Work Text:
Donut felt cold, colder than ice. He couldn’t seem to get warm no matter what he did.
He couldn’t take the cold, slimy feeling deep inside him where his jam was supposed to be.
It was..strange. But not as strange as the parts of his brain that felt wrong. Alien.
Algebralien.
A word he didn’t know and didn’t want to know, but one that seemed to fit in the cupboards of his mind.
To be changed, body and mind, was something he had never wanted. He could feel the thrum of power in his limbs.
Not his power. Four’s. And, perhaps, not his limbs.
For now, it was just an odd thought every now and then. The idea that he could hurt someone, that it would be easy. He had no guarantee it would stay that way.
The wild, mad urge to laugh, to do whatever he wanted because who could stop him?
He’d already moved the earth for his own convenience.
What else might he do?
…
Donut was tired. The duties of hosting left him feeling rather stretched.
Perhaps that was why he had so eagerly passed them on to X.
His body was never meant to support this weight, the weight of this power and the weight of another’s mind.
He felt sick.
How much longer can I do this?
He didn’t know. He wanted to rest, he wanted to sleep, but he was afraid he’d wake up to find his body not his own.
How could he tell if it was, even now? If he was himself or- someone else?
…
Donut never could quite explain why he joined TPOT, not in terms anyone else understood.
He just had to have that power, the moment he saw it- not to use, just to know, to understand.
He held himself to strict standards- he had to be certain this time, certain that he could cope with it.
The time away from Four helped. He was not a number, he would never be.
He was just..Donut.