Miguel's Story (bits and pieces, not in chronological order)

Donnie Risks Vulnerability for Miggy

"Donnie?" Miguel asked hesitantly, kicking his legs over the side of the empty lab table.

Donnie continued his scrutinizing, detailed tech work, back turned to Miguel, but listening intently. "Hm?"

"Are you okay with tolerating me?"

Donnie paused, processing the odd statement, then turned and gave him a quizzical stare from behind his goggles.

Miguel tensed under the intense look, then quickly rambled an explanation with a shrug of false nonchalance: "Well, I don't wanna ask if you like me cuz you don't have to like me and I don't want you to feel like you have to say that—but—but, like—if you don't like tolerating me, then I won't be offended, I'll just know not to come up to you so much, cuz I don't wanna bother you... You can say you don't tolerate me, I won't be offended—"

He was cut off when Donnie marched over and swept Miguel off the table, hugging him tightly in a rare act of vulnerability. He held him there, with Miguel's feet off the ground, squeezing him to his chest.

"Miguel, I love you more than you'll ever know," Donnie's tone was deadpan but his voice was soft. "We all love you that way. We don't have to tolerate you; we love you and love being with you."

Miguel was awfully still, just playing with a loose string on Donnie's sweater, his eyes starting to burn and his chest starting to tighten. "I just—" his voice broke and he hiccupped. "I wanna know what things would make you stop loving me so I know to avoid doing those things."

The sweater-clad arms gripped him as tight as they could, and a face buried itself into Miguel's neck. "Oh, honey..." Donnie had never sounded so sorrowful or heart-broken, not since Miguel had known him this past year. It was the last straw that broke the dam and Miguel cried tears he didn't realize were waiting to be shed.

For several moments, it was silent in the lab, interrupted only with distant whirring machines and echoed sobs. Donnie held him there, not sure what to say or do except hold him close and press his head into Miguel's. Growing tired of standing, he walked—still holding his baby brother—to a nearby sofa and reclined on the plush cushions. He had put some sofas and beanbags in a certain corner for when his brothers wanted to come in and pester him (he had grumbled and said the furniture was to keep them away from the important machinery, but really he had hoped it would keep them coming back and let them parallel play).

He rocked them soothingly (well, he hoped it was soothing—rocking always helped him and Mikey calm down). Slowly, the sobs ebbed into sniffles. Miguel curled up in his lap.

"Miggy," Donnie murmured, petting Miguel's head calmly, heart still broken. "You can't do anything or say anything to make us stop loving you. It's not a transaction, not dependent on your performance, not something that just goes away. You understand?"

"B-but," Miguel hiccupped. "You don't kn-know that, like if-f I destroyed your t-tech—"

"I'd still love you."

"W-what if I did it on-n p-purpose?"

"I'd still love you."

Pause. "W-what if you thought I didn't love you back? Or I l-left? Or... something?"

"I'd still love you. Look at me, Miggy," Donnie pulled away and had Miguel meet his eyes. His expression softened for Miguel. "We love you no matter what. You can test that fact, but you'll continually find the same results. I'm not entirely sure how else to put it, Miggy. We just adore you, and we always will."

Miguel just studied Donnie's eyes, tears dropping down his cheeks, his lips pressed tight to keep them (unsuccessfully) from trembling. Some gears were turning in his mind. He was slowly starting to believe his older brother. Donnie wasn't much of a kisser, but he knew Miguel liked kisses, so he leaned down, brought Miguel closer, and planted careful pecks on his freckled forehead.