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It was his Birthday, today.
Purple hadn't told anyone that it was his birthday, but that didn't change the fact that there that date was, printed onto the calendar like the other 364 days in this year.
He didn't exactly feel like talking about it.
He didn't exactly feel like talking about a lot of things, these days.
Purple clutched the almost real copy of his twin brother a little tighter to his plastron, feeling it's soft fabric and trying to imagine Blue's rough scales under his fingers instead.
Weren't birthdays supposed to be happy? Why did it feel like just another day?
Well, to be fair, birthdays weren't exactly anything special at home. Their father would leave them for most of the morning so that he could scavenge some brownies for the afternoon, and his eyes would always grow teary when he smiled, as if birthdays were sad for him.
Purple didn't want birthdays to be sad.
And so he hugged his stuffie a little tighter and kicked off his blanket, leaving the bedroom with a long glance at the half-finished plushie of his little brother.
"Hey, Dee!" Mike greeted the moment he spotted Purple.
They always called him Dee. That was weird, there wasn't an ē sound in his name, nor was there the letter d. It was a completely nonsensical nickname, even if it made him feel... something every time he heard it.
He forced himself onto a chair next to Mike, kicking his feet awkwardly.
Maybe... maybe he could bake something? Like cookies?
Honestly, Purple wasn't really one for cookies, the hard ones were itchy and the soft ones were like chewing on mud, but the mindlessness that came with reading the directions of a simple recepie was something he always enjoyed. He also enjoyed Mike's company, he supposed.
"C... can we do something?" He finally asked hesitantly, hating how unsure he sounded.
"Sure, lil' dude!" Mike responded cheerfully, giving his usual giddy grin as he joined Purple in the unconscious leg kicking, allbeit for a different reason. "What'chya thinkin'?"
"Cookies," Purple said definitively. "I wanna see if I have it memorised yet," he lied easy enough.
"Why the hell not? You know, I never make enough treats for everyone. C'mon, Dee, let's do it."
~~~
"Happy Birthday to you."
Like every year, Pops had been gone for the entire day. He'd returned with one singular giant cupcake that he'd already cut into thirds.
They still did their best with the candle, of course.
(Purple didn't have a candle of his own. Pops had only given them one.)
"Happy Birthday to you."
Blue reaches to tug on his twin's wrist, but his hand only meets empty air.
Oh. Right.
"Happy Birthday dear Pur-- Blue!"
He... he... he--
"Happy Birthday to you!"
There was only one thought that rang true in Blue's head as he frantically distinguished the candle.
I wish for my twin brother to come back.
The light goes out.
And in that moment, Blue makes a calculated decision.
One third of the cupcake can be Red's. Another third can be Orange's.
The last one can be for when his wish comes true, for when Purple stumbles back home and demands his birthday treat like nothing was ever wrong.
But if Blue's there, it'll break the spell. It was his wish, so he'll be the only one to know that anything was ever wrong. He can't let his appearance ruin his brothers' happiness.
So he runs. Runs until he knows his brothers and Pops can't find him, until he's out in a dark and dreary, echo-y part of the sewers that he can barely recognise through the haze of his mind and his tears.
He lets out a chirp, just for the sake of it, hoping beyond hoping that this would be the moment his wish came true, that Purple finally came back.
It's his own chirp that echoes in the halls. Not anyone else's.
~~~
Dee's making that chirp at his plush again.
Over and over and over, repeatedly, aggressively, angrily, and no matter how hard Raphie tries to pry him away from the damn thing, Dee will not be swayed.
It's got to mean... something.
The kid's an alternate version of Donatello, he's smart, he doesn't do things without reason and especially not when there's nothing to gain from it. No knowledge, wisdom, or feeling, any of it. There's no matter to the repetitive chirping.
But he keeps doing it, anyways.
He's holding out the red-eared slider plush in front of him, staring directly into its eyes as he makes the noise. Raphie had tried redirecting this to the other two stuffed animals, but Dee's attention remained stubbornly fixed.
Chirp.
Dee's eyes water, and he frowns even harder at the stuffy, like he's mad at it for something.
And then he hugs it close for a few seconds, then goes back to chirping at it like nothing had happened.
Huh.