They’re sitting in what remains of his kitchen, swallowed by a sea of cardboard boxes, bubble wrap, and not much else. There are marks left on the walls by a supposedly 'temporary', five-year-old adhesive, and piles of dust in every corner of the floor that once sat covered, and miles of takeout boxes stashed into their trashcan, because those are the only warm meals they’ve been having in the last two days since they’ve brought their stove over to the new house.

There's a part of Donnie that feels a little bad about having his brothers over in this state, and a second, much larger part that can't bring himself to care if he lives or dies right now.

“I hate this,” he says, with everything he has. “This is the worst thing that’s ever happened to me.”

He was a lot younger when he first moved out of The Lair – freshly married and full of that stubborn determination to do everything the hard way you only really get in your twenties. They didn’t hire a moving company back then either, but that was also before they had to consider stuffing things like strollers, toddler beds, and cribs, and so, so much plastic junk into 15 x 15 cardboard boxes.

Life was a lot easier back then.

Donnie didn't remember owning this much stuff.

April said the same thing last week, and that was before they remembered the winter quilts they squeezed under their mattress last year, so at this point – Donnie feels about ready to accept their apartment as a living, breathing, replicating organism. 

He was mostly joking when he said it to Lizzie, but his daughter looked up at him like he had never said anything that made more sense in his life.

“Maybe it’s sad we’re leaving it,” she said, which was equally funny, sad, and true.

Donnie and April spent over five years in this apartment, and to see it bare and gutted like this feels a little like looking at a skinned animal.

“I thought that one time I taped over your Bill Nye episodes was the worst thing that’s ever happened to you,” Mikey says, pulling his legs up onto the kitchen counter. They ran out of books to use as replacement chairs – not that his brother would ever sit on one like a normal person anyway.

Donnie thinks for a moment, reconsidering. 

“The second worst thing,” he relents.

“You’re so dramatic,” Raph huffs. “Just throw some things out. Half of this is like…” He glances at the juicer, wrapped up on top of the fridge. They used it exactly once and never again. “Proper junk, dude.”

Raph left their childhood home first, bringing along not much more than his weapons and a couple of family pictures.

Practical in hindsight, and Donnie had never taken his brother for a particularly materialistic man, but strange in the moment. Raph’s room remained untouched for months, and it felt like Donnie could just walk in and still find him reading on his bed, or leaning over a drawing on his desk, or stabbing into his own punching bag. He never did.

“We already threw what we could,” Donnie says, absentmindedly. 

“Should’ve given it to me. I love holding onto junk,” Mikey says, too honestly.

“I know, we live together,” Leo says, sounding tired.

Raph huffs, giving them all a look that’s only halfway to amused.

“Should’ve given it to Judy,” he states. He always speaks of his daughter like she deserves the world, and Donnie would lie if he said he didn’t understand the feeling, but his brother always seems just a little too literal in it for comfort. “You know she loves smashing things!” 

Raph raises his voice a little at the end; all habit, because even at thirty they all fall into old, rowdy tendencies when left alone together. But he quickly quiets, glancing at the corner of the room with a sheepish look.

“Shit, sorry.”

Mikey glances up at the fridge, his eyes wide with the kind of look that usually means trouble and not much else.

“Dude, that’s such a good idea.” He points up to the juicer, a small grin pulling against his teeth. “Can I take it? It’ll make a great Christmas gift.”

Donnie looks at him for a long, long moment.

He’s joking, probably. But nowadays it's a little hard to tell when he's being serious and when he's kidding, and Donnie always gets the feeling it's very much intentional.

“... You know what? Sure,” he decides, waving a hand dismissively. “Take it all, fuck if I care.”

“Speaking of Christmas.” Raph finishes the last of his coffee, pointing at Mikey with the empty bowl. “You bringing anyone home this year?”

Mikey shrugs, already halfway up the fridge. 

“Nah, not this time,” he says. Then, after a moment: “Well, I suppose I could-”

“Your evil ex is not invited,” Raph quickly cuts in.

If Donnie were a worse brother, he’d jump onto the table in celebration and dig into the kitchen boxes until he found where they put the good wine. As it is, he settles for a laugh.

“You said it.” Leo raises his hands in absolution, but probably only because getting on Mikey’s bad side is a lot less funny when you’re the one still living with him.

“Y’all are mean,” Mikey huffs, arms wrapping around the juicer in an almost protective manner, which makes Donnie laugh harder, and the kick he earns from Leo for it is almost worth it.

“Fuck,” Donnie finally coughs up. “This year will be a mess. I don’t even remember where we put our gifts.”

“This is why we never let you two host,” Leo chides, but not unkindly. 

He used to feel a little bad about leaving most of the holiday preparations in Leo’s and Mikey’s (so mostly Leo’s) hands, but he’s a little older now, and it’s hard to pretend he doesn’t notice that bittersweet sort of happiness that always seems to swallow his brothers whole every time they spend Christmas in The Lair.

Donnie loved their little apartment, and he’s sure he’ll love their new house, but The Lair is his Home – capital ‘H’ – and he doesn’t think that will ever really change.

“Maybe April will know,” Donnie says, a little more for himself than anyone else.

She and Lizzie have been gone for a good hour now, and if her poor excuse of a grocery store run was actually her attempt at giving him, his brothers, and the elephant in the room a little more space to breathe – he supposes he can’t really be angry about that.

“Next time you’re moving, we’re helping you even less,” Raph decides.

He’s probably joking, and Donnie wasn’t really expecting them to make the hour-long ride from New York (or the trip from outer space in Raph’s case) more than once anyway, especially not in the week before Christmas, but he still can’t help the frown that pulls on his face.

“You haven’t done shit, you’ve been sitting on your asses and laughing at me for, like, three hours,” Donnie huffs. “I hope this is the last time we’re moving, anyway.”

“Of course,” Leo says, then smiles, and it’s a little bit like they’re fifteen again, and Donnie’s swallowing every bit of his brother’s attention like a thirsty man.

“Yeah,” he says. Then, a little more like himself: “The new house is great. Quiet neighborhood, backyard. Close to Casey, too.”

Mikey sits up a bit at that, giving him a strange look.

“Close to Casey? Is that a benefit now?”

“Yeah,” he replies, looking back at Raph and Leo. His brothers seem rather fascinated with the plastic wrapping covering the table. “He’s been a great help with the kids and all.”

“Oh, yeah.” Mikey shrugs, voice a little quiet and vague. “Sure.”

“Right. About Casey,” Leo says, setting down his bowl. He clears his throat, then hesitates again, face twisted into a frown. He looks a lot like Sensei like this, and that is to say – ten years older. “I mean, not Casey. Nothing to do with Casey at all.”

“Of course,” Raph nods, a little too eager. His brother is the boldest, most tactless person Donnie has ever met, and to see him trying to dance around a topic feels like watching a bull walk straight into a china shop. “We’re just- How are you doing, besides all the moving stuff? With the…”

He makes a weird gesture, vaguely pointing towards the corner of the room.

“With the new baby,” Leo says diplomatically.

Raph and Mikey nod, then quiet and turn to look at Donnie, and that’s the end of that, he supposes.

He knew that must’ve been the real reason why they even came today, and he knows he’s been nothing but evasive for the last month, and he knows it’s worry in their eyes, not pity or uneasiness, even if it doesn’t really look like it.

Donnie doesn’t really know how to answer.

He hadn’t expected it, that’s one thing. None of them did.

Donnie and April had some vague, glorified dreams of a big family – back when April first convinced him to finally take that step.

April was an awfully lonely only child, and there's an indistinct sense of longing that sometimes still clings to her even now. Growing up with brothers wasn't exactly easy for Donnie, and there were times when he hated them almost as much as he hated himself, but they gave him something he's only really been able to find in April ever since.

He belongs to them as much as they belong to him.

They thought two, maybe three.

And then they wasted hours poring over needless paperwork, losing their minds to second thoughts and doubt, finally got to experience their first toddler meltdown – and promptly settled on one.

Just one. That was more than enough.

Donnie fell in love with Elizabeth as easily as diving headfirst into deep water, and he hadn’t had a breath of air since. 

Meeting her for the first time felt sudden and harrowing and like the most stressful thing he’s ever done, but it left him feeling so hopeful he almost got drunk on it. He and April had to switch seats in the car every twenty minutes because neither of them could keep their hands from shaking.

When it finally came to it, adopting felt as natural as taking one step after another, and for what might’ve been the first time in his life – Donnie knew where it was leading him.

Lizzie reminded him of April – stubborn and fiery, and then of himself – too smart for her own good and only interested in things others told her she wouldn't understand. Then of Leo, and Raph, and Mikey, and Sensei – a strange, wonderful reflection of everyone he's ever loved.

She clings to them like a lost puppy, and looks at the world with the sort of childish grace it didn’t grant her at the rough start of her life, and she calls him ‘Dad’ like it means everything to her. It’s more than he ever could’ve wished for.

And so it was – the three of them.

Until the end of November, when their living room split open with a burst of light and energy, leaving a familiar face behind. Renet almost knocked their lamp over, complimented April’s choices in curtains, and promptly turned their whole lives upside down.

Donnie’s not sure how much of: “This is April and Casey’s son from an alternative dimension that kind of exploded just now, but Lord Simultaneous said your timeline needs him, he said why but I forgot, and since you’re already looking to adopt-” he really understood the first time she said it, but then there was suddenly a boy in his wife’s arms, small and undeniably redheaded, and it was like the time had stopped, for just a second.

His name was Cody, and Renet never met his parents personally but said his mother (April, for what it’s worth) left him a letter.

Donnie hadn't read it. He's not sure he'll ever want to.

The worst part, Donnie supposes, is that they couldn’t even really be mad at Renet over it. They still were, maybe for far longer than needed, but her heart stayed in the right place far more often than her head.

It didn’t feel right giving him to anyone else – not when he looked so much like April, not when she held him like she’s always known his shape in her arms. Donnie is a foolish man at heart, and nothing comes to him easier than being afraid, but he saw the look in his wife’s eyes, and the idea of almost taking it away from her again made him break like a twig.

He didn’t really know what to do. He still doesn’t.

Cody’s so small that holding him leaves Donnie stiff for hours with how hard he’s tensing his muscles, and he’s crying for reasons that seem obvious to everyone but him, and sometimes he wakes up so afraid, they started bringing the crib into the bedroom just so he could make sure the boy’s still breathing.

But his brothers seemed hesitantly optimistic when they called them over that late November, and Lizzie accepted Cody faster than they prepared for, and there are a lot of emotions that always seem to linger on April’s face nowadays, and regret isn’t one of them. Casey looked at Cody for all of three seconds before promptly locking himself in the bathroom for over an hour, but he’s come around since.

Donnie’s lost and confused more days than not, but he’s dealt with worse for a lesser cause, and there’s a small, hesitantly giddy part of him that grows larger every day. 

And the thing – the thing that really, really gets into his head about this – is that he knows how he should feel about this.

Cody’s so much like April it hurts, but he has Casey’s eyes, and looking at the baby photos their friend brought over to show, the resemblance is almost uncanny.

There should be a part of him that's sizzling with unwarranted jealousy. He certainly had plenty of it when they were kids. At 33 years old, he's a little too self-aware to let it take hold most days, but he’d lie if he said it never happens.

That alternative universe April and Casey certainly feels like something he’d lose sleep over as a teenager. Maybe even now. 

If it were literally anyone else.

Casey is their friend (he might be Donnie’s best friend actually, and isn't that a thought), and it’s hard to feel any bitterness towards him. He moved out of New York around the same time they did, to the same new town, and it felt a little like the three of them versus the world ever since. 

As a younger sister veteran he’s great with Lizzie, and there are not a lot of words that can calm Donnie’s mind when he starts spiraling, but Casey always manages to find all of them, and he has the uncanny ability to punch out laughs out of April even at the roughest of moments.

He’s honest, with the sort of integrity that’s rare to come nowadays, and a real good heart between it all, and if Donnie’s son grows up to be anything like him – that may not be so bad after all.

Thinking like this felt dangerous in a way he couldn’t really name. But when he said it to April, she turned on their bed to look at him, and then kissed him with everything she had, so he supposes it’s not really worth caring about.

It’s easy to think of Cody as April’s, and by an extension – his. And it’s easier to try and not think too much about Casey at all.

So, that’s that.

Donnie turns to look at his brothers again, shoulders raised in something like a shrug. 

“Good,” he says, finally. “Really good.”

He’s not lying, and his brothers must know it, because there’s some real relief washing over their faces.

“Baller, dude,” Mikey says, rather gracelessly, which almost makes Donnie laugh again. 

He stands up to walk over to the crib, picking Cody up in a now-practiced but still rather clumsy manner. For a newborn he doesn’t sleep a lot, but when he does, there’s no real waking him anyway.

“Aww,” Mikey coos when he walks up closer to the table, leaning over to take a better look. “He’s so little.”

“And ginger,” Raph adds with a snicker, which earns him a kick from Leo.

“Don’t talk like that about someone’s baby,” Leo whispers. He tends to go a little overboard when it comes to keeping the kids in the room calm and happy, which is usually more than appreciated. 

“I’m just telling the truth.”

“How would you feel if someone said Judy was really green?”

“Well, she is-”

Mikey’s still looking at Cody, his head tilted a little to the side.

“You wanna hold him?” Donnie asks, and Mikey’s smile dims a little.

It’s that same look Donnie knows himself all too well. It felt different with Judy. She was bigger, tough like her mother with hard scales. Cody’s soft all over.

“I’ll hold him,” Raph pipes up, already reaching out with grabby hands.

Cody knows him, so he doesn’t fuss for long before settling in Raph’s arms, and there’s a part of Donnie that strongly considers risking Raph breaking his jaw to take a picture.

There’s something a little lighter in the room now, some tension Donnie didn’t even really feel building up finally letting go. He can’t help feeling a little hurt at the idea of his brothers thinking he wouldn’t accept Cody, or hate him, or any other awful idea like that, but he supposes he can’t really blame them. He, April, and Casey put them through hell as teenagers.

“He really is cute,” Mikey says, now looking over their brother’s shoulder.

“Makes you wanna get your own?” Leo teases.

“Fuck no,” Mikey answers, so fast it makes them all laugh.

“And thank God for that,” Raph mutters, wrapping the blanket a little tighter around Cody, probably from years of habit with cold-blooded kids.

“Let's just hope Renet won't show up with a kid for you,” Leo says. Then, with a bit of a smirk: “In one way or another.”

Mikey gives him an unamused look.

“Ha-ha, funny.”

Raph laughs at that, but then quiets, something a little more serious washing over his face.

“You know,” he says, a little quietly. “I feel like I should apologize for this. It’s like I somehow started it all. The kids thing.”

It doesn’t really sound like he’s joking, but it’s a funny thought to consider regardless. Their family’s been through so much of what felt like years and years of bad luck and unwarranted karma, and if this is the shape that curse decided to take now, they’re really in no position to complain.