Chapter Text
Draxum's lab was a mess of half-rebuilt machines, flickering cables, ancient Kraang tech, and mystic insulation threads Mikey helped weave with his powers. Draxum worked without rest, his coat tossed aside, sleeves rolled up, face grim with focus.
And Leo was there.
Every day.
Lifting, wiring, soldering, calibrating.
Reading Donnie’s old schematics.
Trying to decipher Donnie’s notes, even when the handwriting blurred from his tears.
But the deeper into the rebuild they got, the more complicated it became.
Stabilizers failed to align.
Mystic containment cores shorted.
The energy cube—Donnie’s heart, Leo called it—was dimming. Not in power, but in coherence.
“We’re pushing too fast,” Draxum warned. “If we force synchronization without structure, the imprint will degrade.”
“We don’t have time to wait!” Leo snapped.
Everyone flinched.
Mikey stepped forward, holding a spool of shimmering wire. “Leo, I miss him too, but—”
“Do you think I don’t know that?!” Leo shouted. “I brought him back in pieces. I held him while he died. I watched his energy flicker out in my hands. I can’t wait calmly while his soul sits in a box!”
The silence that followed was thick and sharp.
Draxum finally said, quieter now, “You are not the only one grieving, Leonardo.”
Leo’s breath hitched.
He turned on his heel.
And left.
That night, Leo didn’t join his family for dinner. Said that he wasn't hungry. He honestly haven't really been able to eat since the day Donnie died in his arms
Leo didn’t even return to his room.
He curled up in Donnie’s instead.
The hoodie still smelled like him—cool metal, synthetic fabric, and lavender detergent. Leo wrapped himself in it like armor, arms around a pillow as he tucked his knees up to his chest.
The soft glow from Donnie’s nightlight cube lit the shelves of old inventions, sketches, projects half-finished and abandoned.
Leo stared at them, eyes burning.
“You’d know what to do,” he whispered hoarsely. “You’d tell me to stop freaking out. You’d roll your eyes and insult my stress responses. And then you’d fix everything. Because that was what you did. Even though I never said it, it was one of the many things that I loved about you and why I was always so dang proud of you”
His throat caught on a sob.
“I’m trying so hard to be okay, Donnie. But I’m not. You were the one who got me. You always knew what I meant—even when I didn’t know what I was feeling. You were the only one who ever saw me without me having to say anything.”
Tears spilled freely now.
“I want you back. Please… I need you.”
He cried until he couldn’t breathe.
Until the weight of exhaustion dragged him under.
That night, Leo dreamed.
It wasn’t vivid at first—just vague impressions of the lair, laughter, light. His family, smiling around the dinner table. A version of reality where Donnie never got sick, where everything was fine.
But as the dream shifted, he found himself back in the subway, in the aftermath.
Donnie’s hoodie in his arms.
But instead of silence, there was a sound.
Faint.
A static flicker.
Then—
“Leo…”
Leo’s eyes flew open in the dream.
He turned.
Nothing. Only shadows and faint violet sparks.
Then again—louder.
“Leo… help me…”
His heart stopped.
The dream pulsed.
The shadows stretched, and from the darkness bloomed soft, glitching light—like code unraveling.
And a shape—tall, slim, familiar—standing just out of reach.
Leo stepped forward, breath caught.
“…Donnie?”
The figure looked up.
“I’m still here.”
Leo’s eyes flew open in the real world.
He bolted upright in Donnie’s bed, drenched in sweat, hoodie clinging to his chest.
The nightlight pulsed faintly.
The cube on Donnie’s desk sparked—once.
Leo stumbled over to it, hands trembling, eyes wide. He stared at the cube, heart hammering in his chest.
“Donnie…?”
No reply.
But he knew what he heard.