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He's tired. He's been tired for a while now.
Exhaustion seeps into his bones and digs its icy fingers in. refusing to let go even when he sleeps. It settles into his limbs like stones and stays there like a crushing weight that he can't get rid of. Like it's been carved out of something else, it presses in on him, fills the space between his breaths, stretches thin across his body so that every sound feels wrong.
He rolls his shoulders, trying to shake it off. The chains at his sides clink softly, the metal still warm from earlier drills. Across the room his purple brother is pacing, tablet in hand, muttering to himself the purple glow reflecting off of his goggles.
“…your margin of error is increasing, that shouldn’t be happening,” Donnie says, more to the screen than to Mikey. “Unless- no, that would imply, ugh.
Mikey forces a grin that doesn't quite sit right on his face. “Hey, don’t stress it, Dee. I’m totally fine. Look”
He flicks his wrist, sending a small curl of golden flame dancing along the length of his chains. It sputters, flares too bright for a second, then dims. Donnie freezes mid-pace. Staring at Mikeys chains.
“That,” he says flatly, pointing at the chains, looking Mikey in the eye “is exactly what I’m stressed about.”
Mikey shrugs, trying to keep it casual, like it doesn't matter. Trying to ignore how the flame flared to bright, like it hadn't really been his to control.
“I’ve got it under control,” he says.
They stare at each other, and the quiet of the room presses close. Something in the back of his mind makes him think. Does he? Is he in control? A shadow flicks is the corner of his eye.Mikey’s smile twitches. He glances over his shoulder. Nothing there. Just the stone walls, the faint scorch marks from earlier attempts, the shadows stretching long under the overhead lights
“..key…Mikey?”
He snaps back. The world crashing down on him like a tsunami. “Yeah! Yeah, I’m good.”
“Are you sure you have it under control?”
“I said I’m fine.”
The words come out sharper than he means them to. The quiet tightens. Donnie’s expression shifts, not hurt, not exactly. Concern, sharpened into something more clinical. That’s almost worse.
“... right” Donnie says slowly, like he isn't entirely convinced. “Which is why I’ve arranged something to help with that.”
Mikey blinks. “Uh. That sounds ominous.”
“It’s not ominous,” Donnie says. A beat. “It’s proactive.”
“That did not make it less ominous.”
Donnie exhales through his nose, already turning back to his tablet. “Draxum agreed to meet with us. He will be here in a few hours”
The name lands heavy.
Mikey’s grip tightens on his chain. “Draxum?”
“Yes, Draxum,” Donnie says, like it’s obvious. “He has the most comprehensive understanding of mystic energy manipulation that we currently have access to. If anyone can help you stabilize-”
“I don’t need-”
Might help.
The thought slips in so smoothly Mikey almost doesn’t catch it. He stiffens.
Donnie keeps talking. “-this isn’t about whether you think you need help, Mikey. Your output is fluctuating, your control is inconsistent, and-”
You felt that, didn’t you? It whispers in his ear. Mikey presses his tongue against the roof of his mouth, hard. Grounds himself.
“I’m fine,” he repeats, quieter now.
Donnie stops pacing.
“Fine,” he echoes. “Is not a measurable metric.”
Mikey laughs, a little too loud. “Okay, wow, nerd attack.”
Donnie doesn’t smile.
“…Please, let Draxum help. ” he says instead. Looking mikey in the eyes.
Theres something tere that he doesnt see often. Desperation. It flickers in his brothers eyes like a flying flame. And that, more than anything, makes something in Mikey’s chest twist. The quiet consumes him.
Draxum’s lab smells like something sharp and metallic, like rusted metal left too long in the open.
Mikey lingers near the entrance, arms folded tight across his chest, while Donnie launches into an explanation that’s already too detailed to follow. Words like “instability,” “feedback loop,” and “amplification” blur together, stacking into something heavy and clinical.
Draxum listens without interrupting. When Donnie finally trails off, the silence that follows is worse than before. Draxum’s gaze shifts to Mikey. It’s not unkind. It’s not kind, either. It’s assessing.
“You’re afraid of it,afraid of your own power.” Draxum says.
Mikey huffs. “Wow, straight to the point, huh?”
Draxum doesn’t blink. “Fear creates resistance. Resistance creates instability. Instability-”
“-creates big flashy explosions, yeah, I got that part,” Mikey cuts in, forcing a grin. “Kinda my whole brand lately.”
Draxum steps closer. Mikey fights the urge to step back.
“Power like yours,” Draxum says, voice low and even, “doesn’t get out of control.”
The quiet leans in.
“It gets contained,” he continues. “Or it consumes the user.”
Something cold slides down Mikey’s spine.
Consumes.
The word echoes.
we could help.
Mikey’s breath catches.
Draxum is still talking, something about discipline, about structure, about control being a misnomer, but Mikey’s not really hearing him anymore.
The voice..
No. Not a voice. Just a thought. Just his own head being weird.
You don’t have to be afraid.
Mikey squeezes his eyes shut for a second, just a second. When he opens them, Draxum is watching him more closely now.
“We’ll begin now” Draxum says. Watching him warily.
Training starts simple. Or at least, it’s supposed to.
“Focus,” Draxum instructs. “Channel the energy. Direct it.”
Mikey nods, rolling his shoulders again. Easy. He can do it easily. He lets the chain slide through his fingers, feeling the familiar weight of it, the balance. He breathes in, steady, and calls the flames up, It comes too fast.
Too hot.
He flinches as it surges along the metal, flaring bright enough to sting his eyes.
“Contain it,” Draxum says, sharp now.
“I’m trying!”
The flame flickers, wavers
You’re squeezing too tight.
Mikey freezes.
The fire stutters. Flickering, casting shadows across the room.
“What did you just say?” he blurts.
Draxum frowns. “I said contain it.”
“No, you-” Mikey shakes his head hard. “Never mind.”
The flame gutters out. Silence. Draxum’s expression doesn’t change, but there’s something sharper behind his eyes now.
“Again.”
Mikey swallows. Nodding slightly
“Right. Again.”
He tries. Again, the fire comes too strong. Again, it slips. Again and again. Each time it slips, flares up to bright, too hot.
You’re doing it wrong.
The thought is clearer this time. Not loud. Not separate. But not entirely his, either. Mikey’s grip tightens.
“I said contain it,” Draxum snaps.
“I am!” Mikey shoots back.
The flame lashes outward, snapping like a whip before he yanks it back, breath hitching. The room smells like smoke.
Draxum steps closer, unimpressed. “You’re fighting it.”
“I’m controlling it.”
“No,” Draxum says. “You’re restraining it. There’s a difference.”
He’s right.
Mikey’s stomach drops. He doesn’t answer.
It gets worse. Not all at once. Not in any way that’s easy to point at and say there, that’s the problem. It’s small things. A flicker of flame that lingers a second too long. A moment where time seems to drag, like the world is moving through syrup and Mikey’s the only one who notices.
A whisper echoes in his ears.
Careful.
He jerks his hand back before the chain can snap too close to Donnie.
Donnie pauses mid-sentence. “What was that?”
“Nothing,” Mikey says quickly.
We kept you from hurting him. The voice echoes again.
His chest tightens.
“It was nothing.”
Donnie studies him for a beat longer, then nods slowly. “…Right.”
But he doesn’t look convinced. Mikey looks away.
The whispers don’t stop. He thought they were just random thoughts popping into his head. They changed. At first, they’re easy to dismiss. Background noise. Stress. His brain trying to process too much at once.
But then.
They start to make sense.
“Again,” Draxum says.
Mikey exhales, exhausted. His arms ache, his head is pounding, and every attempt feels like trying to hold water in his hands. He calls the flame. It surges. It slips.
Loosen your grip.
He hesitates. Just for a second. Then he loosens his grip on the flames, the flame steadies. Not perfectly, certainly not cleanly. But… better.
Mikey’s breath catches. Relief flooding his veins.
“…Again,” Draxum says, quieter now.
Mikey tries. This time, when the fire rises, he doesn’t clamp down on it immediately. He lets it move.
Let it Breathe.
The flame curls, smoother now, less violent. For a moment, it almost feels… easy. To easy. Then he panics. The control snaps. The fire bursts outward, slamming into the far wall with a crack. Mikey staggers back, heart racing.
“I- I had it-”
“You lost it,” Draxum corrects.
“I almost-”
“Almost is not good enough”
Mikey clenches his jaw.
It wasn’t your fault.
His head jerks.
You were doing better.
“…Stop,” he mutters under his breath.
Draxum’s eyes narrow. “What did you say?”
“Nothing.”
You don’t have to listen to him.
Mikey presses his hands to his temples.
“Enough,” Draxum says. “We’ll pause for now.”
Mikey doesn’t argue. He stops talking as much after that. Not on purpose. It just… happens. It’s easier not to. Easier to keep his head down, to focus on training, on the rhythm of movement, on the burn of magic under his skin.
Because the quieter he is… The louder they get. The more the overtake his thoughts.
You’re tired.
Mikey leans against the wall, breathing hard.
Of course you are.
The voice, voices, feel closer now. Not outside. Not whispering in his ear. Inside his head. Threaded through his very thoughts.
“you can help …” he mutters, then flinches. “I mean, no. No, you can’t.”
We already are.
His fingers twitch.
Look at you.
He glances down at his hands. They’re steady. For once. They're steady, not a tremor or shake. He stares in shock at his hands. He curls his hand into a fist not believing it to be true. It doesn't shake.
You’re stronger when you stop fighting.
“That’s not,” He swallows. “That’s not how this works.”
Isn’t it? The voices say, smugness evident in their tone.
He doesn’t answer. Doesn't have to. The breaking point isn’t loud. It isn’t dramatic. It’s quiet. Of course it is. Because everything seems to be quiet these days. Muffled as though theres cotting stuffed in his ears. Donnie is there again, standing too close, watching too carefully.
“Mikey,” he says, voice tight, “your readings are spiking again. You need to-”
“I know what I need to do,” Mikey snaps.
Donnie flinches.Regret hits immediately.
“I just..” Donnie starts.
The power surges. Cutting him off. It’s sudden, violent and wrong. The air distorts, heat and something else, something dangerous, warping the space around them.
Donnie freezes. Not metaphorically. Actually freezes. Frozen in place like he was stone. Time stutters. Reality warps and the world lurches to a halt. Mikey’s breath comes fast and shallow as he looks around, panic clawing up his throat.
“Donnie?”
No response. Of course not. Everything is still. To still. Everything too still. Everything except
You.
The voices are clear now. Layered. Calm.
We stopped it.
Mikey’s hands shake. “I didn’t—I didn’t mean to—”
But you didn’t hurt him.
His chest tightens. Breath coming to quickly.
“That was luck.”
That was us.
Silence surrounds him.
“…No,” Mikey whispers.
You felt it.
He did.
That moment, right before everything froze, when the power had surged and twisted and then it settled. Not because he forced it. Because something else had.
We can keep them safe.
Mikey squeezes his eyes shut.
“I can keep them safe.”
You’re trying.
The words are gentle. Too gentle.
And you’re failing.
His breath stutters.
“I’m not—”
You almost hurt him.
“I didn’t!”
Because we intervened.
The world around him flickers. Time threatens to snap back.
Mikey’s heart pounds. Threatening to burst out from his chest
“I don’t, I don’t want this.”
You don’t want to be afraid.
“…No.”
Then stop fighting.
The quiet wraps around him. Warm. Heavy. Safe. Mikey’s shoulders sag. He’s so tired. So, so tired.
Let us help.
His hands stop shaking.
You don’t have to carry it alone.
The words sink in, slow and heavy.
“…I just…” His voice cracks. “I just want it to stop. I want the fear to stop. ”
It will. We will fix it.
A pause.
If you let us.
Mikey opens his eyes. The world is still frozen. Donnie stands in front of him, caught mid-motion, eyes wide behind his goggles. Mikey reaches out, stops just short of touching him.
“…Okay,” he whispers.
Not surrender. Not fully. Just, not fighting. Not anymore The power shifts. Not a surge. Not a burst. A settling. Like something sliding into place. Time snaps forward.
Donnie stumbles, catching himself. “ this is getting out of hand-”
He stops. Stares.
“Mikey?”
Mikey lowers his hand slowly. The power hums under his skin. Steady and quiet. Comfortable even.
“I’m okay,” he says.
And for the first time, it almost feels true. He almost believes his own lies. After that, everything is… easier.
That’s what scares him. The flames don’t lash out as much. The surges smooth out. The instability fades into something more controlled, more precise. Draxum notices.
“Your output has stabilized,” he says. Pride evident in his eyes.
Mikey nods. He doesn’t say how. Donnie watches him like he’s trying to solve a problem. Mikey avoids his eyes. Because every time he looks, he remembers. The stillness.
The choice.
The way it felt to stop fighting.
Better, isn’t it?
Mikey exhales slowly.
“…Yeah,” he murmurs.
He doesn’t correct himself this time.cThat night, the lair is quiet again. But it’s different now. Not sharp. Not pressing. It feels full. Mikey sits alone, a chain coiled loosely in his lap, staring at the faint glow of embers dancing along the metal.
They move when he wants them to. They stop when he asks. Easy.
We told you.
He swallows.
“…Yeah.”
No denial. No argument comes from him. Just the truth. His fingers tighten slightly.
“What happens if I let go?” he asks softly.
The answer comes immediately.
You won’t have to be afraid anymore.
His chest aches. He’s so tired of being afraid. Of being afraid of hurting them. Of losing control.
“…And I’m still me?” he asks.
A pause.
Just long enough to matter.
We are you.
Mikey’s breath catches. That’s not the same answer. He knows it’s not. He knows- He looks down at his hands. They are steady, strong. vDonnie isn’t hurt. No one is. Because he stopped fighting. Because he—
Because they—
Mikey laughs, soft and shaky.
“…That’s not creepy at all.”
You’re safer this way.
The words wrap around him, familiar now. Almost comforting. He leans back against the wall, closing his eyes.
“Maybe,” he says.
A beat.
Then, quieter—
“…maybe I am.”
The embers flare. Just a little. Just enough. Later, when he speaks again, his voice is steady. Too steady.
““Goddamn right,” Mikey murmurs, staring at the faint reflection of firelight in the metal of his chain. “I should be scared of me…”
The words don’t sound like a joke anymore. They don’t sound like a threat, either.
Just the truth.
He tilts his head, listening to something no one else can hear. Feeling the presence curled beneath his skin, woven through every thought, warm. Patient. Waiting. The room goes still, like the world itself is holding its breath. Then his smile twitches wider. Wrong. Gold flickers through his eyes.
“ But who is in control …” golden light flickers, casting a shadow over a face too sharp, too still, like it’s been carved out of the very flames he tries to control.
Something inside him flares without resistance.