When morning comes, Donnie knows before his feet even hit the ground that Leo hasn't slept at all. It's not surprising or unexpected; after all, he's done the same thing every year since April turned 12. Donnie gives his twin an unimpressed look over the rim of his juice glass, but Leo doesn't bother pretending to feel sheepish or ashamed about his terrible sleep schedule. He grins before throwing back what is definitely a shot of espresso, judging from the awful smell. He has no idea where Leo finds the stuff, but he's done it on this day every year since he turned 13. Donnie's nose wrinkles with disgust, but he decides not to say anything. They're both wound tight this morning, and he's not really interested in the emotional labor starting or ending a fight would take.
"Mornin'," Raph mumbles as he wanders into the room. They both echo the greeting, voices just as strained as his.
The sunlight streaming through the windows is watery and grey, warning of a coming storm. It hits the empty socket of Raph's left eye, illuminating the raw pink skin inside it and the horrific scarring surrounding it. His short cropped hair is greasy, and the exhaustion obvious in his features and the glassy look in his eye tells Donnie that he also didn't sleep at all. Leo's always been more like their eldest brother than either of them cares to admit.
Not that he blames them. Raph's nightmares always get way worse this time of year. The fact that he's stuck watching from the sidelines has only made his anxiety so much worse over the last three years. When he settles at the table, Leo leans over to rest his head on their big brother's shoulder. Raph's smile is tight, but he leans into the touch.
"Make sure you eat a big breakfast, boys," papa says from the doorway. Donnie jumps, not having heard their dad approaching, and Leo snickers and tosses a crust of bread at his head.
Donnie catches it and bites into it just to be contrary. It is hard and stale and hurts the roof of his mouth, but he keeps chewing. His stomach won't be able to handle anything heavier than bread anyways.
"Where is Orange?" papa mutters to himself, squinting at his gathered sons. It's a good sign that he's still using nicknames. He only calls them by their actual names when he's worried. Or when he thinks they're seconds from death.
Three years ago, Donnie had heard Raph's name out of their father's mouth more times in one week than he had in all 14 years of his life. It was awful. He'd never seen his father cry like that before.
"I'll go get him," Leo offers, but Raph shakes his head and stands before he can. Silently, he pushes the untouched plate of food across the table to rest between Donnie and Leo, and then leaves to fetch their youngest brother. Donnie frowns down at the plate of too-ripe fruit before wordlessly pushing it a little closer to Leo and taking another bite of stale bread. His twin shrugs and pushes his long hair back so it won't end up dipped in the fruits' juice as he eats. He looks a little greener with every bite, though, and by the time Raph returns with a red eyed Mikey slung over his shoulder, Leo's given up on attempting to follow their father's order to eat.
"Good morning, guys," Mikey grumbles as he's dropped unceremoniously into his own seat, upsetting the table and rattling all the silverware against their chipped ceramic plates. The sunlight shines off the salty streaks on his cheeks, making them impossible to hide despite the way he scrubs his sleeve over his face to dry it. Their dad pats his youngest son's head as he passes by on his way to the pantry, untrimmed nails and calloused fingers disappearing into Mikey's unruly puff of dark curls and lingering for a second too long.
"Don't know what's good about it," Donnie says under his breath, gaze wandering to the people, shuffling zombie-like, outside the kitchen window.
"Don't be so negative!" Mikey scolds, then flashes a smile that seems to brighten up the dim kitchen in spite of the way his eyes are still bloodshot and puffy. "You've gotta think positive!"
"Ah, thank you Michael," he deadpans, turning a dry look at his brother's beaming face. "You've cured me of my melancholy."
"It's what I'm here for, baby!"
Leo groans when Mikey aims his finger guns at Donnie, and Raph pushes his hands down with a quiet laugh.
"Eat," papa demands again, dumping a plate of boiled eggs in front of Mikey, a small pile of carrots and smoked pork in front of Leo, and a whole loaf of bread before Donnie. The cured meat that he tries to coerce Raph into accepting is turned away. Their father and brother share a lingering, haunted look. There is an understanding that passes between them sometimes, like a silent conversation that only people who had lived through the kinds of horrific things that they had would ever be able to understand. After today, Donnie will just have to get through one more year before he never has to worry about someday sharing that understanding with them, too. It is the one thing he's okay with never knowing or understanding.
A moment passes in silence as the three of them force themselves to pick at their food, shooting one another strained smiles or murmuring reassurances any time their eyes meet. Raph and papa had disappeared, but Donnie can hear their voices from one of the adjoining rooms. They are too muffled to make out any words, though. Donnie tips his head, trying to catch some of the conversation as he pictures the blueprints he'd been dreaming up a few weeks before. He sifts absentmindedly through some of his mental plans for a rudimentary invention that would enhance his hearing enough to make eavesdropping easier, and wishes he'd had the resources to actually make it. Before he can get too in his head, though, papa's suddenly much louder voice breaks through his thoughts.
"It's almost time, boys," he says. His voice is strained with anxiety, but at least he isn't spiraling yet. Or dissociating. Donnie will take what small mercies he can get with that regard.
"Nicest clothes, hair done, faces washed, blah blah blah. We know the drill, daddy," Leo laughs, pushing away his plate of mostly untouched food as he stands. Mikey bounces right along at his heels, already chattering a mile a minute as he wonders out loud about what he should wear. He speaks like he has a much larger wardrobe than he actually does, and Donnie rolls his eyes fondly as Mikey and Raph disappear into their shared bedroom to get ready. Their little brother's voice filters through the walls and into the hall, pitched high with his anxiety despite his fight to remain cheerful.
From the corner of his eye, he sees Leo's expression fall as he watches them go. His throat bobs as he swallows hard.
"Hey," Donnie says, his voice low. Leo turns to face him, and it is almost scary how easy it is for him to throw on a smile again. If Donnie hadn't seen the fear and the exhaustion, he wouldn't have been able to tell Leo's ease is all a front at all.
"You ready for the long walk, Dontron?" Leo asks before Donnie can find the words he wants to say, his voice cheerful as he ushers Donnie into their bedroom and closes the door behind them. Donnie doesn't look at him as he pulls his Reaping day clothes from the back of his wardrobe, not really caring that they've gotten wrinkled after a year of disuse.
"Ready as I ever am," he answers stiffly as he pulls off his pajama top and replaces it with a simple white dress shirt. His shoulders are sore from their training with dad the night before. He'd been fretting, and worked them a fair bit harder than usual. Just like he does every year. Donnie doesn't blame him for it, though he hopes he won't look stiff and stupid when he shuffles to the Justice Building with all the other kids.
He turns to examine himself in the mirror and in the reflection he catches the sad look that Leo's sending him. He pretends that he didn't see it, focusing instead on smoothing out his eyebrows and fluffing and styling his hair. Leo joins him, shoulders brushing, and does the same. They'd stopped wearing makeup three years ago, back when some of the kids at school had kicked mud at them and demanded to know why they were still trying to dress Cap while their brother was just waiting to die in the arena for the Capitol's entertainment.
He misses it sometimes. Some purple eyeshadow would look amazing with the purple sash he was planning to tie around his waist for a pop of color. He knows Leo misses the red eyeliner he used to use daily, too. They both miss who they were before they almost lost their brother.
"Just one more year," Leo murmurs, leaning closer to the mirror to frown at the dark bags beneath his eyes.
"For us," Donnie corrects, his voice sharp. "Mikey's got two years left after today."
Leo's expression flickers, hurt and worry and exasperation all flashing across it quick as lightning strikes before he settles back with his usual smile. Donnie pretends it doesn't hurt him to be so cold. It's better this way.
Watching Raph fight for his life while they all stood helplessly by had almost broken them. It was better if Donnie was cold and distant, so that if the day came that one of their names was called again, maybe it wouldn't hurt so badly. Just two more years, and then he could start repairing the bonds he'd been working so hard to ice over these last few years. If they'd let him.
(He hopes they'll get the chance to let him.)
"Help me with my hair?" Leo asks, instead of saying any of the surely countless things he actually wants to. Donnie heaves a dramatic sigh, but pulls the chair out from beneath the vanity so his twin can settle himself into it.
Leo's hair is silky to the touch, nothing at all like Mikey's or Raph's. It's softer than Donnie's, too, much to his eternal chagrin. When they were a little younger, back before Donnie made himself cold, Leo used to love to rile him up with taunts about how much nicer his hair was. Donnie had started to cut his hair short, just as a way to spite his twin's flowing locks. It was better for lab safety, too.
He kind of missed the way Leo teased him about it though. Maybe once he was 19, he'd start growing it out again. He could maybe ask Leo for hair care tips. At least then they'd have something to talk about.
His fingers move deftly through Leo's black hair, twisting it first into braids, then up into an intricate knot settled at the top of his head. Leo whistles with appreciation at the site, turning his head this way and that to get a better look. After a few seconds of admiring himself, he sighs wistfully and mutters, "This would look amazing with the right makeup."
Donnie snorts, unable to help the wry grin that breaks across his features. Leo looks startled by his amusement, but after a second his own expression becomes a more enthusiastic mirror of Donnie's. The boys in the mirror look nearly identical, and so much like the old video footage of their dad's teenage years that it makes him feel a little sick. He wonders sometimes what their father sees when he looks at his middle children. He doesn't blame their dad for not wanting to see his own past reflected back at him.
The people around town always muttered behind their hands about how Yoshi must have had quite a time in the Capitol, to have come home with children from at least two different mothers. They'd spat at dad's feet sometimes, too, when the talking alone wasn't enough to satisfy them.
Once, back when Donnie was still small enough that their father insisted he had to keep a hand on his coattails and Mikey was still being wheeled around in a stroller any time they left the house, a glob of it had landed on Leo's shoulder and he'd started crying, which set the rest of them off. Their father had soothed them, kneeling to kiss each of their foreheads and carding his fingers gently through their hair. The man who'd spat at them was still lingering nearby, laughing at his own cruelty and mocking their father for having run back to the districts with his tail between his legs; for having grown soft. Like that was such a bad thing.
"You boys stay right here and cover your ears," papa had instructed, and then he stood, and he grabbed the man by the throat and dragged him around the side of a building and out of sight. Even with his hands over his ears, Donnie had still been able to hear the way the man had screamed.
People still love to gossip, but no one had spat at them when they went out after that. He wonders if his brothers remember that moment as vividly as he does; if it had helped form them into the kinds of people they grew to be.
"You should try dying it," is what he says instead of asking. "Maybe people would like you more as a blond."
"People already love me!" Leo cries, feigning affront. Donnie rolls his eyes and tries not to think about how changing the color of his hair would just be another way to separate himself from his twin. Another way to build up the fortress between them, so it wouldn't hurt as bad if he lost him. Some way that they wouldn't look in the mirror and see each other, if that day ever came that they were left without their other half.
"Sure they do," Donnie snorts with a roll of his eyes. He gives his brother's shoulder a little squeeze before he steps back and turns away, pretending to examine his outfit for any of the stains or wrinkles that they both knew he doesn't care about.
Outside, the sirens calling everyone to the Reaping begin howling. Donnie winces at the sound, trying to ignore the way it makes his stomach twist unpleasantly. He'd helped create those sirens for a school project almost six years ago, when their teacher had given them the assignment of something in their district that could be improved upon to make lives better.
That year, he'd seen a classmate show up late for the Reaping and be beat within an inch of his life for it. His excuse was that he hadn't been able to hear the sirens from his family's house on the very edge of the district. Donnie had come up with the idea of creating a siren system to ensure that everyone would be able to hear them, no matter where they were. One of the visiting Capitol representatives had liked the idea so much they'd put it into effect across almost all of the districts.
There had been Capitol scientists swarming their home for weeks afterwards, wanting to know more about Donnie's invention, throwing around words like innovation and genius. He'd been stupid and naive back then; desperate for approval and attention from an outside source after years of being looked down on by the other people of their district. He had shown them more of his ideas, shared his thoughts and answered questions and glowed under the attention while his father chewed his nails bloody in the background.
Donnie had been the only one in the room surprised when they started talking about taking him back to the Capitol with them. The scientists tittered and whispered about how the head Gamemaker would love an apprentice like him. They declared that they'd start making preparations that very night, ignoring the way that Donnie had started crying and clinging to his papa, begging him not to let them take him away.
His papa had knelt before him to rest one shaking hand on his cheek and told him not to worry; he would take care of everything. To this day, Donnie doesn't know what his dad did to make them go away. All he knows is that the scientists and their dad all disappeared for three weeks, and then he came back bruised and bloodied with the promise that none of his sons would be taken away. That had held true until the day Raph's name had been drawn. Not even their dad had been able to fix that.
Donnie's invention had heralded the deaths of 115 children since then. It would become 138 this year. It had almost been what had led Raph to his death, as well. The sound haunted his dreams most nights, though he would never admit it.
"Boys!" papa shouts, his voice hoarse and a little manic. The ticking from the cat shaped wall clock seems louder than usual. "It is time to get going! Hurry hurry, we can't be late!"
"Coming!" Mikey shouts from his room, voice cracking on the single syllable. The twins share a concerned look, but neither say anything about it.
When Donnie and Leo emerge from their bedroom Raph is already waiting by the front door with their dad. His boots are on and laced, and he stands in the entryway, shifting from foot to foot with enough nervous energy to power the whole district. Leo makes a point to bump into him as he swaggers over to pull on his own shoes, and Raph in response makes a big show of pretending to lose his balance and windmill his arms, knocking Leo right back.
"Watch the hair," Donnie snaps as he ducks beneath Raph's flailing. "I spent too much time making it perfect to have my efforts destroyed by such tomfoolery."
"Tomfoolery?" Leo repeats, voice pitched high as he attempts to hold back his laughter.
"That word's too big for Raph's brain," Mikey chimes in with a surprising amount of false cheer as he joins them in the entryway, shooting their affronted big brother mournful puppy dog eyes until he accepts his inevitable defeat and picks through the scattered shoes until he finds Mikey's lucky Reaping shoes. They are several painful sizes too small for him by now, but he'd worn them every year since April had turned 12 and none of their names had ever been drawn. Three years ago, the day Hamato, Raphael had been read aloud for all to hear, had been when he'd outgrown them and wore a different pair. Ever since, he's made himself squeeze into them during each Reaping.
Donnie doesn't believe in superstitions or good luck charms, but he's made the decision not to tell Mikey he's being illogical about it and doing no one any favors by wearing uncomfortable shoes. They each have their own unique method of coping. Donnie's come to understand that this is just one of Mikey's more visible ones.
"You ready, boys?" Raph asks, his head high and his good eye dark. He cracks his knuckles and then shakes out his hands, looking for all the world like he's preparing for war. Maybe, in a way, he is. The flashbacks tend to be worse for him this time of year, and he sometimes gets lost in them at inopportune moments.
Mikey seems to sense the brewing storm clouds, too, and reaches out to rest a hand upon Raph's arm. The touch is feather light, but it is enough to draw their brother back from the precipice he was stood upon.
"April should be here any moment," papa says, glancing down at the gold and ruby wrist watch he's worn every day since Raph came back from the Capitol. On cue, the door bursts open with enough force it sends their father stumbling backwards as it hits him. He clutches at his nose, hissing and grumbling about how the enthusiasm of children will be the death of him someday, even though April is technically an adult with a job and everything. She stands tall in the doorway, framed by the grey daylight, hands on her hips and smile bright despite the overbearing weight that they all know she feels just as much as they do. She'd taken her turns among the crowds of children every year, and even if she's free from it now, she still has to watch the boys she considers brothers face down the terror of the Reaping.
"You guys ready?" April asks, and they've been friends long enough that it's easy to see that her upbeat attitude and beaming smile are a front. Like Donnie masks his terror with coldness, April masks hers with warmth.
"Let's get this over with," Raph says before any of them can say anything sassy or depressing. He smiles at them, though it is wet and wavering. April slips a hand into his, squeezing tight enough that Donnie can see her bones press white against the skin of her knuckles. "None of your names are getting called this year, so the sooner we get there the sooner we can leave."
"If they pulled Dr. Fluffball's name, they'd just throw it back anyways," Leo chimes in, and he reaches out to ruffle Mikey's fluffy brown hair. "Those Cap dorks would be too scared of catching his rabies!"
Mikey bats his hand away, cheeks flushing, and ducks to hide behind Raph and April with his tongue stuck out. Donnie watches them with a carefully blank expression and tries to ignore the way his chest feels tight. He misses getting to mess with their youngest brother. Soon. Just one more year. It's better this way. Right?
Papa steps outside, squinting in the sunshine. The scarring that crisscrosses his face folds and wrinkles with the motion, and Donnie knows that they ache and tug at the surrounding skin by the way his hands curl into fists at his side. Donnie's never been good at reading people, but he knows his family's tells better than anything. All it is, is data collection. He's good at that. It's soothing to know how his family thinks and feels even when he struggles to read their faces or tones.
He wonders if they know how much he loves them, even now. He hopes they do.
The six of them join the crowds of haunted faces, the heavy weight of expectant fear hanging over them all, and it is only the mundanity of routine keeping the masses from becoming screaming wrecks. Donnie swallows down the nausea and the terror with the ease of years of practice, focusing only on putting one foot in front of the other, keeping his eyes trained on April and Mikey and Raph as they walk a few feet ahead. His eyes keep trailing down towards Mikey's ridiculous tiny shoes, and the way his hair bounces with each step he takes. Their youngest brother has always been small, but he looks especially tiny walking next to the towering behemoth that is Raphael.
Donnie knows that any second now, Mikey will turn his big amber brown eyes up towards Raph and beg for a piggy back ride to take the pressure off his feet, and Raph would rather die than say no. They're all weak to him and his baby brother manipulation tactics. Especially today.
Leo falls into step beside Donnie just as Mikey turns towards Raph, face pulled into an obvious pout even in profile. Donnie doesn't turn towards his twin; Leo's always been able to read him like a book, and if Donnie looks at him now then he's going to know just how much this whole situation affects him. Leo always knows. Neither of them speak, but he feels Leo's hand brush against his own, and his elbow bouncing against his ribs a few times. Unlike most other days, Donnie doesn't make himself pull away.
"We'll be waiting right over here for you," Raph says once they reach the lines and the Peacekeepers gesture with their guns for him to put Mikey down, just like he has every year since he won his games. Just like dad used to, when each of them hit 12, until it was just him standing alone with the crowds of dejected onlookers.
"No need to look for us, we'll find you!" Leo declares as he slings an arm around Mikey's shoulder and pulls him close. Mikey shrinks towards him, always happier when he's sheltered by his big brothers. Donnie steps in a little closer as well, letting Mikey grab his hand and Raph give his shoulder a little squeeze before they're swept away by the crowd of solemn, grim-faced children. He catches his dad's eyes, bright with a manic terror only barely held back by the presence of the peacekeepers and the fact he doesn't know for sure that it will be one of his kids' names called. Just like every other parent or family member huddled in the crowd. They all breathe as one miserable, heaving mass. Donnie shivers and tears his eyes away, letting Mikey's grip on his hand tow him along.
They split off, sorted by age groups, Mikey being shuffled along to stand with the other 16 year olds. He just celebrated his birthday a week ago, but he stands so much shorter than any of the other 15 or 16 year olds. A full head shorter than some of them. He hasn't had a good growth spurt since he was 13, and every year the Capitol workers that handle the sorting and the ceremony try to send him to stand with the 12 year olds when they check in. It would be funny if it wasn't so awful.
Donnie and Leo stick close together as they shuffle along to stand with the other boys in their age group, both keeping their eyes on Mikey as he wanders through the crowds to find his own spot. Even from two rows back, his halo of curls is unmistakable. In the sun, the dark brown has streaks of orange in it. Donnie wishes he'd offered to help him style it, if only so they could have spent some time together before the Reaping.
He can see the way Mikey shakes. He wishes they could stand together, too. Mikey's always better at feigning bravery when he's side by side with them.
"Welcome," a familiar voice croons, and all attention snaps towards the stage. The Capitol liaison has stepped upon the stage, smile plastered across purple painted lips and her toxic green hair pulled into an intricate updo that manages to look a bit like flames. Atomo Grey has been the District 4 escort and Capitol liaison for as long as Donnie can remember. When he was eight, back before he really understood all that her position meant, he'd had a pretty big crush on her. It had faded by the time that Donnie stood among the other tributes and faced down the possibility of death for the first time, and any lingering trace had died a fiery death when her colorful talons had plucked Raph's name from the tribute bowl.
"Welcome to another year, and may the odds be ever in your favor." She sounds bored as she delivers the same scripted speech as she does every year, going on about what an honor it is to be chosen, introducing the usual propaganda video about how great the Capitol is and how the games began with war between adults and ended by blood spilled between children. It's boring by this point. All the pomp and ceremony is tired and played out, only serving to heighten the suspense and buy enough time for Capitol viewers to scan the crowds and ask one another who they think has the best chance.
Donnie tunes it out as best he can, watching Mikey as he shifts and fidgets, listening to the distant crashing of the waves, feeling Leo's fingers trembling where they're holding the hem of Donnie's sleeve. It'll be over soon.
"As is tradition," Atomo murmurs, her voice low and brimming with a slowly burgeoning excitement as her fingers circle the rim of the bowl like sharks around blood, "—ladies first."
She plunges her hand into the hundreds of names, fishing around for a second before she withdraws the small green slip of paper.
"Brise, Kendra!" she calls, sharp eyes scanning the crowd of girls as they all shuffle away from the one who was chosen. Donnie cranes his neck to see who it is, vaguely recognizing the name.
Kendra steps forward, a ferocious scowl twisting her otherwise average features into something ugly. Good for her, he thinks, watching her keep her head high as she stomps towards the stage, flanked by the Peacekeepers. She looks small and fragile within their midsts.
As she steps onto the stage, he realizes where he knows her from; she was in the same grade as Raph and had been a bit of a bully to both him and April before Raph had won the games and shown exactly what he could do if he had to. She'd backed off after that, which tells Donnie she's a coward who knows when to call it quits. Not a bad trait to have in the games. Maybe she'll even survive a full 24 hours before someone finds her.
Kendra is 18 this year, and he wonders how much it stings to be called when you're so close to escaping the games. He's guessing the answer is a lot considering the look on her face.
"And now to choose our male tribute!" Atomo Grey announces, her smile sharp on her otherwise round features. Leo's hand moves to clutch tightly at Donnie's hand. He squeezes back, eyes locked on Atomo's slowly circling fingers.
She plunges into the bowl, hand disappearing into the green papers up to her forearm. She withdraws one with a flourish and opens it, eyes alight as she reads the name.
"Hamato," he hears her say, and the world around him slows as his heart begins aching in his chest. "— Michaelangelo."
Everything seems to stop.
"No," Leo whispers.
Mikey has gone so still. The boys around him step back, and after a brief hesitation Mikey steps towards the waiting Peacekeepers. Somewhere in the crowd of onlookers, a familiar voice is screaming. Donnie doesn't need to look to know that the Peacekeepers are the only thing keeping Raph away.
Leo had tried to volunteer for Raph, back then. Raph had turned on him with a terrifying snarl. It was a look that none of them had ever seen before. Before the words were even out of Leo's mouth, Raph had punched him so hard he'd been knocked to the dirt, bleeding and stunned.
"Nobody volunteers for Raph," he'd spat, and he'd shoved the Peacekeepers out of the way on his march to the stage.
Mikey's not like that, though. As his too-small boots step hesitantly upon the path to the stage and the Peacekeepers surround him, almost blocking him from sight, he casts one quick, searching look over his shoulder. He looks terrified and it is breaking Donnie's heart.
His eyes scan the crowd for them, and when he finds them, he smiles. It is gentle and sad and full of a quiet acceptance. A kind of heartbreaking happiness that he was the one chosen instead of them. They'd all promised each other they wouldn't volunteer if one of them ever got chosen. Mikey didn't realize yet that they had lied when they'd made those promises.
Donnie can barely hear Raph's shouting over the sound of the blood rushing in his ears. He's been planning for this eventuality, just like he knows Leo has.
Leo's hand releases his. Donnie turns to look at him, and he fights to keep his face empty and uncaring, does his best to pretend like he doesn't care that their baby brother is walking towards his death. Leo's eyes are wide and wild and brimming with desperate tears. Mikey's almost upon the stage, and their game of chicken has turned into a race against those footsteps.
As Leo takes in Donnie's detached expression, something like relief washes across his features. He thinks he's won this time. Maybe if he wasn't so stressed, so sleep deprived, so emotional, then he would've been able to see through Donnie's plans. Leo always knows, after all. Too bad for him, he's miscalculated this time.
Leo's hand raises into the air and his voice rings loud and clear for all to hear.
"I volunteer as tribute."
All eyes snap towards him, and Leo's head and hand stay lifted high. No one looks particularly surprised, though Atoma Grey is grinning delightedly. He can hear Raph sobbing, and when Donnie turns to look, he sees their papa, April, and Raph all in cuffs, detained by the Peacekeepers but still forced to witness their family making the choices they always feared they would.
He doesn't let his gaze linger. He doesn't want to see their tear streaked faces right now.
"Leo?" Mikey's voice is very small as he turns to look at them. His eyes are massive. Haunted already.
"Don't worry," Leo says, and he steps forward, through the parting sea of bodies. "Leon's got it."
And as his twin steps upon the path towards certain death, Donnie lets a smile stretch across his face.
"Au contraire, brother mine," he says, and his stomach twists uncomfortably as Leo whirls to face him, face already draining of color as he realizes the mistake he made. Donnie pretends it doesn't bother him as he raises one hand high, still grinning. "I volunteer as tribute."
"You can't!" Leo snaps, but Donnie is already pushing past him, ignoring the way his twin grabs at his arm, fingers catching at his sleeve in a desperate attempt to hold him back. "I already volunteered!"
"You did," Donnie concedes, still pushing onwards to the stage. He feels like he's going to be sick, and he forces his smile wider, hoping it will distract from the sweat gathering across his brow and the way the blood has drained from his face. Leo keeps clutching at his arm, and when he gets close enough Mikey darts out from beneath the guard of the Peacekeepers to do the same, both of them fighting to hold him back.
"Stop it!" Mikey cries, arms splayed wide as he tries to fight the both of them back. "She called me! I'm-I'm the one going! Just let me do this! You don't have to protect me!"
There are tears streaming down his freckled cheeks, glittering in the sunlight. Donnie's smile gets a little more real as he reaches out to wipe them away with his sleeve. He tries not to let the hurt show on his face when Mikey jerks back out of his reach. His smile turns briefly hollow again before he allows it to slip from his face.
"Don't be an idiot," Leo hisses, and his fingers are digging into Donnie's arm tight enough to leave bruises as he fights to keep him from reaching the stage.
"You're the one who didn't play his cards right," Donnie tells him nonchalantly, trying to shrug off his desperate hold. He hates the thought of Leo being able to feel the way he's shaking with terror.
"I already volunteered!" Leo spits again, his voice breaking as his breaths hitch around a building sob. "You don't have to do this!"
"Of course I do," Donnie says, pushing forward, trying to ignore the sound of Raph's broken sobs and April's angry screaming, and refusing to look Leo or Mikey in the eyes as he fights to reach the finish line first. He raises his voice pointedly, making sure the people around them can hear him. "You volunteered for Mikey, I volunteered for you, so unless someone else wants to volunteer for me, then game rules say that I am the tribute for this year."
Predictably, no one in the crowd of gathered boys raises their hands to try to take his place. Donnie pastes on his best shit eating grin, the one he only gets to use on the rare occasion that he actually bests Leo in a game. Leo stares back, tears rolling down his cheeks as he realizes that he has no way to save his twin. He wasted his shot. One of them was always going to volunteer for Mikey, and he made the mistake of speaking up first.
"I don't want you to go," Leo whispers like a confession. He sounds so young, so scared, the way he did when they were tiny and he'd crawl into bed with Donnie when he had a nightmare.
"Please don't do this," Mikey sobs, reaching out to take both of their hands. He is shaking. Donnie looks at him and he sees all the ways that his baby brother will get to grow up to be great. "Let me go."
He shrugs them off, not able to help the smile as fondness overtakes him. He loves them. He loves them, and this is all he can do for them now.
"This was always the plan, if one of you got called. I would never let either of you go first."
He didn't mean to say that yet. Maybe the fact that this could be the last time he sees them is getting to his head. Making his tongue loose. It's almost funny.
"This is all very sweet, but would our tribute please make his way to the stage?" Atomo snaps, and Leo tries to shove past them both. Donnie kicks his legs out from under him, ruffles Mikey's hair as their little brother automatically drops to his knees at Leo's side to check on him, and follows in Raph's footsteps as he marches towards the stage.
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