he’d draped over himself. “I’ve all the time in the world.”
One feeler slunk back, Pest’s treasure wrapped betweenthem. Pest’s treasure treasure treasure, no. He made a wounded noise, and another tendril idly slapped his mouth. “Oh, shush. No one wants to hear your whining.” Kraang’s frown twisted into his usual smile as he brought Pest’s treasure closer, studying it. “Pest, what is this?”
Kraang knew what it was. He’d laughed himself hoarse o many times as Pest cried and cried and cried, begging him not to hurt them, don’t take them away, he’d be good he promised. But Pest just hissed out, low, “Treasu – re.”
“Treasure,” he repeated, oily tongue running over his many teeth. “You know that this is only a picture, don’t you, Pest? A splotch of color slapped onto paper, meant to stimulate what little you have left in that empty head of yours.”
“Pest stu – pid,” he said, reflexively, but leaned in. Treasure – wasn’t there? Wasn’t – What? Pest didn’t understand.
“Indeed.” A tendril wrapped itself around the sword, raising it higher. Pest’s muscles strained to keep it there. He was so weak, he promised. “Earth is where your real treasure is. Not just a picture, but other pests just as stupid and useless as you. You’re not the only one.” Kraang’s grin widened so far, Pest thought that he might just eat him up, right then and there. “Wouldn’t that be nice? To have your treasure with you always? Not this disgusting little scrap, but a real treasure.”
Pest’s hands buzzed at his sides. He wanted he wanted he wanted. Wanted his treasure at his side, wanted to feel the small one’s fur, wanted what Kraang wanted him to want. His knees creaked, heart beating so fast in his chest that it almost flew out. The sword in his hands trembled again, but this time it was from – excitement? Yeah, yeah. He wanted this. So happy, so grateful for Kraang for telling him what to want. Thank you.
At the corner of his teeny tiny, itty bitty mind, there was a flash of something. Something sparkly, rainbow-tinted with all sorts of colors Pest wasn’t allowed to remember. He reached out, snapping at it with his teeth, and reared back as blue light poured out of the sword. Pretty designs ran up the blade, and Pest wondered if Kraang thought they were pretty too.
Everything got fuzzy and blue, or maybe that was just him. His vision fizzed, and he couldn’t help but think that this was the exact opposite of what it felt like to be smothered in Kraang’s sludge. It was crisp, almost sharp. He wanted to run it along his palms, feel the bite of what was finally real.
There was a sort of clarity to it all. For the first time in forever, he could think again. Think deeply, without his thoughts running away from him before he had time to fully form them. He gasped, something in his hands getting very warm.
There – just at the edge of everything. There was someone, and his heart soared to notice them. He wasn’t alone. It wasn’t just him. He extended himself towards them. His hand skimmed theirs, and he –
“I’m so sorry, my child,” whispered Gram-Gram, “but our sacrifices must outlive us for them to be worth their tolls. This is for the best.”
And Pest threw himself back, throwing the sword to the ground and growling, shredding his arms with his claws. His head hurt. He slammed it into the dirt once, and twice, and more and more until he remembered that he was too dumb to count. Something set itself on his shoulder, and he sunk his teeth into it.
Kraang backhanded him so hard, Pest forgot to breathe for a moment. “Calm down,” he scoffed. “You’re working yourself up over nothing.”
Pest screeched and buried his teeth into his own hand, his own arm, his own tongue. Get it out get it out get it out. What was in his brain was bad, Pest was being so bad. He needed to tear it out before he learned how to learn. He’d forgotten for a reason, it was so much easier this way. Easier to be a pest than a hero, because heroes always won and Pest never did. Never ever, he promised.
He was so sick of promises. He could never keep them, was the thing.
He twitched in the dirt, sobbing. No more, couldn’t do this anymore. Needed to be dumb and easy. He wasn’t brave, wasn’t smart or strong. He was just a pest, a useless, stupid, selfish, cowardly, pathetic, wretched little pest.
“Open your eyes, Pest, or I’ll open them for you.”
He did, always did, would always do. Kraang was right in front of him, not smiling and not frowning. Pest didn’t know what it meant to be in between the two. He could only be one thing, and he’d decided to be a pest. Good choice, right right right?
“Look,” Kraang said, and pointed.
The entire wreckage of the Technodrome was glowing blue. Bits of debris zapped, a few inches this way, almost a foot that way. Everything hummed, and Pest scratched at his own ears to get the awful sound out. Even when he blinked, he could see the blue light behind his eyelids. It was always there. It would never go away, even when the rest of Pest did.
There was no portal. That was good, and that was bad. Pest had succeeded in failing. He didn’t know why he’d done that, actually, but – he had.
“Kraayyng mahduhh?”
“Hmm. No. I’m not mad.” Kraang straightened. As he got taller, Pest crouched into himself to become smaller. He rushed to cower in front of Kraang’s shoes. That’s where he was best, he reminded himself. Where he belonged. “This is a start, I suppose. More than I expected from the likes of you. Well done, Pet.”
Pet smiled, gummy and full of broken teeth. He pushed himself further into the ground.
“I believe that you deserve a reward, don’t you?”
He drove his claws into his hands to stop himself from shrieking with excitement. “Rehwarddd! Ple – ease, please yes!” His head hurt from how quickly he’d changed from awful-miserable to happy-good.
Kraang chuckled. He pulled Pet closer, dangling him from his tendrils, until all Pet could feel was the sludgy slime squeezing his limbs. “If that’s what you really want.”
His teeth got that much sharper, and so did the tendrils. They hardened into blades, making Pet’s skin split. He screamed, but was immediately thrown head-first against a boulder so hard that he didn’t realize he was flailing in the air until he slammed back into the ground. Kraang didn’t wait even a second before snatching him by the ankle to throw him against a steel sheet. The metal bent at the impact, but Pet didn’t.
The feelers wrapping around his stomach tightened, and tightened, and tightened, until Pet felt something shatter in his chest. He quickly forgot the pain as it was covered up by a new one, stemming from his shell that Kraang was slicing to bits. His limbs were pulled back, so far that he felt his shoulders cleanly discolate at nearly the same time.
Then Kraang rammed his head into that boulder, and he did it 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 again again again again again again again again again again again again –
Until Pest opened his eyes, and saw his treasure in front of him, life-sized. Big strong and smirking understanding and buzzy little spirit and cackling bravery and soft small. And he smiled, and bolted toward them, and leaped into their arms as they held him close, so warm and so sweet. His heart felt so full that it hurt. He buried his face into someone’s chest and sobbed when they hugged him tighter.
Hugged him so tight that he couldn’t breathe, actually, and his heart hurt much more as he struggled, kicking out against the millions hands that were pressing him down. He clawed at the pressure, screeching. Let him go, let him go, let him go! This wasn’t fun anymore. Wasn’t a reward.
Reward. Oh.
Pest’s eyes flew open to see Kraang atop him, tendrils squeezing his ribs together, and he bit and scratched and growled, but Kraang only scoffed. “It never fails to amaze me,” he said, “how willing you are to believe those fantasies in your head. Haven’t you learned by now, Pest?” He leaned in, and Pest wheezed as Kraang whispered in his tympana, slime running down his shoulder, “No one will find you, except for me. I promise.”
And he twisted the tendrils, snaking across Pest’s skin, and Pest whimpered as the rope burn cut straight to his bones.
4.
Pest thrashed, snapping his teeth at the fingers straying way too close. Didn’t like them, didn’t like how they smelled of flowers and the sky. The way they only barely blocked out the sun-bright lights, kneeling as if being smaller would make Pest trust them. He didn’t. Not even when the looks-like-Pest-but-purple one smiled, muscles twitching in their corners, and Pest felt a flash of familiarity.
He wasn’t used to being this far away from the darkness. Home was dim, only Kraang bathing the expanse with any light. The sudden difference made his stomach turn. Or maybe it’d been the only seconds-long transition from home to here; an orange ring circling the air beside him and snatching him by the wrist in a rare moment that he was alone alone alone he was alone never going to find anyone again he made sure of it.
He pressed himself farther into the corner. The others towered over him, just like Kraang did before he skewered Pest with his tendrils. Or when he tested how far he could shove Pest into the crevice between two boulders. Or when he stuck gunk into Pest’s mouth and laughed as he choked.
One hand landed on his elbow, and his claws raked three long red lines down the foreign arm before he was released again.
“Mary Agnes Chase, Leo, that hurt!”
“Be nice, Dee. You know he’s not thinking straight.”
“Clearly.” There was a sound of skin against skin, and a yelp. “Youch! Okay, okay, point made.” A sigh. The hand neared again, and Pest bared his teeth in warning. He’d bite that. He would. “Hello there, Nardo. I am aware that you’ve experienced quite the event, but trust that giving me rabies is not apart of your twelve-month rehabilitation schedule.”
He growled. In his blurry, too-bright view, someone crouched down in front of him. They stood out well against the white lights that made him blink every few seconds, the green popping out like little studded stars. He – wanted to touch it. Wanted to know what it was like to feel the smooth fabric run under his fingertips.
He wanted to do it so badly that he did it, actually. Just – pounced.
“Leo!”
Pest tackled the figure, sending their spine connecting with the ground in a motion that made them both wince. A pair of hands rushed to support him, almost reflexively. He nipped at them, then got back to the mission. Missions were very, very important. Couldn’t skip out on training for missions, or the world would end and it’d be his fault. He’d heard that somewhere. Probably from Kraang. Kraang was where he found out everything, after all.
He traced the threaded outline of the material with two of his fingers, cooing softly as the coarse texture gave way to a sleeker one. The green of it was a touch deeper than his own skin. Shame. Maybe if he was the same shade as the smooth substance, he’d feel the same too. He’d like that.
He trilled, and rubbed his face against the surface. The figure’s hand slowly moved up, until it was softly stroking his shell. The movements were gentle enough that he didn’t flinch back, instead pressing after a moment. It was – nice. Kraang was never delicate like this. Pest tried to brace himself for the moment that contact turned violent as nails buried into his carapace, but it never came.
Never never never ever gonna come, he was gonna be alone forever, haha. He promised. Made sure of it. He won, he won, even if he lost to do it.
“April? Are you alright?”
“A-Okay, Dee!” There was a small giggle from underneath him. It made his heart feel good. Pest tilted his head. Good texture feeling and good sound feeling? It was too lucky to be true. “I – I’d forgotten how well a Leo turtle pile cracks my back.”
“Understood. I am ordering arthritis-preventing vitamins for our elderly resident as we speak.”
The vessel for the smooth-silky surface shifted, a curly head poking out to glare at something above Pest. “Watch it. I can still smack that smirk off from down here.”
“Ah, yes, would that be with or without your orthopedic slippers?”
They frowned, eyebrows angling sharply, and Pest found himself glancing up to growl at the other figure. Texture-person was good, and he’d bite anyone who hurt them. Couldn’t let anything hurt them, not again.
The other figure stepped back, all traces of that wipe-that-grin-off-your-face disappearing. They blinked. “Leo, it’s me. It’s Donnie. We’re just – joking. April and I. You know that I’m the funny one.”
His growling tapered off, but he didn’t look away. Couldn’t look away. The second he did, a fist would snap out and yank him away, oily digits pressing down on his joints.
They took another step back, then paused, almost deflating. Pest flinched when they twitched their hand, but it was only to wipe at something near their eyes. He looked closer at them, heart beating fast as he remembered what was tucked into his pocket. It couldn’t be. Couldn’t, wouldn’t, was? Kraang said that his treasure was real, with real smiles and real hands. But Kraang lied.
He lied when he said that Pest would be okay if he came out from hiding, he promised. He lied about the surprise Pest would get if he closed his eyes. He lied right before he smashed Pest against the Technodrome lid, and right after he said he wouldn’t do it again.
His fingers twisted in the silky material.
“Donnie – ”
“It’s okay. It’s fine.” They squared their shoulders, and Pest found himself curling himself smaller as the other figure got bigger. “We need to get him clean before he sees Mikey.”
“He’s not gonna like that.”
“He didn’t like it when I told him where marshmallows come from, but he still scarfs down as many s’mores as Raph does. He’ll bounce back.”
The one underneath Pest sighed. “Alright. If you say so. How can I help?”
Pest was good at helping. That’s what Kraang said on the days when the rubble fizzed around in blurs of blue. Sometimes he even patted Pest on the head in return for being such a good helper and let him choose which arm he’d like to break first.
A few feet away, there was a great clatter as the cabinets were rummaged through. Pest blinked as things were tossed onto the ground in front of him; a towel, a washcloth, a plastic bottle. The last one was pink, and he hissed at the bubbles that sloshed around at the half-way mark.
The figure returned to kneel in front of Pest. He had harsh lines above his eyes turned downward. Combined with the grim way his mouth was set, Pest got the feeling that something bad was about to happen. People never smiled when things went rotten, except for Kraang. His laughter as Pest’s skin shredded itself against the friction of the ground was unforgettable.
“Remember when we were nine, and Leo couldn’t push past the first stage of rat flu?”
“You’re kidding.”
“We both know he’ll feel better once we’re all in the same room, but as he is now, he’s not safe to be in the infirmary. Mikey can’t risk the infection with how bad his hands are.”
Pest tilted his head. He remembered his arms trembling as he pushed himself off the ground to see orange-gold flakes sparkling in the air. That’d been when the light first began to make his head pound. A small body had crumpled into someone else’s hold as everyone around him cried and cheered and was generally very, very loud. Too loud. Didn’t they know that they were annoying Kraang, and getting his attention this way only made sure that he was in a bad mood once he found them?
“Sorry about this, buddy.”
The hands on his shell tightened as he was lifted. He immediately kicked out, but someone grabbed his feet at the motion. No, no no no, Kraang promised he wouldn’t fling him like this again. Not after he was left floating in between planets for time-wasn’t-real and he forgot what it felt like to feel anything besides the zero-gravity air. Once he’d fetched him again, Kraang had thought it was hilarious to chuck pebbles at Pest and watch as he heaved and clawed at his own skin and sobbed.
Pest sunk his teeth into the closest thing he could reach, but the hold on him only faltered for a second before continuing, carrying him toward something he couldn’t see. He could never see, was the thing. Even if his eyes registered what was in front of him, even if Kraang step-by-step explained what he was going to do, he never really got it until his bones were dust and Kraang was screeching into his tympana and everything was bad bad bad like he was going to die, but he was never going to die, wasn’t allowed, didn’t he understand, Pet?
Please, he understood now. Promise promise promised. He didn’t need to be taught again.
He was raised a bit higher just as he dug his elbows into soft flesh. There was a half-second for his heart to plummet just before he was dunked in a pool of water.
He didn’t scream, only ‘cause he knew by now. Knew from Kraang’s cackling tendency to all but drown him in the watering hole – knew that opening his mouth would only make it that much worse. He could breathe under without air, but it made his lungs hurt. They could inhale-exhale, they really could, but they shouldn’t. Shouldn’t. Just like how Pest could fight back against Kraang, but didn’t because he shouldn’t wouldn’t promised he was done fighting back.
He clawed at the hands pushing him down, at the surface, clawed at the edges of the tub. At his own skin, even, get it off get it all off. One leg tucked itself into his shell before he whimpered and shoved it back out. Stop being bad.
He didn’t get it.
Didn’t get it, was the thing was the thing what was the thing he never remembered what the thing was and – and at some point, at some point everyone was gonna get sick of him never remembering. He didn’t listen. He was so annoying, and pointless, and stupid. Couldn’t forget that part, at least.
His jaw dropped to gasp out a sob immediately drowned by the water. Get off, please, please, please, please. He wanted off. He didn’t want – They shouldn’t be allowed, not again – Why did it go this way every time? He didn’t get why this always ended with him forcing himself smaller and smaller. Wasn’t it good enough? Why – Why was it never good enough? He was trying. He promised.
Pest promised, was the thing. Promised like he breathed, like he bled, like he blinked. Every second of every minute of every hour of every hour of every hour of every hour of every time isn’t real. But it never did anything. Not when he dropped to his knees and begged to be trusted, that this time he wouldn’t break his promise.
It always ended with his wrists pinned down, weights on his ankles, as he was reminded that it didn’t matter what he wanted. He was here, and he was stuck, and that was that was that.
The thought made his insides squirm.
5.
Pest hummed as he ran his fingers along his unicorn’s mane. It was smooth, and shiny enough to keep his attention when everything else was loudly trying to pull him away. That was why Mikey gave it to him, he guessed. Donnie’s machines had been beeping and the tests had stretched on and on, never stopping, and Pest’s chest had grown tight, and Mikey had taken one look at him before handing him the stuffed animal.
He liked to hold it close when everyone else’s voices rose as they yelled about whatever problem Pest had dragged up this time.
Yesterday, April had sat with him and braided the orange, red, and purple locks together. He liked how that looked. They belonged together. She’d tried to section in blue strands as well, but he’d hissed and yanked his plush out of her hands before she could do it. Didn’t she know that the others were best separated from blue? Awful, obnoxious, reckless blue. He should just – just pull out the threads right now. Do everyone a favor.
A low growl rumbled out of him, but it quieted when Dad set a hand on his shoulder. He gave it a little squeeze that drained all the tension out of him. “Your brothers and sister are very talented, aren’t they, Blue?”
He set his unicorn into his criss-cross applesauce legs. It was funny how he could be sitting down all the way to the floor and he’d still be taller than Dad balancing on his tip-toes. He liked being tall. Liked it when he didn’t need to crane his neck up up up.
He peered down, actually, at the others laughing at the bottom of the ramp. April’s bat was levied atop her shoulder as Donnie swung her towards the Raph-Mikey mass barely visible through the cloud of mystic smoke his little brother had cooked up. There was a cackle as April successfully separated the two, only to curse herself as Casey swiftly sped out from a hidden corner to disarm her. She jabbed at him with stiff palms, but he took the hits with nothing but a small wince.
Mikey recovered fast from his tumble. He lept in to back up Casey, but was snatched mid-air by one of Donnie’s metal limbs. Pest’s stomach turned as Mikey thrashed in the hold, tugging at the arm suspending him off the ground. He didn’t like that, didn’t like to see his little brother struggle like that. He shouldn’t – He didn’t –
Raph scooped up Donnie in a bear hug that left the arms retracting into his shell again, and Pest’s stomach settled.
“Str – ong,” he croaked, and buried his face into the unicorn’s fur. He hated his voice. Hated hated hated it, because it wasn’t steady like Donnie’s or deep like Raph’s or bubbly like Mikey’s or smooth like Kraang’s – shut up.
He sighed. His head was filled with bubblegum and space dust, and it cracked like glow sticks when he thought too hard.
“It’s alright,” Dad said. He stretched out a hand to rub his shell. “I know you’re upset now, but you’ll be able to play with them soon. You’ll be better before long.”
He didn’t want to play. Didn’t want to lose again. It’d been a while since he’d last lost. His knee felt almost good as new now, like it’d never been twisted in a direction it was in no way meant to bend. If he lost again, and he would, he didn’t know if he’d be able to bounce back without really, fully losing it this time.
It was weird here. There were no games yet, until he was better, apparently. There were schedules set in place to remind him to eat, even when he howled because nothing should be in his mouth right now, not when things were so sticky and slimy. The lights brightened and dimmed in regular intervals. When he leapt off the ground, something pulled him back before he got the chance to drift from one rocky body to another.
There were also people here. People who held him close in holds that he was allowed to escape from the moment he started squirming. They told him they loved him often enough that he’d lost count.
He was allowed to count here.
Last week, Donnie had been hunched over a workbench in his lab as everyone else slept, and he’d asked Pest to hand him three nails from his desk. Pest had, and Donnie had thanked him, and Pest hadn’t been struck or yelled at. Not even when he started crying, and Donnie set down everything he was working on to cradle his hands like they were something delicate.
Time existed here. One of his favorite things to do was get inches close to Raph’s hedgehog clock and watch as one gloved hand crept closer to a new little dash mark. Casey showed him how to set timers too. Sometimes, they just sat together as the clock ticked its way to going off. He loved that moment when some mechanism clicked, and it shrieked that time was real, was real, was real! He’d clap his hands and put in another timer and wait for the next one, and Casey would grin next to him.
Things were good enough here, he’d decided, that it would be okay when they inevitably dragged him back to play more games. He could stand being the loser if it meant that he got to spend all this time counting seconds and hours on a blue hedgehog.
“Soft,” he mumbled, and offered Dad his unicorn.
Dad smiled as he took it. “Very soft,” he agreed. “You always did love your unicorns, baby blue.”
A chirp escaped his lips. He wiggled in his seat as his chest went airy. He liked being baby blue. It meant that he was special, maybe even precious. Something to be protected. It’d – been a while since he felt as safe as he did now. He’d almost forgotten what it was like to relax his muscles before another force struck him.
Below, Mikey was nothing more than a warm blur as he shot himself toward Donnie. There was an attempt at diving out of the way, but with the chaos of Casey and April’s 1v1, Donnie didn’t get more than a foot away before being tackled to the floor. Pest could hear his huff from all the way up here, but there was a fierce grin to his sigh that only sharpened at Mikey’s giggle.
Donnie brought his fingers to his lips, setting off a high whistle. At the sound, April backed out of her own fight to switch places. She immediately sent a flurry of kicks Mikey’s way that he blocked with Casey’s help, who’d followed April, barely half a step behind her. Donnie was left to tussle with a red-tinted Raph.
Raph’s fists inflated themselves to be twice their original size. He swung them toward Donnie, who combated them with artificial limbs of his own. Donnie’s eyebrow raise was visible even to Pest, giggling to himself yards away. At the stalemate, Raph’s projections stilled as his real arms went for his sai. He reared back to swat Donnie right as the infamous tech-bō went for a strike. They connected, steel twisting in a similar metal hold –
And the screeching sound reminded Pest why he was never ever never safe.
No no no, he found him. Found him even when he was hiding, why was he hiding if he was supposed to be okay how had he let this happen? He never learned, was the thing was the thing was the thing. He always – always – had to keep running. Keep running or he’d keep bleeding, keep living another day because he wasn’t fucking allowed to die! Die die die die die, he was going to die if he didn’t move run fight for another minute another hour for another day for another time-isn’t-real.
The period between tendrils splitting his skin and his flesh slowly knitting back together and Kraang cackling and him fleeing again – it was all the same. And it was all different. Same-different in that it didn’t exist. Funny, huh? Huh? Funny. It was – funny. He was laughing.
He was laughing he was laughing he was laughing wipe that smirk off your face except Kraang wanted him to be happy, be happy because this is a good thing, why don’t you understand that you’re so lucky? A pest was a pest was a pest, and he needed to be taught. Needed to be taught how to learn. ‘Cause he didn’t. ‘Cause he never. Never ever never.
His wrists ached as he sped down the sewers, had to get away away away. They threatened to twist along with his ankles as his weight kept shifting, struggling to move quickly on all fours again. At one point, his foot got caught on a ledge but his momentum carried him forward far enough his jaw slammed against the concrete ground once the snag fully hit.
Kraang hit him. He hit him now, and he’d hit him in the past, and he’d hit him again. Nothing could stop him. Not Pest, not his treasure where was his treasure he needed it.
One hand strayed toward his pockets, but the imbalance left him tumbling head-over-heels again. He whimpered as he landed on his shell. Wasn’t safe out in the open, not when he could be snatched away again at any moment.
Heart pumping fast enough to make him light-headed, he heaved himself atop the roof of Mikey’s roof. He knew there was enough ventilation there to leave a perpetually cool breeze aimed right at his little brother’s bed, ‘cause Mikey liked to be snug as a bug in a rug. Hopefully Kraang wouldn’t know that. Pest rammed his shoulder against the grate until it budged, and he was able to climb in.
He didn’t tuck himself into his shell once he was fit tight against the grate. He wasn’t safe there. Wasn’t safe anywhere, actually, but especially there. If he found Pest hiding in plain sight, Kraang would slam his feet against his carapace like he was popping bubble wrap and Pest’s arms would get stepped on when he inevitably came out to face his punishment.
His heart beat hard enough that he could feel it in his knees, held close to his carapace. It was instinct, by now, to hug himself, make himself smaller at all costs. Less of a target, less of a threat. He wasn’t important, he promised.
The crisp corners of his hiding spot dug into his shell like gravel. Always there, even if he scrubbed and scrubbed to get them to go away. It was funny, how he always ended up like this; curled up in a tight, dark space as he waited for what would never not be here. He pressed his fingers against his lips. Be quiet, wipe that grin off your face, just shut up! Funny funny, wasn’t he so funny?
“Leo!”
No, no, no. He shoved himself farther into the vent, hissing under his breath even as he bit down on his tongue. Wasn’t safe. He wouldn’t be tricked again. Kraang thought he’d fall for that every time, giving Pest a glimpse of his treasure only to laugh when it all faded away. He was stupid, but he wasn’t that stupid.
He sobbed into his hands. The sound echoed in the vent, bouncing from one metal wall to another sharply enough to make his head spin. Outside, Kraang’s breathing stilled as he got closer, closer to Pest. There was the dull thudding of a new weight on the roof. As it neared, Pest craned farther away, practically fusing to the walls. He didn’t want it, not again, not this time, not ever.
A small green hand tugged the grate off the vent, and Pest screeched.
“Woah!” The cover was pushed back to its spot. Pest wheezed. He was alive. Couldn’t die ever, so that wasn’t a surprise, stop being surprised, stop being stupid. So awful. Such a waste of space. “You alright there, Leo?”
Pest stayed very, very still.
“Leo?” He scratched at his wrists with his claws. They’d made him cut them down. Said he would hurt himself when he got scared. Donnie had helped him paint them black, and swatted him when he tried to lick the color off. He – He wanted Donnie. Where was Donnie? “Are you not feeling very wordy? I can get the whiteboard.”
The whiteboard was not good. It smelled funny, and the rag was itchy in his palms. Casey liked to doodle little symbols on it when he watched the ice games on the television with Casey. There were two Caseys, Pest had figured out at some point. Neither were part of his treasure his treasure he wasn’t safe but that wasn’t important where was his treasure.
“You’re scaring me. Can you come out, please?”
“N – No,” he snarled. “Aw – ay. Nowww.”
“Come on, man,” he whined. “You know Donnie’ll freak if I come back empty-handed, and if you stay there much longer, Raph’s probably gonna bust through my roof trying to get you out. My acrylics don’t deserve that torture!” The voice was peppy, deliberately so. Mikey was never really this calm under pressure. In all of Pest’s memories, he always reacted to stress by clinging to the nearest older sibling figure. When had he grown up like this?
He just growled again, low and slow.
Mikey sighed. “Are you okay, at least? I heard some nasty sounds on my way here. You didn’t fall, did you?”
“Go – away.”
“Leo!”
“N – N – Not ssssafe.”
There was a sigh. “Okay. If you feel better being in there, then you don’t need to come out. Not yet, at least.” Light shifted on the other side of the grate. The space around Pest became darker. He could just make out the yellow-curving green of Mikey’s shell through the slits. “I’ll stay with you ‘til then, alright?”
A chitter rumbled out of his chest. He scooted forward barely an inch to press his hand against the metal vent. He could just – rip it off. Scurry out of the vent and hug Mikey close, because if he was here then Kraang wasn’t. He was safe, he knew that.
But he also knew that the thought of leaving his hidey-hole made fresh tears prick up in his eyes. Can’t leave, couldn’t leave, never ever. Not when the walls surged closer, when Mikey was right there, when everything was alright except for him. Always except for him.
So he pulled his knees closer and waited to forget why he’d been scared in the first place.
1
Donnie was very good at a lot of things, Pest was remembering; making smoothies that didn’t make his mouth hurt from too-much too-much, knowing exactly when no-sound was the best thing in the world, checking his bandages quick enough that Pest barely knew what was happening until it was over. But by far, Donnie was best at making pillow forts.
The last one he’d put up had lasted sixteen days, Pest was proud to say, until Mikey had very pointedly shoved the blankets into the washer with a stern look. Pest hadn’t liked that, but Donnie had set up another one just this morning, and it was as soft as the former one. It was like having a second shell over his first, smooth fabric pooling around his ankles.
He sat there, penguin plush in his arms, as Raph paced in front of him. It was almost comforting how repetitive the motion was. He would take three quick steps one way, turn, and then three steps the other direction. Pest knew that this was bad, though, because he kept wiping at his eyes. So he decided not to let him know that with each stomp, the blanket fort shook and threatened to topple.
Raph’s hands were shaking, he noted. They were usually so steady, but as his big brother’s heavy breathing got louder, they were almost trembling. At one point, Raph pulled them close and stopped dead in his tracks to sigh. They lowered after a moment.
Two very distinct teartracks glinted in the three-a.m. moonlight shooting through the rafters. “Raph is so tired,” he mumbled, and hiked up his shoulders like he was about to be struck. Pest knew that position very, very well.
Instinctively, he glanced around for Kraang. But – nothing. Just him and Raph and the projector and the toaster and Donnie’s half-broken LEDs. After a minute, he lowered his gaze to the ground, pulling the blanket tighter. They were safe, so why was Raph so sad?
When Pest was upset, it was usually because of three things he was scared. But Raph couldn’t be scared, not when they had a toaster for Mikey to warm up bagels with and a projector they huddled around on movie night. Pest loved those nights, because he got to perch atop the back of the recliner and keep watch over everyone as they let their guards down enough to nap.
He couldn’t quite remember if he’d slept in that no-time, no-nothing place. It’d felt like he’d just stopped existing in between one beating and the next. Blinked once, maybe twice, and found himself facing Kraang again as if nothing had changed.
Raph wasn’t a pest.
He really wasn’t, he thought as he crawled out of the fort to tug on Raph’s arm, in between one stride and the next. He wasn’t a pest, which meant he deserved nice, soft things. Like blankets.
“Leo?” Raph took a knee. That was very kind of him to do. Pest hated how Raph always managed to tower over him. It reminded him how strong he was. If he wanted to, he could just – smash Pest, like a bug. But he didn’t, and he avidly made himself smaller, because he noticed the way Pest cringed when he rose to his full height. “What’s up?”
He forced his little frown to turn into a grin. People loved it when he smiled. “Ra… aph sllee – ep?”
And Raph smiled back, despite the bags under his eyes and the chip in his shell, because he was Leo’s big brother and he loved him, he loved him, he loved him.
He let Pest pull him back to the fort. There was a minute’s delay as he forced a bean bag chair under the blankets, because Raph was meant for only the best. Then they both sat, Raph’s eyes sliding shut almost immediately. Leo was warm. It’d been so cold before. He’d forgotten what it was like to stop shivering.
Raph’s arm came to lay on Pest’s shoulder, and immediately he tensed. Raph was big, and his hand alone easily pinned him down. He didn’t think he’d be able to get up without waking up Raph, and the whole lair with him.
But – Raph wouldn’t hurt him. Kraang wasn’t here. They were safe. Mikey promised this when he stayed with Leo until he stopped shaking, and so did Donnie with his stuffed animal gift. Here, he could watch clocks with Casey, show Dad his favorite things, and giggle with April when she made his unicorn and penguin kiss.
He squirmed for a moment before resting his head on Raph’s knee. Idly, he counted Raph’s slow breaths as his chest rose and fell, rose and fell, rose and fell. He got to twenty-two before falling asleep himself.