Staples


He had never seen the point of staplers. Through their youth, Donnie had always used them to keep his many notes together, but Mikey didn't see how it helped much. After all, he kept his art in piles all the time.

What did it matter if two bits didn't stay together? He'd teased Donnie endlessly in those early days, but right now, he didn't dare say a word.

Barely thirteen, crouched on the sidewalk, his hands shook and he fought to keep down the bile, as his Donnie stitched and stapled precious, precious pieces of his brother back together.

Suddenly, staples didn't seem so stupid.

And Mikey wondered why he'd ever wanted to leave the lair in the first place.