Don's on a mission to recover and repair his brother's stolen motorcycle. What he encounters at the crash site... isn't what he expected, but he's always up for making a new friend.
Don was a turtle on a mission. He knew it very well might be an exercise in futility, but he was going to give it his best shot.
The motorcycle he’d built for his brother had been stolen, wrecked, and then abandoned in a subway station. He had no problem remaking one from scratch if need be, but Raph had loved that bike, and so Donnie would do his utmost to salvage it if at all possible. Peeking through the rail system’s security had confirmed that the debris wasn’t on the platform any longer-- and frankly, he would have been surprised if it had been left out in the open-- but he couldn’t track down what had happened to it. Whether the footage had corrupted at a convenient moment, someone had known when to act, or the tape had been tampered with, there was no indication of who’d taken it, or where.
That didn’t mean there weren’t clues to be found, though, and so he’d geared up to take a look in person. He knew where all the cameras were, and his street clothes would protect him from both scrutiny and the night air. He would be perfectly fine.
No one batted an eye when he declared that he was going topside for a quick junk-collecting trip that evening, which wasn’t even a lie, really. He hated to call the shell cycle junk, but after what Hun had done to it, it wouldn’t be out of place in a scrap yard. His bag already had everything he’d need inside, so he snagged it from his room, shouted that he was headed out now, and went on his way. The only hiccup along the line was parking, but that was just a part of life; he shouldered his duffel bag and, just like that, the search began.
He waited until the latest train left the station, the crowd thinning in its wake, and paced over to where the wreck had once lain. There was barely any trace that it had been there in the first place-- he couldn’t pick out any major scratches or heat marks-- and he distracted himself for a moment, wondering what kind of cleaning routine they used here. It seemed vaguely contradictory. The New York subway wasn’t exactly a bastion of sanitation; why would they bother cleaning so thoroughly?
It seemed unlikely that anyone would care, even if they caught him, but Don cast a quick look around the platform, hand dipping into his bag for a flashlight, and prepared to hop down to investigate the tunnel itself.
“Excuse me, sir!” Someone called, and he froze, guilty. He hadn’t seen anyone, so then where--?
The question was answered when he caught sight of the speaker, a stern-faced man emerging from a door marked ‘employees only’.
Well that was… less than ideal.
He straightened up, trying to act innocent-- like he’d only been peering down out of curiosity-- and turned to face the employee. Voice still raised, even over the empty platform, the other person added, “Thank you! I’m sorry for the inconvenience, but I need to have a word with you!”
So this wasn’t about the intent to trespass. Interesting. That left the man’s motivations as something of a mystery, and Donnie was already here investigating one, so why not another?
“Sure thing,” He said, ducking deeper behind his scarf, just to be safe, “Is something the matter?”
A grimace worked into the subtleties of the worker’s face, and he tilted his head, sympathetic. One of his arms tucked neatly behind his back, prim as his uniform, and the other gestured the way he’d come. “I’m afraid there might be. If you would indulge me, I believe it’s a discussion best held in private.”
Don followed his attention back to the door, which seemed innocuous enough. He could tell from here that it was a standard lock, meant to deter the unmotivated and little more. It could be broken down easily enough, but, on principle, he was wary of the request. The subway worker looked him over, and, paranoid, he resisted the urge to tug his hood down.
Something in the man’s light grey eyes softened, and he held a hand up, seeking permission to reach out. It would have been easy to duck out of the trajectory, but also incredibly conspicuous, and so Don allowed the hand to alight on his covered forearm. All at once, he realized it was meant to be a comfort, and precisely why it would be reassuring.
The hand resting heavily on his sleeve wasn’t human flesh; even with a barrier of fabric in between them, the feeling cool stone was instantly recognizable.
He let his gaze linger for a second longer, and then looked up, where the man smiled with his eyes, if not his lips. “I promise you, I wouldn’t be doing any of this without good cause; one has to look out for his neighbors.”
“…I can respect that.” Don said, and followed the man’s lead. Under these circumstances, the risk wasn’t zero, but far lower than he’d initially assumed-- and the facts remained, reassuring and within easy reach: if he needed a quick exit from that room, it would only take a running kick to break free. Besides, if he already had an inside source to press for information… “While I’ve got you, maybe I could ask a question too?”
The worker tilted his head, leading the way so he could unlock the door. “Your answer will depend on the nature of the question, I’m afraid.”
Despite himself, Donnie scoffed, amused, “That is how conversations work.”
He heard a brief sigh, but neither of them followed up on that. When the door clicked shut behind them, the man inclined his head. “Apologies for the belated introduction; my name is Ingo, and I’m employed here as a conductor. I was hoping to speak with you concerning the events of Halloween night.”
Oh. That… made a lot of sense, actually; they had driven a living statue onto the tracks that evening. Right in front of a train. It stood to reason that a conductor wouldn’t be too happy about that-- especially not a conductor who seemed to have stone skin.
In lieu of confessing right up front, though, Don raised a hand in an equally belated greeting, taking note of the fact that his new acquaintance barely afforded that hand a second look. “Donatello. To be honest, I don’t know everything that happened that night, but I’ll do what I can to help explain.”
Ingo adjusted his stance; it looked remarkably clinical-- arms folded behind him, heels lined up with one another-- but, if anything, he seemed more at ease as he assumed it. “While I appreciate your cooperation, that won’t be necessary. My concern was actually that the incident in question was caught by the security system. Under normal circumstances, one of us would have adjusted the footage as necessary, but we were… otherwise occupied that evening, and only heard tell of it after archival. Unfortunately, neither of us has access to, nor any particular experience with, the server it’s been stored on.”
“So you want to get rid of that archived footage?” Donnie asked, sifting through the new information. That matched up with what he’d noticed earlier, actually. The security feed had been tampered with, after all, so maybe this would get him somewhere in regards to the shell cycle… once the main problem had been dealt with, that was.
“Ideally, yes.”
“Okay, yeah, that’s easy enough. Is it the statue that needs to be cut out, or something else?”
“I don’t follow.” Ingo said frankly, tilting his head to underscore his confusion. “The idol is irrelevant in comparison; my priority was to ensure your safety, and that of your companions. Aren’t you concerned for having been caught on camera?”
“...ah.” Don said, and, likewise, he had to bow his head in concession-- not only because it was a valid point, but because there were already too many people who knew about them. “To be honest, it’s happened before, but you’re right-- better to reduce exposure than risk it.” He paused, looked the conductor up and down, and asked, “You really just want me to erase the footage because we’re in it?”
The man nodded, expression unchanging. “As I said before, we’ve removed any incriminating videos in the past, but it slipped through the cracks in this instance. I apologize for the inconvenience.”
“No, no, don’t apologize! All this time, we didn’t even know you were doing that for us. You didn’t have to.”
“I’m a conductor, young man; ensuring passenger safety is part of my duty.” There was a pause, and then a soft snort, “But if you’d like to thank us, might I suggest that you stop leaving large wrecks in your wake? Disposing of them is rather time consuming, and people tend to ask questions if they’re left out in the open.”
“Uh, point taken.” Don said, reaching past his hood to rub sheepishly at his neck-- but that opened him up to a golden opportunity. “While we’re on the topic, I actually came by tonight hoping to find a motorcycle that was, uh… lost recently. If you say you ‘dispose of’ wrecks, does that mean you know where it went?”
“The exact nature of the object was unclear at the time we discovered it, but if we’re referring to the same incident, then yes. I do know where it is.” Ingo said, face stony as ever.
It seemed a little one-sided to ask for another favor when he’d already gone out of his way to help, but…
“Could you tell me where?”
“If you mean to reclaim it, I’m afraid simply knowing its location won’t help much.” He spent a few seconds looking Don over, and his shoulders relaxed by a fraction, “I suppose I can escort you, however. While my main concern was for your group, I have to admit that tampering with the security footage would be mutually beneficial. It’s only fair to compensate you for your time and effort.”
“Perfect! Where’s the server stored? If it’s somewhere onsite, we can get this done in no time at all.”
“At the main station, I’m afraid.” He inclined his head to the side as he spoke, eyes flicking in the same direction.
After a second to mentally map things out, Don realized he was pointing toward Grand Central. He shook his head and waved a hand. “No problem-- give me a few minutes to find the building schematics and I can head over. We’ll meet back here afterwards, then?”
“An outbound train will be departing for the station imminently.” Ingo said without so much as glancing at the clock behind him, “If you’re willing to trust my directions, we can forgo the schematics entirely and I can guide you.”
Donnie hesitated, then reminded himself that he was on a timer at the moment and shouldn’t dawdle-- but it was enough for the point to get across, even if he didn’t mean it to.
Ingo’s expression shifted by the smallest amount, probably sympathetic. “That’s perfectly fine. I’d hoped to make the process easier on you, but safety-- and perceived safety-- is my highest priority. Please take whatever measures you find appropriate, and I’ll meet with you later this evening.”
“No, you’re right-- it’s much easier to take the train over, and I’ve got an inside source right here. There’s no need to complicate things.” Don said, waving to try to minimize the matter.
Ingo was, fittingly, unmoved. “The last thing I want is to make you uncomfortable.”
“I’m not! Really!” He said, hands held up, asking to be believed. They’d trusted people on less before, and while it had come back to bite them in the shells on occasion, all that experience meant that Don was a better judge of character than he used to be. The man opposite reminded him somewhat of Mr. Mortu, from the formal speech to the unchanging facial expression, and the fact that he’d backed off so readily was a green flag. Don began walking toward the door, trying to prompt his new ally into doing the same. “Let’s catch the train, and you can fill me in on where I’m going. Are there any alarms I should know about, or locks to pick?”
Ingo hurried on the first few steps, trying to keep pace and, interestingly, left his arms tucked behind himself as he moved. They’d burned enough time trying to put one another at ease that their train was already on the platform, and he hurried them onto a car before making any attempt to answer the question. After that, he went on to explain that, to the best of his knowledge, the servers weren’t rigged to sound an alarm and that he could get them through the employees-only areas easily enough-- he just lacked any way to finesse the server room’s lock. That was totally fine; unless it was otherworldly tech, Don already had everything necessary to pick it.
After they’d quietly hashed out a plan, Ingo added, “As it so happens, I can arrange for a distraction if one becomes necessary. That will allow you to vacate the premises undetected, should worst come to worst.”
Donnie stifled his snickering into his scarf. “It’s Grand Central Station-- I don’t think you’d need to go out of your way.”
“True,” Ingo conceded, nodding, “But I’ll have you know that my distraction is quite good at what he does.”
“Speaking from experience?” It earned him a loud bark of laughter and a clap like stone striking stone; both got a number of puzzled looks and Ingo ducked his head, trying to lay low for the duration of the commute.
Since there wasn’t anything more to discuss and the trip was almost over, they lapsed into a mutual silence, but not an uncomfortable one-- perhaps it was softened by the ambient chatter and the noise of the train, or maybe it was the olive branch held between them, the hopes that extending their trust to one another would be a joint success.
They stepped out onto the platform, and as soon as they made it into the station’s main body, Don scouted out the best place to disappear into the shadows. Ingo could lead him where he needed to go, but even an employee would have to answer why he was leading a patron into the building’s inner workings, so it would be better if there was no patron to be seen. The conductor trailed out after him, though he stopped to assist a couple showing all the hallmarks of confused tourists, and then continued his path. Donnie was keenly aware of the fact that, even though his new acquaintance hadn’t been looking at him as he ducked into cover, the man’s eyes landed on him unerringly, seeming to cut straight through the darkness.
Ingo tilted his head down into a subtle nod and made an abrupt about-face; it startled several people into looking his way, but just as many ignored it entirely as he marched across the station, toward internal operations. At this hour, most of his coworkers must have been dispatched across the city, but he crossed paths with several as he navigated the halls, proving the precaution worthwhile. Don didn’t have any reason to think he’d be on his own after the fact, but kept track of each turn and potential exit routes, just in case, until, finally, his guide stopped in front of a door. Ingo’s eyes roved from one side of the hallway to the other, and then he cocked his head, listening; for just a second he tensed, but after focusing on it, he breathed a sigh of a laugh and relaxed.
He looked directly at Don and signaled him down, turning his back on whatever sound he’d heard.
“This is the primary security office, where archived footage is stored.” He said, somewhat unnecessarily. Even though he whispered it, his voice filled the space with a surprising efficiency. “I wish I could offer you some sort of advice where our system is concerned, but I’m afraid I would do more harm than good.”
“Don’t worry about it,” Don said, pawing through his duffel bag until he found the right screwdriver. He immediately turned to start picking the lock as he added, “I can guarantee I’ve seen worse.”
From the corner of his vision, he saw Ingo shift, but didn’t pay it much mind; from the angles involved, he was almost certainly trying to break the line of sight from the direction they’d come. Once he’d gotten the lock open, he glanced back, to make sure there wasn’t anything else, but Ingo just nodded him onward, so he nodded back and crept in, easing the door shut behind himself.
A second later, he heard a solid ‘thunk’ on the wall next to it, and could only imagine what that had been.
As expected, the security system was well within his area of expertise-- not state of the art, since it relied on a specific type of software, but hardly a specimen from the dawn of the personal computer. Cracking into it was no problem whatsoever, and, fortunately, he knew exactly when the incident had taken place; the most time-consuming part of the entire process was scanning through to find the timestamps he needed to delete.
Back in the hallway, he heard, “You’re not scheduled to be here right now. What are you doing?”
The shifting of stone sounded again, overlapping the edge of the door.
“I’m simply trying to solve a problem that’s been hanging over our heads.” Ingo said back, voice deceptively casual for the words he used.
“Oh.” Said the other man, “That again? No one will connect it to us. They were focused on the fight, not the nature of the idol.”
...the nature of the idol? The one that had been stolen from April’s shop, then brought to life? Interesting. Ingo had implied that the footage put him at risk, too, so there had to be some sort of connection there-- and with this other person, while he was at it.
The conversation raised a great many questions, but at least it answered why Ingo kept falling into the use of plural pronouns.
“I understand that; I still don’t like it.”
A sigh sounded from the other side of the door. “I know. But we can’t always clean up after them.”
“They’re just kids.”
There was a snort, presumably from the conversation’s other participant.
“Aren’t they all?”
Don heard a reluctant hum, nearer than the snort had been. He did his due diligence, checking to ensure he hadn’t missed any backups, but, privately, he had to admit that most of his attention was going toward eavesdropping. Aside from the fact that Ingo wasn’t entirely human, he had no idea what the conductor might actually be-- at this point, just about anything he could get would help fill in the picture.
Ingo never responded to the question and, instead, his companion said, “We do what we can, but we can’t do everything. Look forward and not back, right?”
It was followed by a reluctant, “Right.”
Someone clapped, and it sounded exactly the same as strike of stone-on-stone from the train. “If you remain stationed here, we can depart as soon as our shift is over.”
“Ah, I’m afraid this was just a temporary diversion. I have to follow up on an incident on the east side before clocking out for the night.” Ingo said back, sounding legitimately sorry to dash those budding plans.
“Then what are you doing idling there?”
“Hush, Emmet.” He said back, both amused and slightly exasperated. “Finish your own work, and I’ll attend to mine. We’ll depart for the gallery according to schedule, no earlier, no later.”
“No later.” Emmet echoed back, voice even, but still teasing. Heavy footsteps started up, and then gradually faded as they marched away.
Up to that point, it had been obvious that they were allies, if nothing else-- but the final comments put a different spin on things. The plans after work suggested a friendly relationship, but it was the way they talked to one another that really cemented it; whatever else was going on with them, they were very, very close to one another.
Once the footsteps became inaudible, Don tapped lightly on the door, hardly making any sound at all, and the weight against it immediately vanished. It cracked open from the other side, and the oddly-resonant whisper filled the air again.
“You’ve deleted it?”
“Done and done; I told you it’d be easy.” He murmured back.
Ingo inclined his head and stepped away, giving him room to exit.
“Thank you.” He said, and while there was no visible clock in this area, he followed it up with, “If we depart immediately, we should be able to catch the next eastbound train.”
At that, Ingo turned toward the station proper and began leading them. “Do you have a light of any sort? If not, we can borrow one from the platform’s supply closet; you’ll need it.”
Don waved a hand, dismissing the thought, and then gave his bag a single pat. “It’s fine, I’ve got everything I need right here. I take it you don’t need one, then?”
There was a brief hesitation, then, “No, I don’t. The specifics… aren’t relevant at the moment, though I suppose you’ll get a general idea soon enough.”
Weird, but promising-- Donnie had trusted him this far, so it was only right for him to extend some faith in return. If it had to wait for the right moment, though, that was understandable; Grand Central Station wasn’t the best place to be sharing sensitive information.
“Will you need assistance with your vehicle after the fact? I would hate for you to go to all this trouble, only to be unable to take it with you.” Ingo asked; his earlier hesitation was gone, replaced with the desire to be helpful in turn.
Beneath his scarf, Don grimaced. “My van’s waiting a couple of blocks over, so I should be fine as long as I can get the bike’s wheels to turn. It looked pretty rough, but I didn’t see anything that would render it totally immovable.”
Ingo nodded and ushered them onward, ensuring that they made it onto the train just as the doors slid shut behind them. As before, the commute went by without much conversation, either of them busy with their thoughts.
While Don was still dead set on reclaiming the shell cycle tonight, he was also working on the mystery that stood beside him. Whatever Ingo happened to be, there was confirmation that he wasn’t the only one of his kind. They’d met creatures with stone bodies in the past-- from fellow mutants to living statues-- but none that looked so human, and definitely not any who maintained a job working with the public. He tallied up what he knew: keen eyesight, to the point of not needing a flashlight in the dark, sensitive hearing, skin that both felt and sounded like stone, and the implication of being quite long lived. An elemental, maybe? It was impossible to say what the Foot Clan’s earth mystic looked like under its armor, so it could have resembled a human-- though, if Donnie never got the chance to confirm or deny, he could live with that.
When they disembarked, back to the platform they’d met on, Ingo stepped off to the side and uttered a low, “Just a moment, please.”
For lack of anything else to do, Don followed his lead, and, while he was waiting, blindly reached into his bag to fish out the flashlight again. He gave it a couple of absent clicks as he watched the commuters filter out of the station or board the train. People watching wasn’t exactly his cup of tea-- it was usually more to Leo’s tastes-- but it had its merits; there was definitely a lot read into the way someone went about something as mundane as their daily commute. For instance, the man next to him had automatically taken a standing spot-- one near a hanging strap, but slightly offset-- suggesting that he didn’t need to use it, and was reserving direct access for anyone who did. The balance Ingo had kept was different from the way Donnie held himself-- the first a matter of familiarity, and the other adaptation.
Don wondered if anyone else had noticed that, or if it was just him.
Once the train had left the station and the vast majority of people had departed, Ingo pushed away from the wall, toward the empty tracks. As he leapt down from the platform, his uniform’s coat caught oddly on the breeze and, as Don had expected by that point, he landed with a solid impact. He took a second to right himself before looking up.
This made sense. If someone wanted to hide something and they had access to the nooks and crannies of the subway system, a tunnel was a pretty safe bet. Don followed suit, making a much subtler landing, and clicked his flashlight on, aimed at the ground for the time being.
“Right this way,” Ingo said, tucking his arms behind himself and setting off into the darkness. It was interesting in hindsight-- his landing had resounded, but it hadn’t been loud, and right now, the gravel they tread upon didn’t crunch beneath his shoes. “Take care that we don’t become separated. While I’m sure you’ve navigated similar terrain in the past, it can be quite irritating to have to reorient oneself in these tunnels.”
Donnie felt he’d be perfectly fine if they lost one another, but he got it; the whole point of this was to find the shell cycle, and he would have a much harder time doing that on his own. Without footsteps to use as an audio cue, he made sure the beam of his flashlight kept the conductor partially illuminated.
“Might I ask how this vehicle is different than the others? Or did you attempt to recover those as well?” Ingo asked, conversational. Once again, his voice filled the tunnel, but it didn’t echo back.
“What other vehicles do you mean?”
One of Ingo’s shoulders rose, and his head tilted minutely to the side. “I’m not entirely sure how specific vehicles differ from other road-safe automobiles, I’m afraid; my expertise is limited to the railways. They seemed to have been built for a single rider, and relied on treads instead of wheels-- I can say that much for certain.”
“...are you implying that someone crashed a tractor in a subway station?” Don asked, a little baffled, but mostly entertained at the idea.
“Again, I can’t claim to be an expert, but I don’t believe so-- and, while the evidence no longer exists, it was your merry band of vandals who were responsible for abandoning them.” Ingo said mildly. While Donnie was trying to think back to the last time he’d operated a vehicle with treads-- specifically on Earth-- the conductor added, “It’s no matter. You can take a look for yourself in just a few moments.”
They continued onward, all talk of crash sites left behind them for the time being, until Ingo stopped and turned toward a wall. Automatically, Don leveled the flashlight where he looked, but didn’t find anything. Just to be safe, he cast it across the entirety of the tunnel around them, but nothing seemed amiss.
There was a polite clearing of the throat, calling for his attention, and he let the light idle where Ingo indicated. The hand that had briefly idled on Ingo’s bottom lip reached out, his fingertips barely scraping along the wall, and the concrete molded around it, pulling away from the touch. It continued to flow around him as he walked forward, down a set of steps that sculpted itself into existence as he moved, and Donnie trailed after, testing both the walls and stairs for himself. There was no give whatsoever, and it didn’t seal behind them, which ruled out an illusion.
It was a short walk into an enclosed space, and the flashlight’s beam immediately found the remains of the shell cycle. Out of curiosity, Don looked at the rest of the scrap, and belatedly remembered that yes, they had abandoned a set of snowmobiles on a subway platform the previous year. Beyond those, there was a small herd of deactivated Mousers-- some damaged beyond repair and others perfectly intact, looking like they’d simply run out of power. Thinking back on it, it made sense; they’d utilized the subway tunnels to travel, so of course some would have powered off down here.
“Okay, you got me. We totally forgot about the snowmobiles.” He said, inciting a very strange snap of the fingers as Ingo repeated, “Snowmobiles!” to himself. The beam returned to Raph’s motorcycle so he could look it over and, to his relief, he found he would be able to push it without too much trouble. Ingo stayed quiet in the meantime, keeping any thoughts to himself, but when Don turned his attention to the stairs, he stepped forward and they flattened into an incline.
Keeping the flashlight aimed lower, so as not to shine it in the man’s face, Donnie looked him dead on. “You seem to know an awful lot about us; can I ask what your story is?”
Ingo considered him for a few seconds, then brought both hands out from behind his back; his coat fluttered at the motion and flared out independent of any hypothetical breeze that might catch it, almost like it was stretching. “It’s nothing as interesting as you might think: I was crafted, I woke up, and now I exist. We were created to watch over the station, and so we’ll continue to do just that.”
Not like the idol after all, then-- it had taken a dedicated ritual to animate it, which didn't seem to line up if Ingo's passive use of 'woke up' was any indication. It had been quite some time, so it took another second for two and two to combine, but Don felt his face light up once he cracked it. “You’re living artwork! A sculpture! Were you brought to life by a crystal, too, or was it via some other method?”
“How in the world could you have known about that?” Ingo asked, expression well and truly blank, but betrayed by the incredulity in his voice.
Donnie’s enthusiasm dimmed, but he made an effort not to bring them down. “I knew someone who could make drawings come to life-- a comic artist. That’s all I ever saw him create, but there’s no reason it should have been limited to one art medium.”
“You’re… correct.” Ingo admitted, and his coat finally settled, folding forward around him; it didn’t look like a jacket anymore, but a blanket drawn around the shoulders for comfort. “The only thing I would quibble with is your terminology; while ‘sculpture’ is technically accurate, it’s my opinion that the proper word is ‘gargoyle’.”
“Oh, then they’re wings!” Escaped before he could think to contain it, already off to the races. “Wait-- Grand Central Station had gargoyles?”
A muted, but very genuine smile crept across Ingo’s face. “It still does.”
Don mirrored the smile, inclining his head to acknowledge that point, and then gestured widely to the rest of the scrap, sans the motorcycle he was reclaiming, “So that’s where this comes in; you’re just doing your duty to the subway system?”
“And its patrons.” Ingo added emphatically; his hands were clasped and he had his head tilted-- both forward and to the side-- which made it come across as an incredibly earnest gesture, in spite of his ever-present frown. “The subway itself is very dear to us, and it exists to serve the community, so we do as well. Our highest priority has always been, and will always be, the wellbeing of those commuters who trust us to get them safely to their destination.”
It was a very nice thought, but, uh…
His silence was met with a sigh and a resigned, “I know. The system has seen far better days, but it’s never been our place to dictate how it runs; it’s best for everyone that we have the freedom to go unnoticed and focus on the details, as evidenced by our meeting today.”
“Well, I appreciate it-- there’s no way I would’ve found the bike without your help, and the fewer pieces of photographic evidence that exist, the better.” Don said, and then tried not to startle too badly as something roared from the top of the newly-made ramp. Ingo barely even blinked, eyes turning up to the path he’d made. It was immediately obvious that the sound had been a passing train, signaling just how long they’d been out here talking, and a wing swept out to gingerly usher Donnie up to ground level.
“Likewise, I greatly appreciate your assistance this evening, but I would be remiss to take up any more of your time. It’s my pleasure to have helped you reclaim your lost item.” When the wing had done its work, it retracted, held comfortably behind Ingo’s back with its partner. Don was a little more focused on getting the shell cycle up the ramp, but he could make out the line both wings created, distinct from the coat they’d shifted out from.
There wasn’t really anything to say about that, so he focused elsewhere. “What are you even planning to do with all of this? Is it just out here for storage? If it helps, I know a place you could offload the snowmobiles-- maybe not the Mousers, though…”
“It’s primarily storage,” Ingo said from behind him, stone shifting as he moved up the incline. “Some of it seemed too… suspect to dispose of normally. My br--”
There was a comically abrupt silence, and as the bike’s first wheel met the gravel, Don glanced over his shoulder. “I don’t know if you realize this, but you’ve been saying ‘we’ and ‘our’ this whole time, and I kind of heard you talking to someone while I was working with the security footage. Your brother, right?”
The silence turned very briefly stubborn, but Ingo seemed to realize the futility of it by the time he stepped foot into the tunnel proper. “Yes, my brother. He isn’t holding a grudge, but he has been keeping score. I recognize that it sounds terrible put that way; he just has a… competitive streak.”
“I don’t know whether that would be better or worse with only one sibling.” Donnie mused aloud, trying to get the shell cycle to wheel along the coarse rocks. Without speaking a word, Ingo circled around him to lead once more, which seemed a little silly since they were on a straight path back to the platform; when the gravel shifted, turning into a smooth path that lasted only as long as the bike’s wheels were in contact, the intent became much more obvious.
“Thanks.” Don said, genuinely, and then gave this newest development a bit more thought. Ingo had been absolutely terrible at hiding that he was one of a pair, but it only highlighted how close they must be; if he could hardly refer to himself with singular pronouns, it had to be a deep rooted habit. “It’s not just you, my ‘associates’ are my brothers, actually-- and this bike belongs to one of them. You probably saw on camera, but someone stole it and left it wrecked. He was kind of wrecked over it, too; that’s why I came out here trying to find it. It would be easy to replace it, but I know how much he loves this one, and I wanted to try to recover and repair it if I could. So I wanted to say thanks again, I really am grateful that you helped me tonight.”
“Emmet won’t notice its absence until next year at the earliest-- unless you plan on leaving scrap anywhere else.” Ingo added wryly, which was an excellent motivation for cleaning up after themselves if anything went down in a subway station or on the tracks again. He followed it up with a much more sincere, “That’s a lovely gesture. I’m sure your brother will come to appreciate it even more for the work you’ve put in.”
Don gave a small, self-deprecating laugh, “Ah, I dunno. I made it in the first place, so it doesn’t mean a ton if I’m the one fixing it now. That feels more like maintenance, to me.”
“I disagree.” His companion said as light began to shine in from the station ahead, “All you’ve done is explain why this vehicle means so much to him.”
He glanced down at the shell cycle’s ruined body and considered it as they walked. It had felt like a nice gesture at the time-- something he knew Raph would get use out of and enjoy all the while-- but he’d never really stopped to consider how it might feel on the receiving end. He just… liked building things, and liked seeing them put to good use. It made him feel like he was helping to take care of his family-- now, though, he wondered if receiving this particular gift had also felt like being taken care of.
“I guess I can see that.” He said quietly, more to the motorcycle than the man walking with him
As the light grew brighter-- more direct-- he looked up just in time to see the pair of wings before him ripple downward and morph into a formal coat. Ingo glanced up to the level above and then waved him ahead, taking up the rear as the shell cycle was returned to its crash site.
“I hope repairs go smoothly, and that your brother appreciates your hard work tonight.” Ingo said, poised to return to whatever duties he’d been delaying for the past couple of hours.
With the bike turned so he could maneuver it back to street level, Don sheepishly answered, “Is it rude to hope yours doesn’t realize? It sounds like we’d both be better off.”
“Ah. Well, personally, I believe there’s a world of difference between rudeness and self preservation; it’s my opinion that this qualifies as the latter.”
Donnie waved as he began the trek home-- but, before he left, he called back, “Make sure you stick to your schedule-- you promised you wouldn’t be late!”
As he retreated, he heard Ingo laugh.
Tonight had been a resounding success, he thought.