Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Donatello Hamato, the one and only, was not a doctor. He was not by any means even the chosen medic of the family. That honor fell upon the most difficult patient he could have ever imagined being stuck with and the one with the actual medical knowledge under his metaphorical sleeve. Hours of flipping through books and researching all about gross squishy gushy insides.

He could never.

“Sooo?” The slider draped over the hospital like bed whined, squirming impatiently on blue sheets. The guy wriggled like a worm put on hot concrete. “I’m getting bed sores here, Dee.”

Donnie pinched between his brows, mimicking the sort of pose he’d seen a thousand too many times on television. More than anything, so he didn’t reach out and upturn the bed his still injured brother was lounged on. Really not how you’re supposed to lay on one of those.

Donnie, of course, knew Leo was well enough to be hobbling around with a brace, a bandage, and the crutches that he suspected would be neglected or misplaced within the first day. While he could reiterate for all of eternity, how much he in fact did not want to be the one playing doctor, he did work half as well as Leo and could handle the machines with just as much ease.

He did help set them up after all. Admittedly, there were way too many reasons he was the second best option, too many reasons his other brothers couldn’t be the ones to take over.

It did not give him a lot of faith in the care to be provided if both him and Leo were ever incapacitated at the same time.

Though, after the Krang, he would prefer to keep Leo to this very room for the rest of his life, both as a measure against the dumb dumb’s own talent to do whatever would make healing more difficult and of course as a punishment for the most horrifying suicidal stunt to ever save the world.

The headache that pressed against the back of his eyes and made his neck too tight to comfortably turn all the way, said otherwise.

Leo’s nagging did nothing but make it pulse with a renewed vigor.

Great Galileo, he could do with a nap , is not a sentence he ever thought he’d think, and yet here he was, thinking it.

“Yes yes, I’ve made my great doctorly decision. You’re free to roam and do whatever else I would approve of. Now, thank me a few hundred times and hobble off very very carefully.” He waves the hand that isn’t pressed to his knit, drawn brows, throwing in two ‘verys’ to properly stress the point.

Leo swings his legs over the side, getting up faster than Donnie approved of. Already failing his crystal clear instructions. Nothing broke though so he’d think about smacking him over the head for it later.

If he was going to be acting as the lair medic, he believed he deserved some sort of actual power. If he was lucky he could write a doctors note at the very least.

“As the lair’s super legal real doctor, back in business, I gotta ask if anyone has checked you over recently.” Leo poked at the softshell’s arm and Donnie lowered his hand to bat him off.

So much for that doctor power.

“First of all take like sixty mental steps back from the guy that’s been treating you. You literally just got up. Think about anything else. Like pissing.” Donnie took a breath that doubled as a prayer to pizza supreme for patience.

Leo tried reaching over again, for annoyance sake, Donnie assumed, and he knocked the arm away again.

“I’ve checked myself over.” He tried.

“That’s not good enough.” Leo was and would continue to be insufferably stubborn, and this morning Donnie felt like choosing his battles.

He already knew tomorrow-Donatello would not be thankful. Would definitely not appreciate the long explanation he’d have to give, nor anything he’d be expected to confront. Despite knowing this, and acknowledging it, today-Donatello would be taking priority because thinking of your future self in a prioritizing way is for people who meditate and practice self care.

He does neither.

“I’ll talk to you about this tomorrow. Anything you want know. It’ll be like a check-up but with more medical malpractice and alien molesting talk.”

Leo laughed, something between a hysterical cackle and a nervous jitter. “Why not today?” He started pushing for a better answer once he’d stopped trying to react two different ways.

Better meaning the answer Leo wanted.

“I’ve had to deal with you all and your numerous injuries for over a week now. I think I’ll be perfectly fine with a single day out of this place.”

Leo snorts.

Donnie imagines he could actually find a little empathy with that bit, being the actual medic of the family and all.

Or at least the guy who hyperfixated on gory textbooks until they slapped him with a big gold sticker that read Sorta Qualified!

“Fine, but I’m holding you to that.” He jabs a finger against Donnie’s plastron.

The poking and prodding was really out of hand.

Hah.

After a few mumbled agreements from the softshell, the two made their way out of the medbay, Donnie swinging the curtain closed behind them.

He tried to linger back, rubbing the thick fabric between his fingers, but Leo appeared immediately perplexed at the absence, stopping and turning back halfway down the hall.

It was clear he had his own idea about why the softshell had hung back. Even if that idea was arguably false.

“You aren’t skipping breakfast, Donald. Love your gadgets bla bla la da dee- not worth skipping breakfast over.” Leo stepped back to wack Donnie’s leg with a crutch.

“Augh!” The softshell hopped, holding the leg up with a shallow hiss.

Embarrassingly, it was more startling than painful.

“If Raph heard that and you blame me I’m running.”

“You can’t run, loser.” Donnie made a great ninja. So great he refrained from beating Leo over the head with his own crutch.

Unfortunately for him though, it appeared he’d be skipping that nap. Really, it was strange he debated it at all, his undereyes parading around his habit of neglecting sleep.

And he’d certainly rather skip it than announce something as out of character as that. God forbid they press a hand to his forehead and joke about his inevitable doom, surely to come if he's chosen to sleep.

After some extended, uncomfortable eye contact, just to check neither had any additional plans of attack, Donnie reluctantly followed Leo down to the kitchen, keeping his eyes on the spots the lights didn’t quite reach.

He had no clue what caused the headache that still thrummed around his skull, but it was a general rule they don’t like light.

God, maybe it really was Leo’s yammering. The makings of a great excuse for personal space. Dare he even say alone time.

He’d keep a bit of faith that food would help though, nothing else at his immediate disposal to try.

Whatever the case, it wasn’t an issue. Not one bit.

Chapter Text

Donatello has his head flat against the desk, forehead relishing the cold surface against his warmed skin.

He’d taken that planned (and very derailed) nap, but instead of adding to his sleep it replaced the nightly hours he was supposed to get. In short, he was at that point of early-ish exhaustion that sent all glorious, inventive motivation into an impassionate divebomb, and offered him nothing but slow, lethargic blinking in compensation.

If there was a plus side, it would be that, even internally, he never actually lied about the nap itself. Made lying about it easier, at least.

Take that, Leon!

In any case, it was about time he lifted his head up and got back to work. His pace was already lazy and face planting on his desk was taking up time he dreaded wasting. He was nowhere near earning a break and his work had to be completed whether he had the motivation or not. His reputation relied on it after all.

To make the idea of sitting up more appealing, he dragged his focus to the ache growing steadily in his jaw, most definitely from the way he’s had it pressed down on the metallic desk surface. He should move, lest he wants to look like he’d been sucker punched.

Before he could solve that whole ‘issue’, in came the bearer of conversation, best avoided, and bandaids, neglected and unused. His dear twin, playing doctor like a kid with a new career toy set at Christmas. And by ‘in came’, Donatello means he was rudely startled when a hefty heave of the door smacked the wall and let out a jarring thunk, impact sending junkyard scraps sliding down from where they were propped against the wall.

Donnie’s head had rightfully shot up at that, and his hands were gripping the flat surface of the desk so hard he could promise there would be pale lines from the ends of his nails, soon to be due for a cut and file.

To make matters worse, the overly defensive shout of, “UP,” that came from him was not dignified nor believable, but it did jolt him entirely from his sleepy, daydream prone state.

“Oh, are you now?” He could hear the swing of limbs and a tap against the wall. The insufferable idiot was posing, he just knew it.

Regrettably, he also knew if he hadn’t shouted ‘UP’, Leo might not have suspected anything else. Phooey.

“Super up. Been up for ages in fact.” The second part came sliding from his tongue with ease, being factually correct and all. At least opposed to the scrambled assurance that he was, in fact, ‘up’.

“Since the time of the dinosaurs?” 

“Dad’s been meaning to tell us we aren’t turtles.” He’s being toyed with. 

“Sure, Donald, whatever helps you skip out on your beauty sleep .”

This time, Donnie spun around in his chair, catching the melodramatic slider switching poses, as if leaning against the door with a hip jutted out and arms crossed wasn’t dramatic enough. “Pot meet kettle! Unless you’d like to address the cabinet full of melatonin gummies I keep for you. There for the sole purpose of replacing yours when you run out.” He waves his arms at his sides for some sort of stupid emphasis, a kind of ‘hello?!! get it through your thick skull’ gesture.

“Yea, I’m aware of my issues. What’s your excuse?” Leo waggles a finger and if Donnie were any closer he’d bite it.

“I’ve got this guy that breaks into my lab to order me around like he has a degree.”

Leo snaps his fingers. “You’re so right. Get out and get checked.”

Donnie decides to tell himself that he clearly has Leo right where he wants him, and therefor the ‘high ground’ in this discussion. “Fine. The bathroom then.”

Leo pushes off the wall into a proper stand, raising the line of his non-existent brow. Except he isn't as cool as Donnie, who actually bothers to draw on thick black brows. Versus the slider’s who only has the side of his mask arched up.

Donnie doesn’t elaborate on why he’d rather be in the bathroom. Mostly because he doesn't have a reason that doesn't start and end with ‘the door shuts and locks and I don’t want an audience when you make a scene.’

He does grant Leo good brother brownie points though when the slider presumably realizes that this battle is a lot easier than arguing over an outright refusal, and concedes.

“Fine. Head there and I’ll grab some antiseptics and stuff.”

Donnie shrugs, getting up from his seat and, y’know, really reveling in the way his head spins. Awful, truly, but to his great relief, short lived. Throwing a hand on the desk, he waits a moment for all that to dissipate, before making his way to the bathroom.

Leo walks in beside him, twisting the lock with his thumb as he lets go of the handle, per Donnie’s request. It’s unfortunate timing, that they both entered at about the same moment, because it most definitely makes Donnie look late. The moment seems it’s going to stay unmentioned, surprisingly, and Leo goes about tossing what wound cleaning supplies he could carry onto the counter. Alcohol wipes, the bitch. Disinfectant, piled up and half crumpled. Anything that burns, apparently.

Honestly, Donnie isn’t sure Leo’s wholly prepared for the level of injury that Donnie was likely to be presenting to him. Well, against most sense, he would preserve this level of nonchalance for as long as he was allowed. Real dramatics set him on edge, and telling Leo he probably needed a few more things would likely cause real dramatics.

This was all preemptive worry though. He couldn’t actually say for sure how bad his own injuries were, having never taken a good look, or any look for that matter, at his wounds. Despite claiming to have done so, of course. It was a lie he’d practiced every time Leo was coherent, or even just awake. 

Donnie doesn't argue when Leo has him stand in the center of the room, before deciding they need to shuffle a few paces closer to the sink counter, better reach to water and supplies.

Donnie’s brother steps behind him and he can feel the slider hesitate, hands just ghosting over the clasps on his the softshell’s shoulders. They had long begun to dig against his skin, creating angry red lines under the surrounding metal rims.

Donnie, forced to this wait of wills, stares down the tiles of the old subway bathroom. He’d remodeled the thing a while back to be actually sanitary and impressively functional, pleased even then that it was already built to be nicely spacious. Not quite as nice as the sterilized surfaces of the med bay, but by god it was something, especially in an old abandoned subway station, previously free to whatever squatters made a home in it.

“How long has it been since you took this off.” Leo taps the raised, squared lip of the battleshell.

Donnie squirms, rolling a shoulder back at Leo. “A week or something. I don’t know. I’ve been busy.” He speaks too fast, nearly tripping over his the latter few words in his haste to make it sound unimportant.

He probably deserves the wack Leo delivers across the back of his head.

“Actually eat shit for that answer. You know way better than that.”

Donnie only offers up a shrug in response.

He feels the claps release with the easy press of a button, and his nails dig half moons into his palms when the fake metal shell is lifted from his back, Leo keeping a tight hold on it to eliminate the risk of it tearing right off and clattering to the floor.

It ends up truly fortunate Leo keeps the hold on it he does, because there’s something keeping the shell sticking to Donnie, just enough that Leo murmurs a quick apology before pulling it free.

It feels much like the sensation of moist cheese and dried glue, pulled in strings from his back. The entire thing lets out a pocket of heat. Donnie hadn’t even paid mind to the feeling of a great brute puffing stinking breath down his shell, ‘till now. The hot pocket of air trapped and now released.

Leo makes a noise behind him and the battleshell reverberates loudly against the ground as it’s haphazardly dropped aside. “Why didn’t you take this off before now?”

“Couldn’t.” The softshell’s answer is curt. He’s not interested in discussing the nitty gritty of his decision. Also known as he didn’t want to deal with it.

“You couldn’t.” Leo’s sigh trails off as he repeats the phrase, quieter than Donnie had said it. “Your shell is messed up big time.”

Donnie shifts, shuffling his feet all impatient.

“It’s like- totally covered in holes. All over- y’know. And it’s got the pink krang-y stuff inside. Really in there, Dee, it’s like really in there. Fuckin- I cant even be like ‘congrats man, at least it’s clean’. There’s fluid all over your back just oozing from the holes. The kind of stuff you get squeezing a bug bite before you reach blood. It looks like the actual living nightmare someone with tryphobia would have.”

Leo’s rant really does not put Donnie’s stomach at ease, the phantom sensations of squirming, writhing Krang matter exploring his back. “My brother in Christ, I did not ask, but thank you anyway for the horrifying, totally not graphic description.” He snarks.

“If you ever call me your brother in Christ again, I’m making you repent for your sins out in the sewers.”

”Is that your new hands off strategy for my shell?”  

A pause. 

“Remind me how this happened?” Leo, in all ways that count, ignores Donnie’s very funny final line of their back and forth.

“Living alien spaceship flesh hijacked my body via inserting itself into my shell to connect me to it, or something down those lines. The usual.” He pauses, “Though I must say, I do feel a little molested.” 

Leo makes a high pitched noise. “Solid alien story for a good party?” He offers. 

Somewhere in their chat, Leo’s hand had landed on Donnie’s shell, feeling over his leathery back.

The warm, traveling skin makes Donnie’s gut somersault. An almost ignorable sensation had been at the back of his head for the entire week, like a buzzing fridge in the background, but was now, rather suddenly, at the forefront of his mind, something too akin to feeling like his nerves were being stripped bare behind him.

“This is absolutely infected.” Leo whistles a long note. As one does, admiring the body horror an alien species has left on their brother.

Donnie listens, but is too locked on his own bodily sensations to respond, gone rigid with his arms straight down at his sides and fingers spread.

The grossest part was that he wanted the feeling of living flesh all over his back, to cocoon him and smother, no, entangle the phantom vines on every inch of his carapace. To soothe the way he knew he should be able to stretch his conscience the other side of the room, to leave his arms up the walls and legs beneath the sink. His mind tumbles over what feels like empty space, a gap beside, maybe even in his brain, shaped for something he was mourning and still ever so desperate for.

Donatello knew this was wrong, and his throat feels tight, right alongside the notable heart hammering against his plastron. He can’t bring himself to believe the alien infestation roaming his body will ever end, no matter how unreal it is, blind to his eyes. Like the invisible skittering ants after stepping in a hill.

Leo’s hand is still messing with his shell, feeling it over for any damage unseen by the naked eye.

Donnie doesn't mean to, really, but his breath gets choppy, one sharp inhale after another, and yet he finds himself starving for air, sucking in short breaths that that his lungs refuse to expand for. They drag raw and dry in his throat when he reaches a capacity he isn’t satisfied with. 

Donnie jerks away from his brother, squirming to escape the feeling of skin against his bare shell, hands shaky and readied for resistance that wouldn’t come. He needed it to stop. Every sick alien desire and remnant of the cruel species lodged in his brain.

With a hint of clarity, he decided he loathed the idea of his shell touching anything alive, specifically.

“Donnie?” The slider sidesteps, offering a wide berth, to face Donnie’s front and waves a hand in his face. “Donnie look at me, look at me D.” He reaches out when Donnie leans forward, smoothing his mask. “Is this ok? Are my hands ok?”

Donnie nods, making a real valiant effort to not breathe wonky with eyes on him, but god did that not bring him the oxygen he needed fast enough.

“Pizza supreme, man!” Leo exclaims with a relieved breath, absurd word choice letting off some of the tension that hangs. “Was touching your shell the issue?”

Donnie nods again, mouthing over words that don’t come. His brain, metaphorically, is running on blank, a shaky movie script with empty pages. Just daunting white paper staring back at him and spotlights hot on his face, burning holes into his eyes to be peered into. Scrutinized.

It didn’t feel like a normal sensory overload, but more like he was thrown headfirst, or maybe back first, into the spaceship, but with half of it torn away from him, as if it was just barely there but he couldn’t get his fingers around it, in it. He couldn’t grab it, yet allowed it to torment him the same.

That thought got a little out of hand.

Pins and needles remain even as the confusion subsides. A pain reminiscent of carpal tunnel.

Leo waits with Donnie like that until the softshell can speak. By then, the static in his shell is back to a constant, numbing buzz. Something he can learn to ignore. Was learning to ignore. 

Adapting. Hoorah. 

“You good now?” Leo pats the side of Donnie’s head in a way that tempts the softshell to smack him, just for the insolence of it.

“Never been better. It was just air hunger.” He boldly lies on the first half. It’s no secret he does so though, leaving it more on the side of sarcasm than a real fib.

Leo stares, hard. Some real intense eye contact for a whole minute, gaze just really drilling into Donnie’s own. It’s incredibly awkward and even more uncomfortable. The softshell’s own gaze hops around the room, from one sink to another and then over to a glazed looking tile on the wall.

“Can we go to the med bay to get you moderately fixed up. At least get the uhh.. krang meat stuff out. Por favor, hermano?”

Donnie rolls his eyes, breath still long and drawn out. It was a nice excuse to really break the eye contact though and he made the most of that by pulling away entirely and turning to angle himself off to the side.

Donnie loathes the idea, having hands poking and prodding over- in his shell. Unfortunately for him, he hates the idea of the literal gooey alien flesh and mysterious liquids in the crevices of his back, not to mention the infection, more.

“Quickly.” He relents, with a stiff roll of his shoulders.

Leo unlocks the bathroom door and leads them out to the med bay, both turtles with their heads on a swivel for any sign of stray brothers, wandering the halls.

Donnie swears he nearly jumps out of his skin when his talons kick against a pencil on the floor, sending it rolling down into the living room with a subjectively noisy clatter.

Leo, possibly having gained much needed strategizing time as they move, waits for Donnie to overtake him and falls back, hiding the bare-backed softshell from any possible peering eyes.

With the final stretch of luck the world could grant him, Donnie manages to slip inside the medbay, turning to see that Leo, on the other hand, had frozen in the doorway to, feet shuffling to a more natural pose, like he’d been caught sneaking into the kitchen at midnight. Hand in the cookie jar style.

All of the sudden, it’s very clear why he’s stopped.

“Yer’ goin’ in the med bay?”

Donnie sidesteps out of view and presses his shoulder to the wall, hidden from the doorway that Leo is trying his damndest to block.

Someone needed to give that turtle a gold star for the way he took up space.

“Mhmm just doin some organizing, yknow? Since none of us are all boo hoo in there now, I thought it’d be a good time.” Leo was making a great swing with his arm, putting it out to the side to lean against the wall. He not only took up space, but now blocked the entire doorway from entry. Granted, not very effectively. It was in the same way a piece of do not cross tape would. Just not worth the effort or repercussions to cross.

“Organizing? Not tryin’ to like convince ya not to or judge but..” Raph’s voice tapers off and Donnie can very well imagine the puzzled squint of his big brother’s non bandaged eye.

“Cmon Raphie, you know I like my emergency work space clean. I do actually value sanitation.” Leo presses his unoccupied hand to his chest in faux hurt.

“Yea, ok. Needin’ any help?” The snapping turtle’s voice seemed to deflate.

Even all holed up, Donnie had noticed Raph was real hopped up on worry lately, and seeing Leo borderline sneaking into the med bay could have only given him a startle.

“Nah I’ve got it covered, big guy. Let a man practice some self governing.”

Christ, Donnie predicts that bittersweet smile on the big ol’ snapper’s face. Not that he can see to confirm. 

With nothing more for anyone to say, they wait for Raph to take his leave. It’s no time at all before there's a flash of green and red out of the corner of Donnie’s eye as the massive mutant goes on his way, disappearing down the hall.

Leo pushes off from the doorway and pulls the curtain shut behind them, assuring they're out of sight.

Before Donnie can really do anything more productive, a hand is slapped to his forehead, and Leo squints intensely at him.

“Yes?” Donnie speaks through gritted teeth, arm coiled back to smack Leo away in the case he doesn't get his personal space back real soon.

“You’re going to tell them eventually.” Leo removes his hand, shaking it off like he’d touched something gross.

Donnie makes a petty show of wiping his forehead off. “They’ll be all upset over not being informed sooner.”

“Yea it’s called being rightfully pissed. I’d be too if I found out any later.”

“You’re pretty pissy anyway.” Donnie mutters.

He suddenly has to dodge a hand flying at his forehead again, and it ends up hitting the side of his jaw with a gentle splat. 

“Sit your ass down.” Leo’s hand retracts and he goes about grabbing a short rolling stool and shoving it over to Donnie, the wheels rattling as they spin, bumping into the softshell’s feet.

Despite grandiose dreams of being a royal pain in the ass, to serve his brother a good spoonful of his own medicine, he sits down obediently.

In various places behind him, changing by the second, Leo rustles around the cabinets, and the only sound Donnie can accurately recognize is something that makes little metallic clicks against the counter. Presumably tweezers.

Donnie knows Leo’s turned back to him when a wet cloth is dragged over the expanse of his wounded shell, washing off all fluids before going back over it with light layer of soap suds and water.

Donnie’s blind item guess on the tool of choice is confirmed when chilly metal touches his back, not dawdling even a moment before reaching straight into his shell, slowly, so agonizingly slowly, tugging out a stringy and disgustingly mushy bit of krang-flesh from one of the open wounds. The sensation is disturbingly like something he’d see pulled out of a drain.

He rakes his nails over the tops of his thighs, goosebumps raising over his skin and a growl in his throat.

When it’s finally out, he chooses a few sharp words for the turtle behind him. “Leo, maybe go a bit faster than your goddamn cousin from Aesop’s fables. I swear to god if you don’t.” He threatens, at loss for an interesting swear. 

Leo chuckles behind him. Though, to his credit, he actually sounds guilty. “Entendido, hermano.” After a moment he tacks on, “Sorry.”

The tweezers go for his back again, this time carefully and swiftly yanking out the next remnant of the krang. It’s still miserable, but there’s only so much a guy can complain about. 

“I’m learning a new language.” Leo tries his hand at striking up a conversation. Possibly to gauge how awful the experience was going for the overstimulated mutant.

Donnie repeatedly runs his tongue over a tooth, hands tapping rapidly at his thighs as he tries to cope. “Hm?”

“Yup. Trying to anyway. Watched puss in boots and now I gotta learn Italian before the fixation wears off. The only good way to learn a language is to watch good movies in it. Pray the voice actors are real winners, y’know.”

“It’s a fine movie but I swear if you tell me the wolf is hot again I’m actually disowning you and selling you to a zoo.”

“Hear me out.”

“No.”

“No, because-” Leo is pushing the chair back and forth everytime he doesn't have a tweezer an inch inside Donnie’s shell.

It makes it immensely more tolerable to be sitting stock still and getting poked at.

“Because what?” Donnie peers around when Leo pauses, spotting a growing pile of Krang flesh bits on a single paper towel. “Are you just putting them there?!”

“Yes. Anyway, so there’s the scene in the beginning where he like licks over his teeth and raises one side of his mouth and then says cool things.”

“Nothing about it is attractive. If you did it you’d never pull a single man. He looked like he was getting crap off his teeth.” 

“Uncalled for. Nobody asked. We don’t say cool things while doing it and we also aren’t cartoon anthro wolves.”

“You disgrace this family. I can’t believe I’m related to you.”

“What’s that?” Leo pauses his task to lean forward, reaching into the edges of Donnie’s peripherals. “Youre so happy to be my twin forever and ever and want to dress in matching outfits so everyone knows we’re family?”

“Different species.”

“I’m hearing matching outfits.” Leo jingles, returning to the disgusting, awful work of picking things out of his brother’s shell.

“Are you almost done?” Not that Donnie isn't amused by the conversation, but his back feels just awful.

Leo sucks in a sympathetic breath through his teeth, patting Donnie’s shoulder. “Yea, promise. Only a couple more to go.”

Donnie nods stiffly and pushes his feet along the cool, large-tiled floor, the fabric of his footwear bunching up under them.

“Alright, I’m gonna wash your sponge lookin back out with some peroxide and see what we have to wrap it with.”

Donnie takes the moment Leo runs out to get the things needed, to spin the stool around, shoving his foot down to bring it to a stop with his back facing the counter, per needed. 

Leo returns, the collection he’d brought to the bathroom back in its rightful home. Or vaguely near it, as he tosses it all down on the countertop and picks out what he’s looking for, returning to Donatello’s back.

He quickly gets to pouring the liquid on each individual hole and they bubble, hissing softly. He’s tutting softly when the excess runs off the softshell and onto the floor.

Donnie taps his feet against the ground, stool scooting around whilst Leo goes back to rooting around the cabinets for his next desired object.

“Where are my bandages, D?” 

Donnie grimaces, going still. “Ran out.” 

“Good god you could have said that sooner.” 

“Like when?”

“When I said I was going to wrap your shell.” 

“Touché. My bad.”

Apparently, Leo lands on the decision to temporarily put little individual square bandages over the holes so the grumpy, purple-clad turtle looks like a bland, geometric patchwork.

“It’s not that bad.” Leo laughs. “I’ll fix it when we get something better.” 

Donnie could admit, it was somewhat more comfortable than wrapping the whole thing, but the sticky adhesive of the bandages was irritating. It was also so painfully clear that he was injured to anyone that got an eyeful of his back, not that it would change with the type of bandage slapped on him. Regardless, that kind of attention made him feel like a worm on a surgical table under bright LED lights. Bad and emotionally unprepared.

Donnie doesn't bring up the battleshell to Leo when it goes unmentioned. He finds it simply nonnegotiable anyway, so it’s for the best.

“All right uhh last thing is I’m gonna force feed you some fever reducer.”

By the time the words are out of Leo’s mouth, his hands are clamped around Donnie’s jaws, prying them open.

“Num num num.” He shoves a cup against Donnie’s beak and with all the haste he can manage, throws the liquid to the back of his twins throat. Leo snaps the writhing softshell’s maw shut, practically wrapping himself over the other for enough leverage to keep it that way. Donnie is fighting him every step like a feral animal at the vet’s, trying to hiss and spit with his mouth full and clamped shut, giving off strangled gargles instead. It’s a long moment of flying arms and squirming turtles until they’re both on the floor and Donnie’s throat finally bobs with a noisy swallow.

Leo slowly and reluctantly lets go, sticking fingers against his brother’s teeth to pry into his mouth. A double check that he actually swallowed the stuff and didn’t fake him out.

He barely yanks his fingers away in time to avoid a bite. “I swear I’ll get you the pills by tomorrow.”

“You better.” Donnie was feeling no prouder than a feral, drugged cat.

“Thank me when your fever is gone.”

“Never.”

Leo sighs, grabbing Donnie’s hand to pull him up. “A guy can dream.”

“Those are called delusions.”

Donnie is swiftly kicked from the med bay with the promise of regular check ups, sent to sneak all the way back down the hall to find his battle shell where it was abandoned.

Chapter Text

Donatello finds himself back in the med bay several weeks after the first bit of wound care with Leo, jaws grinding as his brother practically breathes down his neck, occupied with his check up on the wounds.

The whole touching thing wasn’t a huge bunch better when it came to skin on shell contact, nor was Donnie’s ‘worsening habit’ with his battleshell, as Leo called it.

Donnie adamantly disagreed. A guy’s gotta take his precautions. Someone could stick a pencil in his back and it would stay. That kind of thing can’t be allowed. At least, that’s what he told Leo

Leo moved his hand to rub a finger down the red indents in the dip of the softshell’s shoulders. They seemed almost permanent now and the pain was sharp and blistering when Leo’s finger met them.

Donnie didn’t say a thing about it. Leo had continued to quietly keep an eye on the injuries, so just this once he’d keep his complaints to himself.

When he heard Leo take a step back and make some loud frustrated kind of noise, he shook his arms out and rolled his shoulders, freeing them from the curse of having to stay still.

Thankfully Leo at least kept his emotions quiet.

“Is the Krang crawling back into my skin.” It wasn’t a question. Just a prompt. Well, maybe a little a question.

Best not to call it impossible.

Donnie turned to face Leo and quickly hauled his battleshell back on, all while Leo watched, face resting in one of his hands and angled down, a sort of upwards looking stare at Donnie. And didn’t that just bleed stress.

Pizza supreme, you’d think he was the one with the jacked up shell.

When Donnie was finished, he put his hands on his hips and raised his brows as high as the drawings would go, giving Leo his absolute best pointed look .

That’s apparently all it took to break the slider who was clearly just dying for a chance to word vomit all over Donnie. “The infection is gone. Nada. No more. Your back is clean and scabbing. It’ll be a bunch of fresh spotty scars soon!” It came out more like a rant then some stellar news.

“Wow. How awful. I’ll never cope.” Donnie fed his twin a healthy dose of sarcasm. “Honestly I think my whole back is going to be one big scar soon.” That bit was dead honest and probably spot on.

“No no no, see,” the blue clad turtle slapped a hand over Donnie’s forehead, shoving his mask up to wiggle his fingers under it. “You’ve still got a fever and last check up you told me, and I quote you on this, you fucking denyer,”

Donnie had already started shaking his head, yknow, to deny.

“‘I understand how fish put in the wrong water feel’ and then when I grilled you on it, proceeded to list things like air hunger,” Leo proceeded to hold up fingers and list things, “feeling too warm or cold, feeling more tired then usual, slowly losing appetite,” the slider threw his hands up, breaking the list. “And probably more I’m forgetting!”

“This is suddenly not a safe space.” If Donnie had a one use time machine, he would go back to his moment of weakness and grumpy bitching about feeling sick, and just… not. Everyone knows you don’t give your brother ammo against you.

“Donnie, I’m not saying this like against you. You’re stupid but you’re not that stupid. You gotta hear what I’m saying.”

Donnie did not in fact. He was too busy being all regretful. Being emotionally vulnerable was not a very good thing for his bad boy image.

“You’re still sick and have no infection. Infection is not making you sick. You are sick and I don’t know why.”

Oh. Yea that. He knew that.

“Consider it might actually be normal illness.”

Leo shook his head, pressing his knuckles to his beak again, browline furrowed under his mask. “It’s been over three weeks. It can’t be a cold.” He muttered against his fist.

Donnie snapped his jaws, teeth clacking together loudly. “I’m not hearing a hypothesis.”

Leos mood seemed to take a hard turn at that, face pulled into a more offended look. “Sorry, let me just cook up some willy nilly shit. A shot in the dark.” He retorted.

Donnie smacked the side of his own head, hard, for emphasis. “That’s dumb!”

“Then what do you want me to do!”

Donnie’s mind came reeling to a metaphorical stop, retorts gathered in a neat list on his brain dissipating.

“Just, don’t worry about it for now, yea?” He settled on. “It might just be remnants of the infection or something. You’re going to break your brain vain if you keep making that face.”

“If you can’t remember the name of something it sounds so much cooler when you don’t say it at all.”

“Scoff. Ignored.” He spun on a heel, pretending like it didn’t make his head spin and the ground wobble.

The curtain went swishing and swaying behind him, and he was grossly aware Leo wouldn’t stop his worrying at all.

Well, Donnie just wouldn’t be sick then. If there was no reason for him to be sick, it couldn’t be that hard to ignore.

He just needed to stay distracted. It was all mental or something like that.

The tightness in his skull for instance. Super mental. Totally.

No, that didn’t make sense at all. He was a man of science, not a man of bad dad quotes, telling some poor kid to get up and brush it off.

Now, on things to do…

He’d been avoiding fixing the tank for a while on account of ‘illness’ that had absolutely no reason to not just go away and fix itself now. The perfect time to take care of the extensive damage to their beloved vehicle.

He swore Raph had downright shed a tear when he saw the extent of the damage. Everyone was very attached to the turtle tank, a fact Donnie held close with pride.

Now, who could he get to do it with him? He didn’t mind working alone at all, preferred it in most cases, but this was the kind of thing that really needed a few extra hands and some added muscle.

Not Leo, obviously. He didn’t want those beady eyes trying to study his every sniffle.

Not Raph. He didn’t feel like answering worried Raph questions or re-explaining the same instructions over and over. Love the guy, but he wasn’t feeling all that chatty today.

Mikey it was. He was his favorite (brother) assistant anyways.

Donnie really tried to put a bit of pep in his step on the way to the kitchen, talons clicking subtly on the stony ground as he rushed his walk.

He did slow down a little when his talon curled on a too fast stride and he nearly ate the ground, arms waving in large undignified circles to keep him upright.

The kitchen lights were on when he got there, and peering in, he called out a greeting to his favorite little box turtle.

Mikey waves him over from where he is at the stove, something that smells of butter and cheese sizzling in the skillet he was manning.

Mikey darts from his cooking over to the coffee maker and pours a healthy amount into a cup, unfortunately by his own standards, not Donnie’s, but it’s still very warm and oh ever so welcomed when it’s slid over the counter to land right in the softshell’s hands.

He feels like he’s being buttered up. Or maybe tempted to stay.

“You’re a star.” He tells Mikey, getting a giggle in response.

“Whatcha doing today?” Mikey asks, sidling a spatula under what Donnie could now see was a sandwich in the pan.

Donnie, who absolutely totally does not wish he was sitting down, nuh uh not at all, hunches over the counter with his elbows supporting him and coffee lifted to his beak. “Finally going to fix up the turtle tank.” He stares over his steaming mug at the box turtle, gauging his reaction.

He gets a very positive one. “Really?! That’s great, Dee. That things been messseeeddd up!” He drew out the ‘messed’, shaking his head at the end with a grin.

Donnie nodded an earnest agreement. “Care to help?” He asks. “I suspect you wouldn’t mind a bit of painting.”

“Really? Of course!” Mikey flipped his sandwich onto a plate, grabbing a knife from the first drawer and cutting it through the center. Cheese practically oozed out the cut, stretching between the pieces and slithering down onto the plate. “You should eat with me first. I’d rather split the sandwich with someone.” He turned around, holding the plate up in offering.

Ah that’s what the coffee was for.

Donnie’s stomach did phantom twirls at the idea and the smell made him want to leave the room.

He has no reason to be sick, he reminded himself. He’s probably just getting over lingering side effects.

“Sure.” He hopes he isn’t grimacing. That would make this wildly harder.

Apparently his face is fine because with that, Mikey sets the plate between them on the counter and grabs half the grilled cheese, digging in with a hearty bite.

Cheese coats the edges of his fingers and his attention is pretty firmly off Donnie, lingering on an old counter stain that he tries to get off like a scratch ‘n sniff.

Donnie reaches out and picks up his own piece, biting into the buttery bread and gooey cheddar.

The texture of it makes him feel like certain slimy vines are exploring down his throat and the heavy layer of butter, not even on but practically in the bread, makes his throat bob uncomfortably, swallowing a few times to try and wash down the discomfort of it all.

He chokes his way through the half meal as fast as he physically can, swallowing large bites with less attempt to chew, because he is decidedly, not going to be sick any longer and he absolutely does not want to feel the texture of anything he’s ingesting right now. Someway through he hears Mikey mutter, “Boy, who raised you.” And doesn’t pay any mind it. It’s a little embarrassing but he’d done way worse. Afterwards he helps Mikey wash up the dishes used.

Once they’re done, Donnie meandered with Mikey up to the makeshift garage and points them towards the pile of spare parts full of shaped and colorful metals.

“Feels a little unfair that we were the ones nearly crushed in it and we still have to fix it.”

Donnie raised a brow. “I’m sure you’d be up to asking the sister Krang if she feels like making up for damages?”

Mikey laughs. “Never ever.”

“Hence why we’re the ones on damage duty.” Donnie points out, taking that as the perfect opportunity to get to work.

Mikey pokes a moment for any chatter or infodumping on the project at hand but when Donnie’s responses are short, trying valiantly to sound like carrying a few large scrap metals isn’t making him feel positively ill, the box turtle fills in the space with his own expressive voice and gesturing.

He tells Donnie all about the new drawing he’s working on and some color theory tips and tricks he’s learned. Something about oranges and greens.

They enjoy each others company and he’s well enough at the work that Donnie can remain relatively silent throughout, trying to put in the muscle on his end.

He’d really, really hoped this would go well. Truly he did. Unfortunately though, those dreams were banished a few hours in, the softshell ready to keel over as he wielded the welding gun atop his great creation.

The lights overhead pierced his skull, frying his eyes. He’d long gone too warm, sweat moistening his mask at his brow until it was so soppy he took it off and tied it around his arm for temporary holding. Even his stomach was retaliating, aching furiously and bringing bubbles of air to his throat.

At some point a guy has to admit when it’s really gotten too much, and about the time he felt like he could kill someone sounded about right.

He threw off the goggles that were squeezing his head just right for an intolerable, throbbing ache, and called out to Mikey who was just about done repainting the back of the vehicle. “Finish up. We’re done here and I’m shutting the garage down!” Donnie really tried to keep it snappy but not snappy .

Mikey did not deserve his thin patience.

Donnie, with a growing sense of impending doom that now had his heart hammering and palms going all clammy, beckoned Mikey, who threw the lid on the paint bucket and ran over with the brushes. Donnie turned off the garage lights as they left.

“I’m gonna wash up a bit in the laundry room and grab fresh clothes. Want me to bring you anything?” Mikey offered, holding forward the bottom of his ‘Chateau Prétenche’ shirt and looking pointedly at the mask around Donnie’s arm.

Donnie shook his head and beelined the opposite direction for the bathroom, the horrible feeling of doom crashing over him like a hungry wave, dragging him back to the recesses of his mind where he could solely focus of the introspection he normally lacked.

Please no, please no, please no, please no. He begged, he pleaded, pleaded with nothing at all.

The world would not stop to haggle with him.

He couldn’t breathe or think anymore, only stopping when he crashed to his knees by the toilet and gripped the sides with pale ‘n white knuckles, legs kicking out against the ground as his stomach rolled, heaving up his grilled cheese lunch. The thick saliva flooding up his throat with chewed mush made him feel like he was going to choke.

He cried out, shoving a fist under his mouth to muffle it, until he curled miserably over the seat, stomach clenching again to force up more stomach acid, and then another, that final one dryer than the last. His throat was making a horrid hacking noise now, like it was grating against itself.

His eyes and mouth burned, fat tears rolling down his face, making wet tracks. His legs were splayed on the tile floor where they were already going numb, talons curled and frayed against the cracks where they’d skidded and scrabbled.

Steps rushed towards the bathroom, the sound of the door shutting and a voice making a soft tsktsktsk behind him.

Donnie was too tired to turn, too distracted by his gasping cries and quiet begging, “please please don’t let me throw up again, please.” To any deity that might hear him, the lochness monster to pizza supreme in the sky.

He didn’t think he’d even see anything with the thickly clumped water obstruction his vision and gathering at the corners of his beak to drip down onto the floor.

“Don-Tron, hey, shit you look uh.” Leo was here.

Donnie groaned miserably, the bathroom light striking agonizingly into his eyes.

Leo’s hand shot out to catch his forehead when he tried to tuck his face down, stopping him from pressing it to the toilet seat. “Hey, bud, you’re gonna hate yourself later if you stick your whole face on that.”

Donnie emitted a watery hiss in response, a hiccuping cry catching the end of it.

“I know, I know, everything sucks so bad right now but I need you to tell me if you feel any better after getting that outta your system.”

Donnie tried another longer, just as wet sounding hiss, but nodded too.

“Good.” Leo sighed.

Hands wrapped around the softshell’s shoulders, gently pulling him up and back.

“Let’s go lay down, yea?” Leo stood, bringing a half jelly limbed Donnie with him.

The softshell cursed his shaky limbs when he was pushed to walk.

The two snuck down to Donnie’s subway cart, the turtle melting onto his floor to be face down on the soft, circular rug.

Leo murmured sympathetically above him. “I’m gonna go get you some ginger ale, mkay Don Don?”

With no response, the slider left anyway, and to Donnie he was back in record time, with a cold drink to soothe the viciously ailing stomach the softshell was curled miserably around, having turned over on his side while Leo was gone.

Donnie begged to anything fair that he didn’t need to throw up again.

Unfortunately for his brother beside him, offering a throw up bag or bucket was like asking for an early casket. Even suggesting the softshell had the capability to throw up again was something guaranteed to set him off.

He didn’t have the emotional regulation to not be set off right now.

The promised cold drink was pushed to his knuckles, and he accepted it hesitantly, wrapping his fingers around it and bringing the chilled can up to take clumsy, cautious sips.

“Dad told me you and Mikey were workin on the tank when he went to find batteries.” Leo commented.

Donnie nodded slowly. He so very badly did not want this brought up.

“Sounds like you really pushed yourself.” Leo’s voice could not be called friendly then, not in the slightest.

Donnie shrugs, the motion smaller than the last.

“That’s a lot of work for anyone normally and clearly way too much for sick you.”

And that was an insulting way to phrase it.

He was sure it was intentional.

There was no response this time and Leo had better be way comfortable with the possibility he was going to be ignored all together.

A nauseous Donnie was like a minefield. A Donnie that had already thrown up could be anything. A great fear of his was just experienced. There was no predicting the response.

Not even to him, and rightfully that makes him stew.

Deciding his stomach was done with its mutiny against him, the softshell sat up, the can in his hands swishing audibly.

Leo didn’t touch him, sitting a good space away on the other end of the rug.

“I think we should call Draxum. Doctors are a huge no go for so many obvious reasons, like the fact that we legally don’t exist, and this might be kinda supernatural if you’re catching what I’m saying.” Leo chuckled a real nervous sound. A sort of titter.

Donnie nodded hesitantly, voice creaky and cracking when he spoke. “Alien. Not supernatural.”

Leo just laughed again. Donnie couldn’t tell if it was real or not.

Chapter Text

When Leo said they were going to Draxum’s apartment, he did not add on that he was going to be bringing the actual, legitimate, nasty pieces of krang he pulled from Donnie’s shell.

“Pray tell brother,” he gestured violently at the slider, “why do you have those ?!”

“I thought they might be useful.” Leo defended, waving around the plastic bag containing the gnarly pink krang bits. “And I was right. ”

“Gag.” Donnie curled his hands by his chest as they walked.

“Say what you will but I thought you with your whole science shebang would get the value of saving harrrd evidence and sciencey useful stuff.” Leo was still pushing the awful baggie towards Donnie. “Plus, Draxum wanted it and that man knows what he’s talking about, if anything.”

“Repulsive. My science is very much not that . My science will not be and has never been gooey and it definitely does not wiggle .”

Leo slowed his pace a moment, bringing the bag back up to his own face to peer into it. “Do they wiggle?” He squinted at them.

“They did when they were in me.”

“ They wiggled when they were in you ?!” Leo sounded properly horrified and also very much like he was trying his absolute darnedest not to laugh.

Yea no, he was absolutely trying not to laugh.

“You think they have little thoughts in there?”

Donnie shrugged, face pinching outrageously. “Are they not dead?”

Leo dropped the bag holding arm to swing at his side again. “Oh yea.”

“‘Oh yea’, he sa- you didn’t touch them did you?!” Donnie took a longer stride forward to stay in Leo’s field of view.

“Pizza supreme, I used gloves, Don.” Leo cringed.

“I felt the need to ask considering some of the horrifying things I’ve seen you touch with your bare hands.”

Leo stopped entirely, cutting off Donnie’s path. “I swear to god if you’re talking about oranges.”

He would have complained, having to stop and all, but honestly his legs were aching, absolutely begging for a break, and his steps had begun to go all lethargic like.

He didn’t tell Leo how much he desired the sweet sweet kiss of the concrete to his face right now. Really, he’d lay anywhere.

The slider would just have the absolute gall to point out that they could have taken the tank if Donnie would just tell everyone that he felt like shit.

Hah, yea I’ll just notify my dear brothers about the mystery ailment we know absolutely nothing about yet.

No really, what a great plan. He was going to tell them eventually, he swore on it. He just wanted to know what to say. He had too many of his own questions to be bombarded with even more, much less more from a couple of mutants that knew jack about medicine.

He’d take a massive pass on that, thank you very much.

Anywho.

“Noooo… I’m totally.. not talking about the oranges.” He defends, crossing his arms. His heart wasn’t in it and nor was his nonexistent talent for lies.

“The fact that you said ‘the’ oranges and not just oranges tells me that’s exactly what you’re talking about. Not to mention the fact that you’re- uhhh.”

Donnie waves a hand to prompt him.

“You’re so great at lying. Keep it up. Never change.”

Donnie mimed a strangling motion at his beloved twin.

They stood in silence for a fat minute after that, Donnie sort of just kicking a foot out to move around loose stones on the surface of the sidewalk.

“Are we going to keep walking anytime soon.” Someone had to say it, even if that someone didn’t really want to. Curse Leo for his silence. 

Leo grabbed the softshell’s chin and tilted it upwards at the building beside them.

Draxum’s apartment complex.

“You could have just said that.” Donnie slapped Leo’s hand away.

“That would have ruined the movie scene moment. As a theater kid incarnate, you of all people should have loved that.” Leo spun, arms out in a respectively theatric manner and strode towards the doors.

“Scoff.” Donnie replied, following the slider inside.

The elevator ride was dead silent. Probably because someone decided on a midnight grocery run and was now stuck in a silent elevator ride with two mutant turtles, who were pulling their hoods over their faces, all desperate and sketchy like, with little success. 

Just a hypothesis.

Once the elevator opened, the lady scurried off with her overfilled grocery bags and the brothers shared a look.

Donnie wasn’t even sure she breathed while they were all inside.

Eventually there was nothing left to do but head into the hall and knock on the goat man’s apartment door, so they did just that.

He opened up, wrapped in a far nicer robe than their rat dad, and for a mutant lounging home alone, he was looking decently put together. He’d been really reaching to crawl out of his own depressive sort of slum.

Nothing as bad as what Splinter dealt with through the worst days of their childhood, but some tough times all the same.

“Welcome, turtles.” Draxum waved them into his abode, shutting and locking the door with a wary look out. Presumably searching for the often mentioned woman that kept trying to get the goat man to hold her baby.

They all stood around the room a moment, no one looking at anyone or thing in particular, until Draxum cleared his throat. “I suppose you will want to sit.” He made an obvious gesture to the couch.

Donnie and Leo shuffled over, sitting down awkwardly and exchanging a couple elbow jabs when the other was a little too close.

Since the new job Draxum secured, the whole place looked nicer, kitchen growing in clutter, from an array of creatively shaped knives, to a large calendar that detailed hidden city and New York shipping dates for certain foods and spices.

It seemed the man was getting into cooking, both with the influence of his job and probably Mikey.

Donnie could spot some colorful magnets on the fridge that were definitely his little brothers homey addition.

Draxum took his seat across the coffee table from them in a lounge chair that appeared overly stiff and too full of stuffing on the squarish arms.

“You’re going to have to explain the predicament to me in better terms than the blue one did. The extent of my knowledge on your unique after effects is that you had some sort of Krang infection that is still lingering.”

Donnie shot Leo a glare and the slider shrugged, shoulders tight pressed towards his neck.

“That is the vaguest way one could put it.” Donnie stated through grinding teeth. “I connected to a the Krang’s ship, made up almost if not entirely of their biomass-“

Leo chimed in, interrupting the softshell, “In our home it’s just called Krang goo or flesh to be straightforward about it.”

Donnie was going to kill a man. “Yes, thank you, Nardo .” He dragged the nickname out in his best unfriendly manner. “As I was saying, it connected through my shell and when I was torn out by the pilot, who had taken back control of the technodrome, there were still pieces inside of me, which were eventually taken out-“

“After like a week of you just leaving them there to get comfy.”

Donnie whipped his head around to be beak to cheek his with his brother.

“You had your chance to tell the story, details and all, and did the worst job known to man or mutant. It is my turn now so silence .” He turned back to face Draxum, who, to his credit, had very little reaction to the interruptions. Unless his whole disinterested air counted as something of note.

Donnie was comfortable betting it did not.

“Apparently, we brought the aforementioned Krang flesh.” Donnie jabbed a finger to his side, face wrinkling judgmentally.

Draxum held out a hand, expectant.

Wind buffeted at the window to their side for a moment, drawing Donnie’s attention. A few leaves and a bit of a brown paper bag scraped against the pane until it died down and they all went spiraling to the concrete floor of the city, the dusk soon to dip down and hide them.

Maybe someone would stop at the corner of an alley and piss on that brown bag.

“Can you say please?” Leo drawled. His eyes had only flickered to the window for a moment, just like Donnie’s had, and then they were back to the topic at hand.

Draxum was silent.

Being the loser he was in this battle of patience and gall, Leo tossed the baggie over and Draxum fixed him with a withering stare when the plastic hit his hand.

“A plastic bag?” The alchemist sounded downright baffled at their choice.

Honestly, Donnie couldn’t defend it. They put a bunch of krang matter in a little plastic baggie like it didn’t have any possible negative effects if it broke.

It also just wasn’t very cool.

“In any case, the back wounds were infected but it’s been around three weeks since then and they’re all clean now, according to Leo, but I’m still experiencing the fever and a collection of other symptoms.”

“There’s also nerve damage spanning over his shell and larger periods of time where he’s sorta spacing out or stimming more than usual.” Leo chimed in at the end.

Now it was Donnie’s turn to give Leo a baffled look. “Since when do I space out for these ‘larger periods of time’.” He demanded.

“Literally right before we came in here. It took you like a whole minute to answer me.”

“What are you talking about?”

“The oranges bit.”

Donnie swore it had only taken him a second to respond to that.

Draxum clicked his tongue, ears pressed back until the goat man was just dripping with disappointment. “Back to the actual point, you mentioned other symptoms? Michelangelo detailed the events of the invasion to me but never mentioned the extent of the penetration to your shell.”

Ew, what a way to word it. Donnie would pay to never hear that again.

The softshell picked at his hands, peeling the ends of his talons. With the way Leo was making a lot of different shapes with his eyes and mask at him, it seemed he was expected to list his own ailments.

“There’s the loss of appetite I guess, which could be sensory and sick related?” He offered, not starting strong. “More sensory and stimulation issues could be the same thing. Just other problems or related problem,” he made a frustrated noise, “how am I even supposed to know what’s what.” His gaping brain feeling, weird memory gaps, pins and needles in his shell, all things that were already mentioned or just hard to pinpoint to something.

“Can you give me anything physically unarguable that makes you feel this said sickness.”

Donnie actually hated this visit. “I’ve been more tired then is exactly normal, body aches, and some dizziness too. The kind of stuff you might get with low iron I’ve heard, at least with the dizziness aspect.” He was trying to slowly take stock of how he felt and crawl around his brain to find the important bits and pieces of his recent memories.

“And it’s not just low iron?” The sheep man (whether he looked like a goat or sheep was still up for debate but Donnie was starting to lean towards goat) said it almost as an afterthought. Like he didn’t really believe it was a possibility.

“If it is, It’s unexplainable.” Donnie was starting to hate the couch he was sitting on.

Why did all of Draxum’s furniture feel like it was built against the idea of lounging.

“The blue one told me there was also an incident of vomiting yesterday.” Draxum leaned over the side of his chair to a side table, digging through a little drawer with curse filled mutters until he yanked out a little stack of yellow notepad, the kind of thing Leo would often take when Mikey or Raph sent him out to go get groceries.

Donnie made a tch noise but confirmed.

Draxum scribbled down some chicken scratch sentences and placed the notepad on the table, leaning forward in the chair with his elbows digging into the tops of his knees.

It looked awfully uncomfortable.

“First off, I need to explain something to you two.” Draxum began, picking up and rotating the plastic baggie in his hand as he spoke. “Any sort of direct connection with another matter of this sort, an interconnected biomass just like the Krang ‘bits’ here, is not something your body and mind can naturally handle. If you even survive the initial join, being torn from it should have been an immediate death sentence. To be that wholly connected with something, you both need to be able to give and take, and by extension be reliant on eachother in some way. The larger being, the ship, needing you as a controller, and you needing it for everything after that.” Draxum paused, a hand thoughtfully on his chin.

Donnie couldn’t say he liked where this was going so far. Didn’t really scream ‘in his favor’. It almost sounded pleasantly symbiotic until the part where the ship needed him way less than he needed it.

The goat man continued. “I assume the Krang matter is still inside of you to some extent which can either mean your body is reliant on it or fighting it. There’s of course the possibility of some mix of the two things, something that would likely present in a way similar to cancer as the situation develops. Overall once you are connected to the Krang, you aren’t meant to be disconnected and you’re missing whatever life supports it had you hooked up with to allow you to do what you did.”

“The Krang could disconnect.” Donnie pointed out.

Draxum shook his head. “It was a part of the pilot even when not with it, and the pilot did not need it the same way when separated. The Krang should only need it whilst connected to it.”

Beside Donnie, Leo dragged a hand down his fave, grimacing. “Ok so, no offense Don, but why isn’t he dead already if he wasn’t supposed to survive at all?”

Draxum set the baggie down on the table, clasping his hands together.

Donnie noticed the two never actually met eyes, not that he cared to stare into piercing yellow either.

“I would assume a combination of his ninpo and the ship’s condition when it took him in and when he was torn out. He was not the sole controller so resources were likely already being redirected away from him to whoever had more control over the ship at that time, as well as the living mass using more of it’s resources to infect the land. Basically, it was spread thin and not entirely focused on Donatello, making it less intense on his body and mind when it connected.” He paused. “The orange one was very descriptive. He offered to metaphorically and literally ‘paint me a picture’, since I did not get to up close and personally enjoy this horror show.”

Donnie tried to keep the information flipping over in his brain, examining from every angle he was capable.

“Actually tragic for you. You missed such a thing. Anyway, will it go away? The issues?” Leo asks, nicely trimmed talons digging into his knees as he leaned forward.

Draxum shrugs. “Highly doubtful. I’m still surprised it’s not worse.”

Leo made a loud noise of frustration, plopping back in his seat.

Draxum regards the two for a moment, posture relaxing. On the contrary, his face seemed to twist into something defeated, the kind of look he had when Mikey finally got him to host a dinner for the family every few months, or at least that was the agreement he claimed they got to. “We can schedule a visit to my old lab. It’s not in perfect condition but if you give me a day or two I can salvage some of the more underground bits and we can work on this further there.”

Donnie frowns, pausing his thought track a moment to relish in the way his fingers crack as he stretches them.

Going to Draxum’s lab is the kind of thing Raph would be so so against.

“Didn’t we ban you from that.” Donnie points out.

Draxum stands, seeming almost fed up with the conversation suddenly. “If we all went id assume I’m unbanned.”

Donnie’s brows shot up.

“Unbanned during the joint time spent there.” Draxum groaned.

Yea, there’s like literally no way the alchemist would actually hold to that. Donnie didn’t believe it for a moment.

“Are we expected to just take your word for it?” He challenges.

Draxum walks off to the kitchen, on the other side of the counter from them as he takes out what look like imports from the hidden city.

“I expect you’ll start experiencing worsening issues if you don’t.”

Donnie bares his teeth at that, uncomfortably warm and agitated where he sat.

“Okayyy, first off, back off that last statement, Drax, I’ll have you know I’m in no way above tattling to Mikey.” Leo began.

Draxum rolled his eyes. “It was not a lie nor a threat, turtle.”

“Then it’s a conversation for another time. Second, I’ve got your number and we can message about the whole lab thing, and,” Leo waved a hand rapidly, “you can totally keep the Krang stuff to check out and study or whatever you do.”

“I expected that regardless.” Draxum now had a steaming mug of something that smelled strongly of the hidden city market.

Likely from the rich spice stalls with owners pricky enough to deter any amateur thieves.

“Ah ah, play nice.” Leo chided.

“I’m sure we could get help elsewhere if this is how it’s going to be.” Donnie stood, trying to be subtle about the way he gripped the side of the couch, fighting the rush to his head and dark spots in the corners of his eyes.

The pressure in his skull was painful and reminded him a little too much of holding his breath too long as a kid, giving into his brothers goads and challenges of how long he could hold his breath.

“I’ll get back to you, kay? Kay.” Leo addressed the goat man, practically shoving Donnie past him and towards the door. “Great talk, call Miley sometime this week.” The two were out in the hall. “He wants a game day with you!” Leo shouted once more before slamming the door shut.

The brothers got back in the elevator, thankfully empty this time, but the ride down was just as silent as the last.

The elevator was surprisingly smooth for the age of the building, likely redone in its time there. Even so, Donnie was never fond of the way his throat felt like it curled up into the back of his mouth when the lift suddenly changed direction, before it finally jittered and stopped.

The doors dinged loudly as they opened and the two mutants pulled their hoods over their heads, just incase, as they shuffled out of the building.

Leo was the first to speak as they started home. “Maybe, yknow just a thought for next time, don’t sass the guy here to help us.”

“Sass?!” Donnie’s tone rose. “I was mentioning important details. He happens to be an actual criminal, if you can remember.”

“Of course I remember.”

“Then don’t judge me when I’m a little hesitant about letting the criminal run on back to his tools.”

“Oh just drop it !” Leo exclaimed, turning to drag them through an alleyway ‘scenic route’ (if old trash strikes you as scenic) so their arguing couldn’t be heard in the streets quite so clearly.

“I’ll drop it when you admit that this could be a horrible idea.”

“Not on my life.”

Donnie scoffed, crossing his arms and letting himself fall out of step with Leo, walking behind. After all, he’s sure that’s what their great new leader would want.

The slider didn’t acknowledge the change, simply glancing back every so often to make sure the softshell was still behind him.

When they got back to the lair, Donnie cut forward, rushing in first to beeline for his lab.

He was downright exhausted, but needed somewhere a little more soundproof to cool off. Maybe blast some dubstep until his ears bled and work on something familiar. Perhaps make some spare parts and fans.

Worst case, he was sure Splinter had probably broken something since the last time he took all his electronics to fix.

Somehow the remotes always ended up gooey and waterlogged with milk and butter.

Repulsive, truly.

Everything else could be handled tomorrow. He didn’t want to dwell on all this emotional, family, sickness, Krang, ugh whatever it was. The decision making horrors could sit until tomorrow, and that was the end of it.

Once again, today Donnie was prioritized, if you could even call his achy, worked up state, a product of positive prioritization.

Chapter Text

Donatello was a man of habit, and as easy as it was to predict the interruptions he would face in his routine, there came a point where it was absurd. Actually absurd.

Like an alien invasion. Nobody predicts that except literal, future boy.

He’d been trying to hold down some semblance of normalcy, a valiant effort to avoid the turbulent emotions and doctor feelings visits that came with such large breaks in his normal. So, he was hunkered down in his lab with vicious dubstep and the occasional song Mikey snuck in like, ‘hug me!’ roaring loudly. Loud enough that he was certain his family could easily hear it from down the hall.

If he was lucky, the door handle would vibrate with the earth shattering beat and scare away anyone with the intent to speak to him.

Donnie blinked blearily. He was probably due for some sleep here soon.

His normal sleep schedule, full of all nighters and lightly drowsy mornings, was his normal. His zone of comfort. Not, having to retire somewhere before 2 am and waking up well after 9. Not to mention that he was still tired afterwards.

No, he needed this fixed, big time.

His head was stretched lazily to the side, and jeeesus, when was the last time he did that? His neck was all stiff and locked up.

He reached for his work, the strewn out pieces of their broken toaster, absurdly torn apart from the Krangs visit through the new subway lair.

Where went the times where they bought new toasters?

Out the door with him, that’s for sure.

Now, where to start . He knew he had to rebuild the loaders, but he also needed to fix where the power cable connected into it, buuut he’d rather get the actual appliance built before he solved the electrical bit, and on the other hand it was easier to get into it if he rebuilt it second- wow, he could just go on forever, couldn’t he?

Sigh , the conundrums of repair work.

The music blasting through his brilliantly placed speakers suddenly shut off and Donnie’s brain flip flopped over the sounds he knew should have come next, limbs buzzing a sort of urgency. He was physically begging for his jams.

When he twisted his head to take on the challenge of an uncooperative device or dead battery, he was jumpscared with Leo’s tight pulled, smug mug.

Like legitimately jumpscared. He was only halfway in his seat now, talons digging into the arms rests of it.

They were caught when he tugged them out, forcing him to tear a light layer from the end of his nails.

He was actually going to lose his goddamn mind.

“Hey Donald, got time for your favorite twin.”

No.

“Super not the same species or legitimate twins.”

“Super doesn’t get you out of this.”

“Super doesn’t make you welcome to barge in.”

“Funny. I missed that sass for the whole five minutes I was knocking on the door.”

Knowing Leo, it wasn’t even two.

“It was unlocked.”

By that, he meant that they enforced a rule to keep it so, claiming he was a danger to himself, which, scoff , he was alive wasn’t he?

“Yea well I didn’t want to have to deal with the whole ‘Donnie fit’ if I opened it without knocking.”

“‘Donnie fit’ seems rather devaluing to the reasonable reaction I have when you break into my workspace without warning.”

Leo was talented at plucking on his nerves, like poorly tuned guitar strings. Pulled taught and digging ridges into his brain.

“Better to ask for forgiveness than permission, right? Anyway what does it matter, I’m in here now.” A flippant wave accompanied the statement.

“Good for you. Since you’re so good at letting yourself in, why don’t you let yourself out. The exit is right behind you, don’t let the door hit you on your way out.”

Leo barked a laugh. “Very funny, but in all seriousness, we gotta talk. I don’t want to be responsible for dragging your ass to Draxum’s later this week.”

“Then don’t. Problem solved. I don’t have time for it anyway.” Donnie dismissed. “I don’t have time for this either.” There was some bite in his words.

“That’s not how we solve problems here,” Leo grabbed the chair and spun it around to fully face him, “we solve them by talking it out. ”

That struck a nerve, one with a loud, ping !

“Are you switching up leadership styles on us, because I pretty well remember you just telling me my alternate option was being dragged.”

Leo kissed his teeth in a loud tch, and straightened up. “I’m trying to help you, yknow.”

Donnie met Leo’s gaze and held the stare, an old habit he’d forced upon himself, back from when pops would get frustrated at him and tell him to ‘look people in the eyes when they’re speaking to you’.

It wasn’t something he often kept to, but bad situations led to bad habits.

“What do you think could go so wrong about this?” Leo averted his gaze (to Donnie’s great relief).

“He’s a wanted criminal in the hidden city, for one.”

“Sure, the guys got flaws, but what’s the actual issue with this, because I know it isn’t some moral high ground with you.”

“Who says that isn’t it?!”

Fed up with this, is what he was.

“Me!”

Leo gave Donnie a famous Complicated Look , that the turtle had no help to decipher.

He didn’t want to talk about this.

Donnie snapped his jaws, spinning his chair back around to face the desk, away from Leo.

“Why do I have to have some other reason?”

“Because,” Leo stressed from behind him, “there’s always something with you.”

Always something with him? Who was the one breaking into the other’s space to demand he have a change of heart? Not him!

“I don’t know what to tell you, Leon.”

And surprisingly, that bit was true. He’d yet to really crack down on why Draxum rubbed him the wrong way, aside from the miserable motive he held for making the mutagen, but honestly that’s the one bit Donnie could probably squeeze past.

“Tell me why you wouldn’t want to go get genuine, good help from a guy who’s, shockingly, actually throwing in the effort.”

“The fact that you had to add shockingly doesn’t help you work that bit out at all?”

“Just tell me why!”

Donnie gripped the edge of the desk, fighting the urge to throw his head down against it. “I don’t know what you want me to say!”

“Anything! Anything at all. Where do you expect to get to with nothing? I can’t work with nothing, D.”

Leo grabbed his chair and spun it to face him again, because why wouldn’t he .

Donnie, to his own misfortune, didn’t actually know until it just came up, coming to the conclusion at the same speed his mouth moved.

“All I do is hear about him! Draxum this, Draxum that. All of these bits and pieces of him, really growing as a person and just turning his life around! I haven’t seen most of that. I heard about the fair but we,” he gestures between them, “were only there for the dinner. Mikey hangs out with him all the time so it’s no shocker he cares, hell it’s Mikey, I’m sure he’s got the man on speed dial. Even Dad has his number, for some god forsaken reason!” Donnie puffed out a strained breath, short tremors going through his arms as he got worked up.

That shaking is new, just like all the word vomit he’d have to process at the same time as Leo, who’d definitely have things to say on it before either got to really sit and go, wow that’s something.

“Can’t you just take our word for it then? I’ve barely been around him more than you and I can see just fine that he’s turned over a new leaf!” Leo’s voice was raised now.

Donnie’s heartbeat was climbing now.

He knew the two things were very much related.

And yet again, he spun his chair around to face away from his brother.

“A leaf Mikey pretty much coaxed him onto once he had absolutely no other plausible options left but a life of poverty! And let’s be very clear that from what I’ve been told, you’ve accompanied Mikey on several of his trips to visit Draxum. I don’t think that evens out our exposure.”

“Then I’m another voice telling you that you’re overreacting and all of this suspicious shit about the guy is plain unwarranted!”

A very unwelcome voice, if only anyone actually wanted his opinion.

“Unwarranted?! He was more than ready to kill any of us! I think I’m more than justified to be a little fucking ‘suspicious’.”

The ac ran furiously somewhere in the corner and he was just just dying to tear the whole thing onto the floor, scatter it across the room and make it a minefield for anyone who dared to come in.

Except his terrible twin was already here.

“You don’t exactly have a good track record of reading people, like fucking Christ Donnie, even Splinter still fools you every time he needs a favor!”

A low blow, like the lowest. Absolute floor trash.

“Would it kill you to just suck it up and get the help?! You can’t fix this shit on your own and if you don’t help yourself, I’ll do it for you!”

That one got him, not that the last one didn’t, but this sent that special kind of fear to his already overstretched tolerance. He wasn’t going to put up with this anymore. He was done. He had zero interest in sitting there and listening to some dumb dumb brother rattle on to him about how he was wrong for being wary? For not wanting to be poked at and told exactly how much he should have died?

All of it was making him nauseous.

Oh god, was he going to be sick?

The softshell shoved himself to his feet, pushing off the table with black spots so thick in his vision he considered that passing out would be a very bad look for someone trying to storm out.

At this point he accepted that he’d never stand up fast without them.

In his good fortune, if that’s what you could call it, he only checked a few walls on his stomp out, bumping gracelessly against his lab door with a loud smack and shoving it open. Donnie waving some frustrated motion back as he stormed into the bathroom down the way and spun around on a heel to fumble with the lock, all through heavily blotted vision and uncoordinated fingers that fiddled around until he heard it click.

Like trying to plug a socket in the dark. He flipped on the light.

Donnie let himself half fall, half sit, beside the toilet, leaning back against the half wall of the bathtub and taking intentional breaths through an open mouth.

Keep it downnn vomitello.

If he ever started stress vomiting, he’d ask Draxum to personally take him out.

It really hit him, not that he hadn’t noticed before, exactly how absurd this was, just hiding in the bathroom with his feet pulled up and head by the toilet seat.

He sucked a tight breath in when steps pounded down the hall, bumping the door as they came to a stop.

The doorknob shook.

He pressed the round of his palm to his forehead and rested on it. His heart still hammered in his chest, a drum against his leathery plastron.

“Leo! Wha’s goin’ on here?” Raph’s voice echoed outside the door, a new collection of steps joining.

Christ, they’d summoned the cavalry.

“We saw D run in there.” Mikey added. Donnie couldn’t decipher the tone. It didn’t sound decided on either concern nor anger.

“Donnie, alright?” The massive snapper outside the doors voice drawling lowly, a sound that reminded Donnie of hiding a dismembered remote behind his back with his big brother staring him down.

Leo made a jittery noise and there was a pause. “No? Yea? F-k-nnn,” he sounded out slowly, as if he could limbo Raph’s self imposed, no cursing rule. “I uh,”

Was Leo going to tell them? Donnie was certain the bathroom would become his forever home if he did.

“Stuff happened, ok?”

Donnie heard Raph’s tail hit the wall in the large agitated sweeps. It made him startle. Jumpy much?

A soft tap sounded on the door and no no no, Donnie knew that sorry little sound.

Don’t do that for me, he wanted to tell him, I’m fine.

“Donnie? Can you talk to us?”

Donnie prepared to say something, but what?

Tell them he was perfectly fine and tucked away in the bathroom because he was so entirely done with dealing with new shit?

Tell them he was sick from plugging himself into an alien ship, which for the record wasn’t even supposed to be something he survived.

Tell them he was nauseous?

Tell them he got his feelings all poked and prodded by the idea of Leo forcing him to go to Draxum?

His brain felt like it was drawing a blank, shuffling through responses so fast he could see the cards, a crowd, hungry and expectant for his response climbing up the stage to paw at his legs, to clamber over him and pull what they wanted to know straight from his heavy sitting tongue.

Missing April was an easy thing to do in the moment, the patience she granted him when he stood silent, eyes wide, just trying to flip through choices he was presented. Paths he’s have to consider. Things to go wrong. Instead of watching him fumble, metaphorical cards all over the floor, she’d turn her attention away from him, leave him be until he was ready.

He didn’t have her now, nor did he have his phone, unable to text his brothers and tell them everything was fine.

Now, he was sitting on the tiled floor of their smallest bathroom, wedged between the bath and toilet.

The frustration of it all made him want to cry or scream or break something. Anything. Tear apart the spare toothpaste under the sink with his bare teeth. He had no way to tell them unless he somehow, what? Got over it? Or just opened the door to three peering faces.

Awful choice.

“What are you doing?!” Mikey snapped, the shuffling outside the door growing hurried for a moment.

“I- the other day, like two days ago, he threw up.”

Oh wow thanks Leo, totally didn’t want you to keep that to yourself.

Couldn’t trust any traitorous brothers these days.

“What?!” Mikey exclaimed. “I was with him like, all afternoon.”

“I found him in the bathroom emptying out his lunch. Guess it was right after.”

“Why didn’ ya tell us?”

Leo hummed out a long, high note. “You guys-“ a sigh as the slider recontemplated his words, “you know D, he doesn’t want to talk about anything wrong. He practically sends me death threats anytime I mention vomiting.”

And he was perfectly right in that, the talk of it even now making saliva rise in his throat. Cmon, vomitello, keep it down. So not the time.

A breath long silence.

“ Why did he throw up.” Raph hadn’t brought out the big brother voice in a while, since the whole krang invasion.

There was a, ‘i know im about to tell you something you don’t want to hear’ kind of laugh. “He’s gonna like, hate me for saying this, but he hasn’t been well. I’ve- We’ve been trying to keep an eye on everything but.” Another breath. “Hate knowing he’s right in there, like totally listening, yknow? Anyway, uh, I was in the med bay and didn’t catch some stuff going on with him soon enough and it hasn’t gotten better and he’s just…”

“Just what? ” Mikey tapped on the door again, was he just sort of, acknowledging Donnie?

Awful. He’d rather be swallowed by a sudden sinkhole, right now then have them even know he existed.

“I went in there today and- you know what, no. That’s between us. We talked, it got bad, I said… shit. I said some real shit . Wasn’t even a long conversation, just sorta got mean fast.” 

“ Donnie? ”

He wanted to scream at them to stop. Stop talking. Stop sitting outside the door and fucking gossiping about him, and definitely stop talking to him .

“Don, if you’re sick in there we need to know. Can’t help you from out here.”

Nausea reared its ugly head at yet another suggestion of possible illness, and maybe he wouldn’t throw up if everyone just left him alone.

The doorknob made a small noise, but he was too fed up to really consider whether it was intentional or accidental. What he did feel was the way his breath jumped and how it made his whole chest stutter.

He was still shaking, large trembles seizing him every couple moments.

His body didn’t match up with his mind. This was such a little thing compared to the way he reacted and it drove him crazy.

Much like when Splinter would sit him down to have a talk as a little kid and wouldn’t listen to a thing he said. Kid Donnie would just get so frustrated , that he wasn’t listened to, wasn’t believed , that his eyes would get all watery and drip down his cheeks and his father would ask him over and over about why he was crying and whether he should be, until Donnie couldn’t say a single sentence straight or stopped speaking altogether.

Get a hold of yourself, Donatello. You’re losing it.

And then an extremely frustrated Donnie, skin just itching with it, was dropping his head back against the bathtub rim, and when his skull hit the porcelain, it hit it hard , hard enough to make a loud noise that echoed around the small, barren bathroom.

Shit, that was loud.

“Hey bud, hate I got’ta to say this, but if Raph hears somethin’ like that again, he’s gonna hav’ta come in.”

Oh right, bathroom locks were hardly a thing to the alligator snapper.

Donnie moved his arms to cover his eyes, blocking out the light and leaving him to stare into the darkness, seeking out those flickers of colors that, reasonably, never seemed like they should exist, but they did, right behind his eyelids.

“Don-“

He kicks out a leg, smacking it into the door in a loud thump.

The message is far from crystal clear, but he needs them to understand. To stop talking and leave him alone.

Silence lingers, no steps or words, until Mikey breaks it. “We should go. I think we’re making it worse. You know April says the less attention on him, the better.”

He hears Leo make some short complaint that’s quickly cut off, as if halfway through the slider just changed his mind.

“We’ll stay in the lair, so jus’ let us know if you need anythin’. Until then, we’ll leave ya be.”

Steps trailed off down the hall, and Donnie was left alone in the bathroom.

He still felt nauseous.

There was nothing he could solve, not today. He screwed his shut eyes tight and relaxed, watching the new spots pulsate.

Leaving didn’t feel like a good plan yet. His brothers would stare, watch him move around like was a wild animal, just close enough to be irritating and just far enough they believed they could escape his wrath.

The idleness was giving way to a new feeling, the buzzing in his head, like the night air at the edge of the city, just beside life and yet so expansive, empty if you didn’t know where to look.

Easy to feel alone.

He had a hunch, that this is what the music was for. Blasting his brain full of sound so he wouldn’t have to sit in it.

For something so underwhelming, it tempted him into screaming, just until it drowned out. Wouldn’t that be a choice, to just start shrieking in the bathroom.

Could be funny, but he wouldn’t try it.

He blinked. The vent rattled differently.

How long would he be here.

He didn’t know.

Did it matter? He’d just be here until he calmed down. Until his heart stopped hammering and the idea of being seen didn’t make him want to face plant and force his legs down until he was just flat to floor.

For now though, yknow, until that happened, he stared, limbs locked and stiff in that strange sort of way, the one where it would be a crime to move them. Sort of like it would just ruin everything ever if he even pushed the leg out from under him, the one that was beginning to go numb. Or looked away from the rough brown crack between the tile.

So, he wouldn’t.

He’d sit here, he’d shake, and he’d flinch out of his own skin if his finger touched his leg, because sometimes he didn’t register his own touch, and isn’t that strange?

——-

It was made very clear to Leonardo, that he had properly fucked up.

He stood at the end of a spare room, one of the ones they sorta just lounged in or used to get from one room to another, his eyes fixed on the door at the other end, just barely in the hall.

He couldn’t even see the doorknob but precautions were precautions, and he’d rather not be seen himself.

If his brothers found him here, dunno , maybe they’d drag him away or try to weasel more answers out of him.

In some way, Leo was afraid that if he didn’t come here often, just to check, if he didn’t try to catch his twin the moment he left that bathroom, he’d never see him again.

He’d be avoided for all eternity, which, fair, but also he didn’t think he could live like that, eternally separated from the guy he used to share a room and bunk bed with.

Christ, just remembering what he’d said made him want to bang on the door and go ‘ hey, so sorry for being the worst brother in the world, pretty please don’t hate me for like, forever’ .

They were brothers. They’d say awful things and do stuff just as bad, but it still wasn’t supposed to be bringing up literal, what was it, family trauma? It was supposed to be buying them pizza they hate and accidentally socking them hard enough in the nose they bleed and grabbing tissues to gag them before they can scream and tattle because, ‘no, it was an accident , don’t call Raph’.

Something twinged in Leo’s chest everytime he saw Donnie marching with their father, always in front or behind, never beside , a kind of envy building until he heard the telltale crash of something breaking in the lab and their father trotting back to the old plush chair with some stolen battering and a new gadget, heightening the volume on his projector when the blasting music exploded from the other side of the lair.

The same kind Leo had walked in on today.

Donnie normally seemed to have a limited tolerance to all this while he was still fine, the Draxum thing, the new sickness, the whole Krang shebang. A sick softshell had about half that, emotionally regulating like a broken ac in a sweltering room. If the ac was moved around or fiddled with, the room got hot and it got hot fast.

Maybe that was a stupid metaphor, but Leo was really so preoccupied with like, everything but his figurative language skills.

Leo pulled out his phone and started scrolling through the google pages for his twins symptoms.

He started with fever, which was sufficiently frightening when he put in how long it lasted.

What, was he now just left to pray to pizza supreme that his twin’s fever didn’t get high enough to leave him seizing ?

It seemed so.

He pocketed his phone in his sonic themed shorts. He wished Donnie would come out and point with that twisted, horrified expression and rattle off about his poor taste.

Looking down, he could admit, they might be poor taste, but damn did they look cool.

Leo remembered hearing the thump from the bathroom. It had been frightening, his breath held for another or for some indication his brother had hurt himself or gotten sick, but then there was the stomp against the door and… nothing.

He hadn’t heard a thing from that room for over three hours now.

The idea of Donnie just sitting in there, hunched over and leaning on the toilet seat or maybe on the wall, just staring off, like he was waiting for something to pop out of the wall. A look that always made Leo want to shake him out of it. To ask him to move or talk or just stop sitting still .

Leo groaned and forced his eyes away from the door. He’d check on it again later.

Suddenly, he remembered a thick lidded box hidden under his bed, trinket filled. The kinds of things he saved for times like these

Maybe, when Donnie was out, he could try his hand at a proper talk.

One where they didn’t yell.

An doodle of Leo who wants 2 b bullied in his sonic shorts 

Chapter Text

Donatello’s legs ached, heavily occupying his thoughts. They’d been shoved under him for hours now, some number that could be guessed if he put his heart into trying.

He didn’t. That would be a colossal waste of time. Time he had an abundance of, a real overflowing amount.

He was rolling in nothing but time.

Donnie lifted a hand, dragging it down his face. His eyelids were crusty, scabs tucked in the corners, stuck to his skin.

Eughhh.

He didn’t remember falling asleep, or even having his eyes closed for that long.

Dang, he’d been here a long time, hadn’t he?

If only he could make this a problem for a later date, a later Donnie, but if he waited much longer he would definitely end up sleeping in the bathroom, like confirmed snoozing. Not just blinking awake to a soppy, crusted face.

With reasonably apprehensive feelings, he pulled his legs from their cramped, tightly folded pose and used the bathroom counter to hoist himself up.

Embarrassingly, it took a good minute, viscous pins and needles going all the way up from his ankles to shell, imaginary little fingers drumming up on the backs of his knees.

It had him with one leg on the toilet seat and both arms braced against the sink. He was forced to stay like that by common sense, just until it was down to a tolerable buzz.

Even then, he was unlucky enough to have a bit of shakiness to his stride. Because who needed luck? Not him, apparently. Groan.

He didn’t even have the right to be all mad about it. He was the one that sat in the bathroom for hours, after all.

Donnie wrapped his fingers around the door handle, fiddling with the damn lock via a questionably coordinated thumb. It wouldn’t turn at the angle he had it, an indent forming in the pad of his finger.

He gave up.

With a proper two fingers on the lock, he turned it. It was so anticlimactic, it hurt.

screeeee.

To his infinite horror, the door’s hinges squealed as he inched it open, crying out his whereabouts, his doings, his everything.

It sounded horrifically like a rabbit being slaughtered. Not at all the silent ninja creeping he had intended.

The event would be ranked very high on the list of mortifying moments in his life. Top ten of that poor thing.

He’d need to fix that soon, or better yet, get some sweet sweet revenge by ripping off the door and throwing the current hinges in the trash.

He snapped his head up once safely out the bathroom, checking for any peering eyes that had witnessed, by sight or ear, the cry of his departure from that godforsaken little room .

The hall was dark, corners of light hardly even visible to him. He swore he saw a glint down the turn to the living room, but it was gone when he blinked, a trick of the eyes.

Donnie gave up his hunting in the dark, the act about as successful as waiting for traffic to show up at a four-way, and tip toed across to his lab, letting the door slide shut with a turn ‘n tug by his foot.

He paused, leg half lifted in its step. He must’ve looked frozen in time.

He opened and closed his maw, sucking in air. He was struck with thirst, the sensation going unnoticed before.

Water shot to the top of his priority list, above whatever else he’d have stuck on there.

He made a hurried shuffle to his desk, feeling around for his phone. There was a triumphant, pump of his fist for celebration once the decorated case was in his grip and he brought it up, turning it around to face him.

Donnie, regrettably, forgot his phone was at max brightness, and blasted his eyes with the viscous blue shine that had him hissing.

He thrusted the thing out, much further out in front of him, and slid the brightness wayyy down .

4am . Yikes.

At least it meant no one else would be awake, even Leo was more often than not napping at this time.

Donnie bit back the possibility that this could be a very poor idea for someone whose current ideal was to hide until he became an urban legend, but his mouth was only growing sticky and it was long barren of saliva.

His choices, ripped from him by the cruel nature of his body.

Anyway.

Donnie marched quietly out of his lab, a turtle on a mission.

He toed through the halls and slipped past the wall leading to the kitchen.

And promptly froze.

The lights above the island illuminated the space in softer, yellowy orange hues, the dark and silvery pots on the far wall reflecting it with sharp, circular highlights.

At the center of it all, Mikey stood, a carton of eggs on the counter beside him along with several discarded shells, more than Donnie could call normal, even for a full house of mutants.

They stared, like deer in headlights, until Mikey lifted a hand and waved, with a big ol smile that gently pushed at his cheeks.

Donnie crept forward, neck coiled against his body and head low, making himself smaller, shorter. Less of a presence.

Once behind the island, in the cooking portion of the kitchen alongside his little brother, he noticed the trembling of his hands and the absence of his gloves.

Where were his gloves?

“Where are your gloves?” He gestures to the younger turtles wrists, scared marks snaking up from Mikey’s fingers to his elbow.

They all had something similar, but faint in comparison and only going so far as their wrists.

“Laundry. Spilled some orange juice on them.” 

Donnie pulled a face at the mention of that pulpy abomination, and then, without comment, he grabbed an egg and cracked it over the bowl, splitting 6 more neat ones before he rushed off to the sink to run his fingers under the tap, bits of egg white drooping from them.

He didn’t expect he’d be splitting eggs at 4 in the morning.

Wait, why had he been here in the first place?

Oh yea, thirsty.

He popped over to the cabinets, grabbing a tall glass and filling it to brim with the cool tap, before tipping it back into his mouth and chugging the entire thing in one big ol ‘glug’.

When he was finished, he set it down in the sink and turned back to the island, where Mikey was mixing the bowl of milk and egg in long circular motions.

“Can I do anything else.”

Mikey tipped his head, not looking at him. “Sure thing, D! Grab me the bread from the fridge.”

Donnie’s jaw split in a wide yawn, and he nodded.

“I could eventually make you a spare set of gloves.” He opened the fridge, scouring for the bread.

He found a loaf of ‘soft mountain white’.

“It’s all good, man. It’ll be out of the washer soon enough. I was due to do a full load of laundry anyway. No scutes off my back, yknow?” Despite being a turtle, he laughed at the altered saying.

Donnie had meant for more occasions than this one, and didn’t bother to mention so.

“Was Leo telling the truth?” Mikey stopped what he was doing as Donnie handed him the bread.

Donnie, hunched over the counter, arms folded in a crossed posed and supporting his upper weight.

Gettin right into it, are we?

“You gotta tell us if somethings wrong, D, you know that right?” Mikey fiddled with the wooden spoon in his hands. “We gotta be able to help you. All of us.”

Donnie heaved an almost theatric sigh and tucked his arms tighter under his chest.

“I’m… handling it. It’s nothing I can’t deal with for a while.”

Mikey’s new smile was something short and watery. It made Donnie’s chest twinge in the worst way.

“I don’t want you to just ‘handle it’, I want you to trust us enough to be there with you.”

Donnie let out a long chuckle. “You act like it’s something really serious.”

“Is it?”

He… didn’t know.

Considering he was supposed to be dead the moment he was yanked from his pilot ‘seat’, things were looking complicated, to spin it neutrally.

Mikey suddenly had a hand on his bicep, just barely holding on. He looked like he was holding his breath

“I’d tell you if I knew it was something really serious.” It technically wasn’t a lie. He would tell them, if he knew.

Mikey just sort of stared at him for a few moments, before letting go and heading for the spices.

“When did you throw up that day?” Cinnamon and vanilla were selected and brought to the heavy glass bowl.

Donnie sat up and reached for the bread. “How many pieces do you require?” He veered from the topic.

Mikey glanced over from where he adding a hearty bit of flavoring into the mix. Real ‘measure with your heart’ amounts.

“Four for each of us, except Raph. He needs about six,” Mikey flashed a quick smile, “and I throw extra egg on his at the end.”

Donnie pulled out fourteen slices and put the rest of the bread back in the fridge.

When he turned back, the box turtle’s hand was over the bread, a finger bouncing as he tapped the air to count.

“You aren’t having any?”

And if Mikey sounded any more distraught, Donnie would have to risk feeling even sicker just to avert those sad, soppy eyes.

“I assure you,” he started, “your food is magnificent, Angelo.” His expression pinched to a thin line. “I’m just not all that hungry. You understand.” The bit at the end was more like a plea. To please not push.

“Is it because you’re sick?”

Donnie grabbed the bowl that was clearly the finished mixture, and brought it over to the counter against the wall, right next to the stove.

“Probably.” There was no convincing lie he could feed his little brother, and if there was, he’d probably mess it up anyway.

Mikey broke off from where he was getting a pan buttered, and went to the fridge, opening it up to stare inside. “Can you manage a bagel and cream cheese?”

The softshell took up where Mikey had left off, swirling butter around the pan until it was fully coated.

“Mm, perhaps?” He didn’t know how to not sound uncertain answering.

“How ‘bout cinnamon raisin? It’s all we have.” Mikey leaned back from where he’d peered into the fridge, holding onto the handle so he wouldn’t hit the ground in a backwards flop.

“Sounds great.” He relented.

Mikey rocked up and took one out, tossing the cream cheese on the counter before shutting the fridge.

“I can make it.” Donnie moved to take it from him, a long stride bringing him to the island.

“Actually I was thinking you could start on the French toast.” Mikey held up his shaking arms. “It’s easier to do this.”

“I can do both.” Donnie offered.

The top of Mikey’s mask squished up, bunching a bit as the box turtle gave him a look . “Boy, are you trying to stop the cook in his kitchen?”

Donnie backed off, one hand raised in surrender and the other placed over his heart. “Angelo, I would never .”

“ Uh huh. Get cookin.” A grin stretched across his face, and this one stayed.

It fit Mikey, Donnie thought. Or maybe he was selfish and just didn’t want to have to face anything else.

Donnie shoved the thought into the crevice of his mind it came from, and returned to the stove, dropping a couple slices of bread into the mix.

He prays the kind of cooking inexperience he’s brought doesn’t ruin the French toast. Surely it can’t?

He didn’t want to be proved wrong. As like, a general rule.

“You’re sure this won’t make you sick?” Mikey checked, the cream cheese a little too on the edges of the bagel, making it look hard to hold.

“I’m very confident that it’ll be perfectly fine.”

“Did you know the grilled cheese would make you sick?”

Donnie made a noise in his throat, elbows seesawing between single sided shrugs. A weird kind of shimmy.

“You knew?! Donnie, why didn’t you say something?!”

Mikey came over to rinse off the butter knife after putting the cream cheese away.

“I didn’t want to be sick so I just thought I… wouldn’t be .”

“ Do you not know how sickness works? ”

“I do!” Donnie defended, turning away from Mikey to flip the French toast on the pan.

“Mhmm suree.” Mikey hummed. The humor in his voice was tight and uncomfortable, trying to make a light humor out of something that was leaps and bounds away from being anywhere near funny.

He comes over, and shoos Donnie out of the way, motioning towards his ready made bagel. 

Donnie took a bite. It was good. Cold. Just the way he liked it.

“Hey, Angelo.”

Mikey turned, spatula in hand.

“Are you alright? Like, ok after all the Krang stuff?” Donnie wished he sounded more confident saying it, or worded it better, but he hadn’t and he had to live with it.

“I heard the bathroom door squealing like meat sweats, only, what, half an hour ago or something? Are you sure you’re asking the right person. You know what I say about avoiding your own feelings…”

“Seriously though.” Donnie stressed, staring intently down at his bagel. A really, truly, good bagel.

It was silent until he looked up, and something in Mikey’s posture melted a bit. “Yea, D. I’m ok.”

Donnie nodded. “Good.” He wished it had come out gentler. He wished his voice could be gentler, sometimes.

For some reason, Mikey never seemed to mind, not anymore. Not since he was just a kid, too little to understand.

“You wanna talk about somethin’, like, totally unserious?”

“What, why Jupiter Jim: Planetary Return comes with the first introductions of the dinosaur ripoffs?”

Mikey giggled. “No, because seriously, why!?”

“It’s entirely illogical.” Donnie takes bites between sentences, swallowing them more or less whole each time. “They should have introduced them in Jupiter Jim: Crash Land To Fossiltopia.”

“I was thinking it would work to introduce them in Fossiltopia one and a half.”

“What!” He exclaimed, appalled. “That is a five minute in-between special.

“Aaaand the perfect spot to slip them between movies, still letting the planet be uninhabited in one and leading to the discovery in the next!”

“Blasphemy!”

Mikey put a hand on his hip, flipping the toast onto a plate and heightening the already existing stack. He cracked some extra eggs in the pan and tossed on the remainders of their gator jerky on it for Raph.

The smell of it all would soon be sure to get the other turtles up and following their noses out into the kitchen. It played out in his mind like an old Tom and Jerry episode.

“You wouldn’t understand. Clearly I’m just the artist of the family.”

Donnie waved his hands around a moment, turning to lean back against the counter. “The painter .”

“I’m multitalented. ” Mikey bared a cheeky grin and grabbed some tinfoil, wrapping it over the leftover mix he didn’t get to use.

“I can start on the dishes.” The purple clad turtle offered.

He was taken up on it, sent to the sink with the mixing utensils and cooking pan once Mikey had dumped the eggs onto the ‘six toast pieces’ plate.

Together, they cleaned the kitchen, talking about nothing much and absolutely everything possible while they waited.

Eventually, somewhere around five thirty in the morning, hell, maybe six, he forgot to look at the clock, Raph and Leo come in, Raph looking comfortably tired, the sort where you’ve just had your stomach growl but if asked you could go right back to bed. He was a natural early riser.

Leo on the other hand, he either got unlucky or went to sleep at a reasonable hour. While, nowhere near pleased with him, Donnie couldn’t say he wished a near sleepless night on his brother.

From the way the slider was rubbing at his eyes, there was hope he at least got a few hours in.

“Donnie.” Raph’s snaggletooth pinched his beak when he smiled, a gentle crease forming between his brows.

“Morning, Raph-a-la.” His greeting seemed to ease the tension a bit, getting a pleasant wave in return.

Leo pushed back the plate Mikey offered him, offering a sheepish little grin when he was utterly glared at for it. There was no malice, but Mikey had his fun.

“I swear to you I’ll have it in like an hour or two.” He waved his hands by his head, trying his damndest to make peace.

“And why are you abandoning us at breakfast.”

Leo swallowed thickly, eyes trailing to where Donnie was pointedly looking away . “Wanted to see if I could talk to Don for a minute.”

Donnie shot a sharpie brow high up his mask. If Leo was asking, he’d only prolong the awkward hell by twiddling his thumbs around, just waiting.

“Fine.” He agreed, pushing off from where he was leaned on the counter, starting the march to his lab. If they were going to do this again , then he was choosing where.

“You better come back for your toast, Leon!” Mikey called after them.

The pitter of feet followed Donnie down the hall, straight to his lab, where he shut the door behind them and spun on a heel.

It made him so very dizzy. He needed to stop doing that.

“Start.” He snapped an arm out, a fast gesture. Also for balance. He was still dizzy. Maybe anxious too. His heartbeat was saying anxious.

Leo, oh ever so slowly, reached out and took Donnie’s hand, sitting down and pulling the softshell with him.

What the hell was going on.

This was not what Donnie was prepared for, being sat on the floor, legs up and between them. Undeniably strange.

“Look, D, yesterday,” Leo rubbed the back of his neck, “I’m not gonna lie, I thought that was the last I’d ever see of you.” He joked.

Donnie raised both brows. “Sorry, Nardo , if I was a little avoidant after that talk we had.” He was not sincere, anyway shape or form.

“Yea no, sorry, bad start.” He took a deep breath. “You were pretty silent in the bathroom last night. You feeling better now?”

Donnie didn’t know what to say to that. It was nowhere in his possible scripts, not a single hypothesized trail he’s been prepared to follow. He settled for a wary nod.

Leo nodded back. “That’s cool.”

What was happening?!

Leo leaned forward, legs on either side of Donnie, a hair away from his own, which were up to his plastron with his arms right around them. Defensive.

An arm was raised for Leo’s gestures, the things nearly unending now. “I shouldn’t have done what I did last night, like it was real shitty and I didn’t even hear you aside from goin’ all alarm bell defensive and that definitely didn’t help because I know you do that already so it was just a mess-“

Donnie raised a hand, for just a heartbeat, to silence his twin. “What’s the point ?”

He didn’t want a long talk. Or to argue. Or anything at all. He wanted the very core of the conversation to be done and over with.

“Yea, ok,” Leo nodded again, unprovoked this time, “you’ve had a lot on your plate with this whole sick thing, and I don’t even know the extent to which it’s bothering you because you don’t tell me anymore. I knew you didn’t take well to just having to cozy up with Draxum and I ignored that. Leo brain got all worried and stuff about you and, well, you aren’t wrong . You haven’t known him much and I didn’t even let you warm up to the idea of seeing him.”

Donnie’s posture shifted, shoulders no longer hiked up. This was… ok.

The slider wasn’t even done. “And what I said about Splinter and you, it was shitty, D. Like punch in the dick, your brother is an asshole kind of shitty.”

That got a real laugh out of Donnie, who pressed his palms to his eyes. A sort of good-bad laugh though, the kind where you’re so weirdly relieved it bubbles out of your chest.

Leo was watching him with a look , Donnie, yet again , couldn’t decipher.

Donnie supposed the least he could do was meet him halfway or something. It wasn’t like he hadn’t thought about the interaction on his own as well. “I’ll think about it. The Draxum thing. I don’t not believe you. I just don’t believe him or the honesty in his actions.”

“He’s actually as bad at lying as you when he’s on the spot.”

Well, that was nice to know.

Silence stretched between them, Leo fussing around with his own fingers a moment. “So I uh, brought you something.”

He reaches around and pulls a trinket out of what? Thin air? His ass?!

Donnie stared at it, brows dropped low and pupils slits. WHERE DID YOU JUST GET THAT FROM?! He wanted to scream.

The slider had pockets, but not pockets that good . Donnie would have seen it.

In any case, it was handed to him. It looked like a motherboard pulled out of a keyboard or something, little random buttons and switches scattered on every bit of it and something that lit up ?

As a practiced, very self taught, tech guy, he literally had no idea what he was looking at.

“For you!” Leo grabbed one of Donnie’s hands, placing the tech-y trinket into it, before pulling a foot closer to rub his pant leg nervously.

Donnie set the thing on the ground. “I’m gonna dismantle that later.

“I’m counting on it.”

Donnie narrowed his eyes. “That was a weird thing to say. Suspicious even.”

“Yea,” Leo agreed. “I noticed that. Sorry. It’s totally safe.”

“You don’t sound honest.”

“I don’t have an honest voice.”

“You don’t.”

“It’s how we balance out.”

“Mh.” Donnie hummed.

Donnie watched Leo push himself to his feet, reluctantly taking the hand offered to him and letting himself get pulled up.

“Yo, Tello, when the last time you took a bath?”

Eugh, what was it? Doctor Leo, time now?

He crossed his arms. Some information you just don’t give up.

“Wow, that long?”

He made an incredulous noise. “I didn’t say anything!”

“Your eyebrows spoke.”

“They most certainly did not!”

Leo makes a low, sliding gesture with his hands. “We got this. The problem is your shell, right?”

Donnie nods. Wariness drips from his demeanor.

Leo suddenly snaps his fingers. “What if you made a mat for your shell?! Like to drape over it. It wouldn’t hurt you like your battleshells but it would still keep everything off it.”

Donnie… could live with that. He didn’t think he could bathe with that though.

“Anywho, what I was planning to say was that I could help you bathe. Scrub your shell. Like we used to when we were kids.”

“Weren’t you going to get breakfast.” It was the first thing he could think to say.

“Ok, I’m gonna be really honest with you man,” Leo tone dropped, “you’re like worrying me with the whole battleshell thing and I need you to have that shell clean with more than disinfectant wipes. Bathing with your battleshell on is getting absurd.” He nodded towards the lab door. “I can get breakfast after, no biggie.

Donnie rolled his eyes, but relented. Or, he thought he did, until his hands just hovered over the release clasp.

The weight was there and so, so very fine. It hurt but it kept him safe. Covered. Untouched. 

Leo snapped his fingers and sorta hopped, hobbled off as he tried to run.

Moron.

Donnie itched at the red around his shoulders, right where the metal shell dug against his skin. Every touch felt like blisters popping across it.

He arched his head. He was pretty sure there were actual blisters there.

Leo came tripping back in, a large, empty backpack in his hands.

Donnie stepped forward, an arm curled up defensively as Leo immediately got behind him, a three fingered hand landing on the battleshell clasp.

“All good D, you’re home and safe, yea?”

Donnie nodded, still gripping his own shoulder. 

Leo clicked the unlock mechanism, the shell unwrapping from Donnie’s waist and releasing his shoulders all at once.

A loud ‘umph’ sounded from where Donnie couldn’t quite see, followed by his battleshell clattering at his feet.

He didn’t have time to feel uncomfortable, the backpack practically shoved against his shell and the arm loops tightened to a snug fit.

“There ya go! It’ll still have to come off before you get in the water but that should work until you get a cover over it.”

Donnie yawned and nodded lazily. All this emotional stuff (and staying up overnight) was making him tired. Or he was just getting tired too soon, too fast.

“Wanna head for that bath now?” Leo’s voice had taken on a quieter edge that Donnie really appreciated.

The two saunter out of the lab, and down the hall, stopping at the little bathroom with the tub.

I remember this place. He internally joked.

Leo motions for Donnie to take off his pants and as he turns on the water, and the softshell hop lifts a leg to slide them off.

Wet pants were awful, ask anyone.

“Yknow, I don’t entirely trust Draxum either.” Leo comments as Donnie climbs into the bathtub.

“Is that supposed to make me feel better about him?” Donnie shoves off the backpack and immediately dunks his shell under the water, laying in the tub on his belly with his head partially out.

“No, not really. Just saying if he tries shit I’ll be on your side a hundred percent. He totally gets on my nerves so it wouldn’t be upsetting. I still think you guys could get along though.” Leo tacks on.

“Noted.”

Leo grabs a cloth, gently rubbing over Donnie’s shell, so so cautious.

“Use some ‘umph’.” Donnie blew a few wobbly bubbles with his nostrils, almost staring cross eyed as they sprang to the air.

Leo snorted. “Umph?”

“Umph.” He pushed his shell further out of the water.

He feels Leo trying to apply more pressure, hands pushing down as they circle the cloth around his back.

“Scratch, please.”

“Im not itching the scabby bits.”

Donnie dunked his head under, blowing more angry little bubbles. He surfaces.

“I’ll scratch your shell if you scratch mine.” He offers.

“That’s a literal saying… but fine.” Leo concedes.

The slider puts some real effort in it this time, scritching at the soft shell through the cloth, careful to keep it between them.

“Good enough for you?” Leo’s tone is snarky as all hell, so Donnie does not dignify him with a response.

Instead, he waits in the warm water, dipping his beak in every so often to snort bubbles or just peer at the short wall of the tub.

Someway through, he realizes his mask is soggy, climbing up his face, so he pulls it up and off.

As any good brother would, he prays it hit Leo’s face when he threw it.

Instead of saying ‘all done’, like he would with Mikey, Leo just pushes down on Donnie’s shell, submerging him entirely. It sent water licking up and over the sides of the bath, dampening Leo’s clothes.

After a few minutes of comfortable relaxation, just letting the warm water soothe his persistent body aches and reach every buzzing nerve, he resurfaced and sat up.

Leaning over the tub edge, he motions for Leo to turn around, half pushing him to as he grabs the lip of his shell.

The slider wiggled excitedly, and scooted around, glancing back once or twice to make sure there was no joke to be played on him.

Donnie rolled his eyes, the action entirely affectionate, and reached out to scratch at his brother’s shell, talons intently scraping the surface. He was careful to move around the bandages and any sealed fractures.

Leo chirped, stretching his arms out and leaning back into the touch… until he tumbled off his ass and smacked the upper lip of his shell against the bathtubs rim.

Donnie reeled back, awaiting his brothers reaction.

“… oww.” Leo whined, like a pouting child being removed from whatever they were not supposed to be chewing.

Within seconds, Donnie was draped in the tub, gripping his stomach with raucous laughter.

Leo rolled himself up, ungrateful enough to make his twin silently wheeze, and spun around, battered Donnie’s head with a hand, and crying out that, “It can’t have been that funny!”

Donnie assured him it was, and promptly snapped at the hand above him.

As a good brother does.

Doodle of the boys talkin it out

Chapter Text

Draxum had long messaged Leo that it would be a while longer than anticipated, having taken a peek last hidden city visit with Mikey and requesting they let him work to put up the required tech, the things that could not be moved to his apartment, before they made the trip over to do the testing.

Reasonably, they relented.

In the week since then, Donnie’s spacing out and worsening stimulation issues had well, worsened, come evening. So much so, he’d ended up with Leo lingering around his subway car or lab late into the night, trying to find ways to keep him feeling sane.

This was not something that the twins could hide from their other brothers, and Leo eventually began sharing with them anything he found helped.

Whether it be fortunate or unfortunate, they had yet to actually connect it to the sickness, it just as well being a worsening brain ick since his connection to the technodrome.

Donnie wasn’t usually that lucky though. At this point it was just bad versus worse and if it all came from the same place, it’s not like it mattered.

That didn’t mean they took it lightly though, the first night, Mikey had been doing his best to pull an all nighter with his purple brother, until Leo took him to bed and promised Donnie would be just fine without him.

That there was no use crowding the turtle when they could only help so much anyway.

Tonight, Donnie could feel it. Feel the way his limbs grew jittery and he sunk to some sort of headspace that screamed and begged at him.

He tried to just sit in his lab, tinker with the dumb light up thing Leo had given him, but it wasn’t to any avail, and soon he was restless for something else.

Like a zombie unaware of what a brain was.

Something similar popped into his head, thick, pink, wriggling vines that made come hither motions in his dreams.

He tried to retire to his subway car, squirming under the blankets and just existing, hyper aware of the way something changed.

Donnie blinked.

The feeling was as clear as day, a gaping hollowness in his chest, his stomach, his brain. 

It was like a word on the tip of his tongue, itching for him to say it.

He wanted something so bad, he could imagine being submerged in it, like that was the only way it could be fixed, satisfied. If it held him, if it squirmed beneath his skin and shushed the buzzing in his bones.

He was so desperate to know what it was, sitting up to rock back and forth, to try and soothe, to stifle. A hand tapped at his knee.

Reaching up to drag his nails over his mask, he was so grossly aware of the feeling, leaving pale marks of shredded skin behind, collected or brushed down by the cloth.   

He swung his feet off the bed, wandering in a circle around his room. There was nothing here to fix it. Fix him.

He moved his hands down, choosing to aim for the curtain, and leaving his room.

Donnie was put unsteady by the sensation of tilting, like he was swaying too far to one side, the world gently tilting him enough that he stumbled, before letting him regain his balance. The longer he stared off into space, the more it warped, colors slotting together like out of place puzzle pieces with fine details fading into them.

He needed to be picked up and thrown against the wall, to feel himself hit the stone edges of the lair. He needed to know if they moved around him, if he could feel the sensation of the cracks breaking across it.

He snaps his jaws, the click as loud as his claws against the floor while he was turning the corner into the kitchen. His feet traveled without him thinking about it, achy like he’d been doing so all day.

The kind of tired where it went on autopilot, letting you go, go, go, so long as you didn’t stop.

He paced up and down and around the room, brushing the cabinet handles as he passed. He ripped one from its hinges. The burn in his muscles licked at the need, and his breath came short, heart hammering so hard he was genuinely a little afraid.

For some reason, he was struck with the disappointment that he couldn’t feel the cabinet, like his senses were too confined to him.

Like he should have been feeling the entire lair, his awareness spanning over the furniture and dark floor.

It didn’t. He was painfully alone, singled out standing there. Disconnected.

He’d fix the cabinet later.

Everything was dark, shadows looming at him in jagged shapes that tilted and molded, leaking under the cabinet door on his feet. He kicked it off.

He circled the island, once, twice, three times.

This timed, the fourth time, when he passed, he kicked it. It hurt.

His heart still hammered. He shook. He needed something.

Christ, this is absurd.

He wanted to scream, and settled for a long frustrated snarl instead.

He reached back, over his shoulders and head, gripping the fitted cover for his shell. He gracelessly fought it off, bent over and stumbling backwards as he yanked it away from him, arms snapping with a pop when it finally gave in.

He chucked it down beside the cabinet door.

His shell crawled, bare and scabby, most bandages removed from the scarred, sponge hole surface.

He was waiting for something, every part of him coiled and buzzing, entire back alight with viscous pins and needles.

And he waited, and he waited, and he waited.

The room lamp turned on, a soft, orange glow sparking over the floor and shuddering on the ceiling as the lamp took its moment to really boot.

You’re ruining my waiting.

“Hey.” A massive snapper was walking towards him, heavy tail slithering behind.

Standing stock still in the kitchen with his injured shell bared for the first time in front of anyone but Leo. Spectacular, his inner sarcasm was on fire.

“I’m trying to solve something, Raphael.” He said, once his giant brother was stood in front of him. The aim was to sound unwelcoming. He didn’t want to be interrupted.

“Yea, bud?”

“I need to be doing something.” There was a stress to his voice, a long lingering lilt of desperation. It was not intentional.

If Raph was going to be here, he needed to help him find it.

“Come ‘ere.” Raph lumbered into the kitchen, opening the freezer and pulling out a cup of hard ice cubes. He could easily break one off the rest.

Donnie remembered this. He didn’t need this. He needed the other thing.

What was the other thing?!

He made a loud frustrated noise, jamming his hands against his head again, this time slamming them over his ears. Maybe he could un-jam his memory, coax up the information.

Like hitting a vending machine.

“Stop that, D.” Raph waved a hand, shooing the softshell’s hands off his head. “Put this in your mouth. Leo said it would help if I found ya all upset.” He offered up the cubes.

There was no information, was there? Only this horrible, awful feeling until it decided to go away. Until it got light outside and suddenly he would yet again go back to being  only a bit worse, and no longer, stumbling around the kitchen with the urge to shatter all their dishes , worse .

Donnie shook his head, hissing. “I need to figure this out first.” He resisted, writhing his head back on his frighteningly flexible neck, turning like an owl to avoid the ice cube offered.

“Raph knows, but the ice makes ya feel better.”

“No. I need to fix this properly. ”

Raph offered it closer to Donnie’s face, getting no better reaction in return, before placing it back in the cup. “What’s the proper way?”

He glowers, reaching back up to tug and tear at his mask, just to soothe the desperation, the buzz under his skin and in his bones.

“I just want to actually fix it!” He groaned, turning around and pushing his face onto the cold counter top. It wasn’t what he needed, but fortunately it was somewhat refreshing.

A finger touched his back, sending waves of, what, attention? All across his shell. It made him shudder, head shooting up and his whole pose turning to an angle, to properly ogle at his brother, a real wide eyed, owlish thing.

He didn’t feel like he could understand his brain anymore. It didn’t even just ask from him, it screamed at him, no words, an overlapping murmur of everything ever he’d ever not known, the things torn away from him, the knowledge he was filled to the brim to hold, and he dropped it, water through his fingers, ice that burnt him to hold on to.

A disk, wiped clean and trying to access its files.

“I’m so sorry, D, forgot.” His eyes were on the gross scabs and holes all over the soft shell. “Is this from the Krang?” The snapper looked torn, mask scrunching. Like he wanted to yell at Donnie for the way his back resembled a school eraser, stabbed over and over by some bored kid in class. On the other hand he didn’t seem to have any real fire behind the feeling, only that high churning worry he never could be rid of.

Donnie nods and jolts again, claws twitching where they were lowered onto the countertop. It made a hideous scraping. The action wasn’t voluntary, more like those ghost shudders that came every now and again.

“The touch was fine.” He stated. He needed him to know.

“Can Raph give ya a hug then?” Raph looked less peeved now, like the present came barreling back, one where he was standing in the kitchen with his little brother who was having very bad nights.

“MhMm.” He opened his arms.

The snapper took a pace forward and wrapped Donnie in his arms, slowly bringing him to his plastron with his palms and talons flat to his shell, taking up as much of it as possible. Raph’s tail even curled around them for a moment, practically up to Donnie’s knees as he was encased in the firm embrace.

Usually, especially , now, this would make every alarm bell go off and his back would itch so bad he could scream. But it didn’t. He melted, thoughts nearly entirely silent. The pressure on him, on his shell, silenced the sobbing need. The desperation for something he couldn’t find.

He tucked his head against Raph’s arm, and sighed. The pleasant sort. The kind of sigh you make when you can’t sit still and then someone drapes a weighted blanket over you and everything is suddenly right in the world.

He pokes an arm out, grabbing the ice from the countertop cup and plopping it into his mouth.

The cold feels good, as if it stretches across the empty space of his brain, like a coating of frost. He crunches on it.

“Feelin’ better?” Arms squeezed a little tighter around him.

His chest no longer even had that hollow sensation, breath coming in calmer gulps and heart slowing down. “Christ, yea.” He sighs.

“You’re not jitterin’ so much now.”

Donnie feels bad, just plain as day guilt. Raph had tried to hug him just the other day, but he’d snapped at him and squirmed away when the feeling lingered uncomfortably. And what? Now he suddenly needed it?

“The duality of man.” He joked. “Amiright?”

Raph granted him the soft, big brothery laugh that was never entirely serious, something to just appease them when he didn’t quite catch the joke. Or agree with it.

Raph’s grip on him didn’t let up until Donnie tapped his arm, the hug only loosening at that point.

“This why you been wearin’ the shell all the time?” He feels a claw just barely ghost over a scab.

He knew Raph could only be horrified at the idea of hurting him, accidentally opening a wound or such.

“The vomiting, the wounds… you have to tell us things, Donnie. You can’t just spring it on when it’s an issue. Raph worries.”

Donnie nods against him. “I promise I’ll tell you things, big guy. All of it.”

He would. Soon. He really would.

“There’s more?” Raph sounded, well, god, he sounded scared.

“I promise, I’ll tell you. Later.”

Raph held him a little tighter. “I will hold you to that.” He could see the hard lines of a frown on his face.

“Yea, brother, you better.” He needed them to. Otherwise, he’d chicken out and never say a word.

The moment of silence was as nice as it was awful, so Donnie broke it.

“Christ, uh wanna like, listen to some music?”

He’d made Raph a playlist on his device recently. He was itching to put anything new to the use. The situation was emotionally charged enough as it was, negatively too.

Not his kind of environment.

“Would that help ya?”

Donnie reached up to press his finger against the raph chasm of worry lines. “It’ll help you .”

“Raph is fine.”

Donnie rolled his eyes. “If Leo saw your face right now he’d tell you it would get stuck like that.”

Raph shook with a gentle and thankfully, genuine laugh. “Alright.” His eyeless socket twitched under the patch.

Donnie squirms from his grasp, Raph keeping one hand on his shell, as he moves to sit on the large stool behind him.

Raph simply moves one aside to lean against the counter.

Donnie presses his shell further against Raph’s hand and grabs a new ice cube, struggling to properly talk around it while it freezes his upper palette. “Shall we start with steve lacy?” 

His big brother beamed.

He knew their favorites.

Chapter Text

“I get color themes, but somehow you always manage to look exactly like a grape juice box.” April’s voice was ever so slightly distorted by the device Donnie held up. He could see her finger angled at him on the little screen.

They’d been sticking to the shade of the towering New York buildings, the sun’s only mission to prevent them from seeing the FaceTime, glinting off the glass of the sky scrapers.

“You’re even shaped like a juice box.” Leo adds, unhelpful as always.

Leo plucks the straw out of the obnoxiously large soda he’d been insistent on picking up on the way to Draxum’s, and stops Donnie with a wave of his arm, reaching up to place the straw on the softshell’s head.

“How?!” Donnie smacks it off, and strides on, letting Leo hop a few paces to catch up.

Leo motions to the outfit and shares a nod with April. “Well first of all your shirt logo, second of all you actually need more color in your closet, desperately. And in terms of shape, it’s the jacket, the skirt, and your head.”

He’s tempted, but refuses to verbally appreciate the categorical attempt. It’s too likely it was unintentional.

“My head? ” Donnie stresses instead, a brow raised in a perfect display of utter disbelief. He wouldn’t even address the outrageous claims against his color choices. There was nothing wrong with purple.

“Yes, Donald , that long ass forehead. You’re shaped like autism.”

“Shaped like autism?!” Donnie parrots again.

April is laughing her ass off over the phone, nearly doubled over.

“Y’know,” Leo mimes out a rectangular shape with his hands.

“You’re falling Leo. You’re believing the stereotypes.”

“You liked trains at some point.”

“The stereotypes Leo!” he rapidly waves an arm, “You’re putting me in boxes!”

“If you don’t want to be in boxes then stop fitting in the boxes!”

“Trains mean nothing to me!”

“Are you telling me the model train set I bought you is going to go to waste? It was gonna be your Christmas gift.” April joined in again, recovering from the quick fit of giggles.

“Burn it.” Donnie would dismantle it and make it into an alarm clock to hide in her room.

“All jokes aside, including the juice box thing even though it could not be more true, you kinda look like ass, D. Like some red eye kind of shit. I’d bet any amount of cash you got some mad eye bags right now.”

Leo reaches over and wedges a finger under Donnie’s mask, pulling it up with an awkward hop to the side, his twin fighting to shove him away. They looked like two kids trying to walk ‘n wrestle.

Alas, he lost the battle and his deep eyebags were unfortunately exposed. It wasn’t his fault sickness left him looking exhausted.

Blame the goddamned krang apparently!

“Damnnn, you good?” April whistles.

Gotta have a little respect for it. Massive anything has gotta be a flex when it can.

“He’s a lil icky sicky.” Leo chimes.

Donnie sends him a proper look for the occasion. “Are so fucking kidding me right now.”

“I’m deadass, brother.”

“If you keep blabbing you’re going to be deadass.”

Leo raised his hands in surrender and moves away, his walk altered to a sort of swaying saunter.

“You’re sick?” April is trying to one up him in eyebrow height.

“A bit.” He just knows his face has pinched, mouth in a long line and eyes darting from side to side. Looking at anything but April.

Leo side eyes him.

Leo can stick it, for all he’s caring right now.

“Don’t worry about it, right now.”

April fixes Donnie, and Donnie alone, in a vicious stare. “We are so talking about this when I’m ungrounded.”

“Date with destiny.” He breezes, finally passing the subject. “And truly tragic that you’re still stuck home. Thought you loved us more than this.”

She rolls her eyes. “Where y’all goin’ anyway?”

Donnie sees April’s eyes scanning the environment when she asks, like she’s trying to riddle out their location.

“Nunya, Sherlock Holmes!” Leo shouts.

Donnie rolls his eyes. “Draxum’s place.” He didn’t specify which place.

April’s expressions screws. “Why?”

“Mikey wants us to hate him less.” Leo pops in, a hand flicking the back of Donnie’s head before he could give her his own lie.

The lack of faith in him was insulting.

“And you agreed?” April is not giving him the most impressed glance.

He shrugs. “I can make compromises for Angelo every now and again.”

“Favoritism.”

Leo utters a complaint beside him.

Cope.

“Speaking of, what time is it?” Donnie doesn’t feel like closing the face time to check.

Leo is no help at all. “Seven and a third quarter past three.”

“What?” April starts from the phone. “Ain’t no way you know what that means.”

“Two thirty, forty fifths behind dinner time.”

“You just used two different points in time. You aren’t even trying to keep it accurate.” Donnie’s throws his arms up. Exclamation.

“It’s how you sound every time you call us to explain some techy thing.”

“Everyday I wake up and wish something would eat you.” Donnie sped ahead of his brother for a moment, but his legs protested pathetically and he slowed down, heart pumping like he had a fever. He never actually checked if that went away or not.

Leo pressed a hand to his chest, jogging a couple of paces. “Why do you say such hurtful things.” He tuts, a faux sad display.

“Why are you like this.”

Before Leo or Donnie can continue, April interjects, “Y’all going to get pizza or something first?” She’s looking towards the corner of the screen.

Donnie follows where he assumes she’s peering and is greeted with one of the buildings that sandwiches Run of the Mill Pizza.

“Apparently.” Donnie rightfully glares at his twin.

He was in no way informed they were going to be at Run of the Mill. All he’d been able to weasel out of Leo was that they were going into the hidden world, via a way he’d never seen before.

He’d already had to put up with one surprise detour when Leo stopped at corner store for a drink.

“Hey apes, gotta hop, call you back. Love you, bye bye!” And Leo hangs up on their pseudo sister and rudely snatches Donnie’s phone.

With his device now kindly pocketed, Leo’s fingers slipping from his coat with a rude prod in his side, he intentionally places his hands on his hips. The pose is learned from Leo himself, and to be used against him.

“Remember I told you I’d show you a secret way one day.”

“Oh god.” Donnie grimaces.

Like the good sport he decides to be, Donnie follows Leo down the alleyway of Hueso’s place and they stop infront of a dumpster. It’s overfilled, with stench rising and buffeting from the open lid at even the slightest hint of the new autumn breeze. It makes him lift his arm to his face and cover his beak.

“Leo, this is disgusting.” He points.

Leo snickers and grabs a cardboard tube from the foot of the dumpster, using it to shove off a portion of the overflowing pile, and with his other hand he pulled out a handle on the lower edge. “Voila.” He flourishes a hand at it.

Donnie is actually so close to shoving his twin’s face in it, but bothers to glance in first. To his shock, he’s met with an entrance to the hidden city.

“Would it kill you to take us the normal way?”

He doesn’t see the shrug Leo offers, still bent over the trash.

Donnie is neglected a warning before Leo catapults over him and into the hole to the hidden city, grabbing Donnie and dragging him with him.

He’s spinning, bright and dizzy, colors writhing around his eyelids, screwed shut.

The sensation of falling is cut off by the violent kiss of the ground on his entire fucking body.

God , he is so dizzy.

He was unlucky enough to be face first on the mystic dirt of the rich colored cliffs, fingers curling in a belated winced.

There’s a short bit of shuffling and then, “Don’t you feel like you’ve had an experience. ” Leo snickers from somewhere above him.

“I feel like I’m gonna go hardcore purple all over my body.” He drags himself up, willing the world to stop spinning. “It might end up being too much purple, even for me.”

Leo crouches by his head, expression gone serious.

It makes Donnie want to shove him off the cliff. Just a little. He’d catch him.

“ What?” It comes out between tight jaws.

“Do you really think you’re gonna bruise that easy?”

Donnie recoils away from him. “No? Yes? Am I getting my charts updated.” It’s not a real question.

“So you have been bruising easier?” Leo is reaching for his arm.

Donnie jerks away again, pushing his shaky legs under him and moving to a stand. “Pray tell, are you going to be like this until I obtain a cure?” He brushes his skirt off.

Leo stands up with him. “I wouldn’t have to if you weren’t so difficult.” He makes a grab at Donnie again and it’s easily dodged. “It’s like yanking teeth!” He makes a claw motion at bared teeth when he says it.

“Fascinating. Do not care.”

With that final cool statement said, Donnie starts down towards the actual city, Leo hot on his tail.

A phone chimes. He pulls it out.

                              O’Neil!

      yo what happend w

      Lee?

     do i have to kick ass 🦵🐢 ?

Donnie was tempted to politely remind Leo that he could totally sic their big sister on him. 

                                O’Neil!

        yo what happend w

        Lee?

      do i have to kick ass 🦵🐢 ?

                              he sort of changed

                             plans but it was more a

                              prank thing

                              nothing too criminal

Leo made a grab at his arm again.

Donnie sent April a final message, letting her know it was totally encouraged that she kick the slider’s ass anyway, for laughs. He didn’t bother waiting for the reply before pocketing his phone.

Getting to Draxum’s wasn’t much of a thing after that, subtly taking back streets and the occasional reddish dirt path, until they could trek over the little road to his broken down lab.

Along the way, Leo decided to strike up conversation.

“So, Donald, tell me something, yea.” Leo waved a finger back and forth in the air, a dramatic gesture Donnie was certain the slider had picked up from him, and in turn he knew he picked up from hours of mimicking any cartoons Splinter had unknowingly let run, asleep in his chair.

Donnie actually could not express how tired he was of these conversations. “Can you manage it in ten words or less?”

Leo laughed and poked his shoulder with a, “You wish.”

It did not lighten the mood.

“Anyway, as I was going to say, you need to tell everyone. I’m not taking any vague wave off on this. I need a time and date now . They all know shits up and I’ve been practically dodging Raph because he knows   I know and while he wants to pull a good big brother and give the whole sitch ’ some space, he actually cannot stand to wait forever.” Leo adds a little bonus. “And I know Mikey is this close, ” finger to thumb, no space between, “to having a doctor feelings visit with you.”

Donnie kicks a bold maroon stone across the path. It made him trip. Mortifying.

“He’s going to be that close after I tell him too, I’m sure.”

“A day, Donnie. Now.”

Under pressure, he’s forced to think of a date.

“Tomorrow.” He snaps. It was like bullying himself.

He knows later Donatello is going to hate him. Clearly he missed those conversations with a good parental figure as a kid about prioritizing long term health and success over short term pleasures.

Though, it was a leap and bound to call what he was going through a pleasure.

Leo’s expression is upturned and yet his browline is pinched in, like he’s gotten all confused about something.

“So you’re really gonna do it tomorrow?”

“Literally what I just said.” He doubles down.

“Yea, I just find it hard to believe you.”

“I’m afraid that’s your own flaw, dear brother.” Donnie feels mean, just a little. “One of many.”

Leo’s speaking, but Donnie has gone to kick another pebble and he nearly chokes on his own saliva when it rides along the underside of his foot, his arms shooting out for stability at the sudden slide. Whatever Leo had said, flew in one ear and out the other.

Reaching the old broken down lab puts that conversation to rest anyway, the walls angled in and chunks of curving metal with long grooves are sticking out from the innards and cracks.

The entrance had been put back up, just enough to make a chipped archway. Like it was trying to save face.

Donnie almost felt bad for the sheep man. Almost, being the stressed word. He couldn’t really bring himself to care.

The two turtles strolled into the massive laboratory, skirting past much of the wreckage or taking exaggerated steps over fallen stone.

Donnie wasn’t sure how much weather the hidden city itself endured, but at least the building wasn’t completely caved. Even with rubble covering the floor from sight and the jagged, lowered pieces of roofing that jutted out to make a maze, it all still functioned like a building.

It wasn’t as bad as he assumed it would be, taking it all in.

Peeling into a side room off the most hazardous part of the wreckage, he was met with the tied up, dark hair of the sheep man, a hunched figure over desks and counters, piecing machinery together like intentionally shattered pottery.

The sheep man’s outfit is a strange mix of his new casual outfits and protective armor, reminiscent of his old schtick. It strikes Donnie as a good thing that the mask is absent from it. Even if it did have an impressive quality at times.

Draxum must have heard them enter, because he turns with such wide, almost regal sweep, that Donnie can only imagine the world outside of this place is unbearable to him.

Leo is talking. “Sheepman! Whatcha got for us?”

And then the alchemist deflates, just a little, and Donnie doesn’t think location changed as much as he gave it credit for.

“Equipment. Do not touch anything.” Draxum was snippy, a hand pointing to an empty space by the counter where they could stand, of course only after making a few rude grippy gestures one would act out when referring to toddler.

“So,” Leo leans against the counter, one leg kicked over the other. “You gonna solidify your theory?”

Draxum stares, lip wrinkled up. “I’m going to run tests to study the effects of the illness and look for any proof of lingering krang. It is entirely impossible to confirm anything about the initial krang interaction, only how it is affecting him now.” He moves on to place a few tools in front of him on a tray.

“I’ll need a skin sample, for something similar to a skin culture test,” he’s got a book beside him of terms and medical information. It’s thick, probably wider than the squared countertop edge. “And a blood draw. I mentioned bone marrow to the blue one as well but it was strongly turned down.” He lingers on that last bit, making a brief bit of eye contact with Leo, before he backs off.

“You’re not touching anyone’s bones.” Leo crosses his arms.

Does one call that a relief or just a possibility he hadn’t thought of? Donnie didn’t know.

He wished they had a chair, and is promptly met with a growing regular mortification at the idea that him, a mutant ninja , was this tired from the trek. Truly and utterly disrespectful, his body was.

“We can start with the skin removal.” It’s almost a question, a statement with just enough wiggle room to escape it.

Donnie pushes his sleeves up.

As Draxum approaches, tray beside them and a knife in his hands, Leo’s arms are suddenly uncrossed and he’s nearly shoulder to shoulder with Donnie.

Weren’t you cool with Draxum?

The sheep man grabs a bit of disinfectant that tickles his raised forearm in a strange way, and then the knife is lined up and moved through him.

It doesn’t slide smooth, dragging jagged through his thick skin.

By the time Draxum curves the blade up, satisfied with the length of skin retrieved, Leo is very obviously fighting the urge to gnaw at his nails and Donnie’s leg is twitching, stomping at the ground, anything to get rid of the antsy frustration of sitting in pain.

Draxum is no doctor, that’s for sure. None of them are.

Draxum takes a step away to safely store the skin, before he begins cleaning Donnie’s other arm.

Leo’s lip twitches, like he wants to bare his teeth at Draxum (which is really more of something Donnie would do), snatching up a roll of bandages and tearing a strip free.

“So, how did you end up with the cash for this equipment.” Donnie inquires. He takes the torn bandage from Leo and wraps the scrape.

Leo sets down the wrap, once sure Donnie had enough to use. “Don’t you guys have some sort of black market evil place for poor mutants?”

“What are you talking about turtle?” Draxum, sounding accusatory as always.

“What Donnie uses.”

Donnie raises a brow, giving Leo a well crafted look. “What you’re describing does not exist.”

“Listen, I’m just a messenger for Mikey’s words. A man in the telephone line.”

“Is that what Michelangelo thinks?” Draxum has stopped looking at them, instead looking over and double checking the needle and tube. 

Leo shrugs.

Draxum is turned back to them. “I used heads to purchase all of my equipment.”

“Heads?!” Leo exclaims.

Draxum looks lost for a moment, before it’s suddenly dawned on him and his nose bridge wrinkles. “Hidden city money. Since there’s a part of the yōkai population now living in New York City, most popular places take your human dollars as well. You must have seen someone with a triangle shaped.” He thinks a moment. “Coin.” He’d obviously much rather have said ‘head’.

“Was your mutagen work a part of any occupations?” Donnie offers up his other arm.

A pinch and he is left to wait, Draxum quietly monitoring the run of red through the tube.

“No. My occupations consisted of the occasional emergency rebuild job. My vines were good for a fast roof lift or urgent patch.” He shifts back, ankles lowering. “I also worked briefly in a pharmacy and later did a sort of delivery service to it.” He’s suspiciously vague at the end.

Leo whistles a long note.

To Donnie’s surprise, Draxum initiates the next question. “Where do you get your equipment?”

“I can’t say I’ve never stolen, but most comes from anonymously scheduled pickups. All paid for in honest money.”

Leo opens his mouth.

“No.” Donnie doesn’t even let him speak. “ You will sit in amazement and wonder how your brilliant brother comes upon his riches.”

He opens his mouth again.

“Not on my life.”

Leo frowns.

Apparently it isn’t for the reason Donnie thinks it is.

“How much blood are you taking?”

Donnie hadn’t been paying enough attention to it to be the one that answered Leo’s question, but it sure felt like a lot. His head was going light, legs almost feeling airy where he stood.

Draxum arches his brows at the slider. “Enough to comfortably run several tests on. I will plan to do more of these in the future, depending on the results of this one.”

“Talk to us, Draxy, what do you mean by that.”

“The illness is progressively getting worse, therefor if I find anything of note, like I hypothesize I will, I want to track the progression and continue to test new blood. I do not know how any possible Krang matter or otherwise will react to being removed from its environment.”

“And the skin scrape?”

“I’m not skinning him alive.”

“I’m agreeable to keeping my skin.” Donnie pipes up.

Draxum starts moving to finish up, this time handing Donnie the wad of bandages for his arm before he pulls the needle out.

It sat in his hand, weakly clasped. Oh. His hand was shaking.

He was shaking.

“Thank goodness the rest of us have never needed this. You’d stick more trackers in us, Don.” Leo jokes.

The softshell mumbled dismissively, eyes fixed in front of him. He can’t take the time to properly shove how he acted as the temporarily medic in Leo’s face, because warmth rolls over his body, cupping his ears in warm pockets, and he’s tipping-

“Donnie?! Woah woah. ”

A hand wraps around his forearm but he hardly registers it, eyes rolling.

…

Donnie comes to halfway on the floor, legs splayed out with a knee almost up.

“He said he didn’t suspect he had an iron deficiency last time we spoke.”

“His whole life he's been borderline anemic but it’s always been mostly under control.”

Donnie waved an arm, squinting to test the brightness. It was acceptable, and he opened his eyes.

“Welcome back, sleeping beauty.” Leo moved the arm that was gripping Donnie’s bicep, flicking him on the forehead.

Donnie barely had a moment, opening his mouth to ask what happened when Draxum’s fingers suddenly shot forward and pried his jaws open.

Eugh!? He did not have the patience for this.

With an embarrassingly shaky hand, he swatted, snapping his jaws down.

The sheep man barely got out of the way in time. “Do not bite at me, turtle.”

He hissed.

“I’m trying to check the color of your mouth.” Draxum explained. He faced Leo. “Are his eyes normally this yellow?”

Leo, who was still holding Donnie, an arm supporting around his shoulders and neck, peered into his eyes.

He averted them, throat bobbing to swallow his discomfort with the situation. Unfortunately only metaphorically.

“God, I don’t know.” Leo was dead serious.

“Ok seriously get off.” Donnie batted an arm out again, shoving Leo aside with one and pushing himself forward and up with the other.

“No offense D, but you literally just fainted.”

Apparently Leo thought that was enough said, and grabbed onto Donnie’s upper arm to help him up.

He rolled his eyes, giving up on pushing his twin off. He hoped Leo couldn’t feel his shaking through the thick jacket sleeves, presumably rolled down when Leo caught him. 

“I’d really rather do the bone marrow exam. Biopsy and aspiration,”

Draxum was cut off by a scathing glare from Leo.

“But, since the blue one won’t let me, I’ll check for anemia during the blood test.” He makes some short, vague hand gestures, “If it correlates with the sickness then I assume you have hemolytic anemia, and if it doesn’t then I’d guess an iron deficiency issue.”

“Great just tell us after you test it all. Add it to the list why don’t we!” Donnie is reaching a limit to his patience with this. He feels like he’s always reaching a limit.

“Well I was trying to look at your mouth and eyes for jaundice to help solidify my hypothesis, but you were uncooperative.”

“Blood. Tests.” Donnie sounds each word out to him.

“Yes yes. I’ll work on the skin part here and transfer part of this to my apartment. Whatever you will… allow me ,” he says it like the words hurt him, “to do here, will be done here.”

“Coolio.” Leo turns, facing Donnie head on. “Are you ok to go home or do you need to sit down? If we do this again I’ll bring chocolate or something to help.”

He was still dizzy, but that was becoming a regular thing. He didn’t dare hope it would go away.

“ Fine. I swear to god if you don’t stop with the henning doctor act I’m going to break every part of your phone.”

Leo clicked his tongue and whether it be out of amusement or something else, he didn’t know.

“Let’s go home then.” The slider gestures out the door.

“Enjoy my blood.” Donnie calls back as they walk out, going back to picking their way through the rubble and possibly hazardous liquid in the main room.

Huh, he hadn’t seen that before.

Once they’re outside, walking side by side, Leo asks a question.

“You swear you’re going to tell them tomorrow? This cannot be something you weasel out of. I won’t let you.”

“I swear on it, Nardo.”

Leo mimes patting him on the shoulder. It’s appreciated.

Chapter Text

Donatello had been laying in bed for forty minutes longer than normal (his new horrible awful normal of being tired all the time). Just laying. He was awake as could be, practically itching to be doing anything else.

Well, not anything.

He knew the moment he left it would be a countdown until Leo found him.

Maybe, he could just stay here forever, arms over his head and covers securely tucked around him.

He’d wanted to wait longer. Said so, so many times infact, it could be classified as a brainworm. Would it have killed him to just say ‘after we get an update from Draxum’ when Leo rudely grilled him for a date and time?

MAyBe!

Donnie shuffled around a little, and subsequently his comforter went tumbling off the bed, dragging the other end off it off him as well.

Perfect. No really. Just fucking great.

He was going to commit a crime.

Donnie rolled onto his side and pushed up with the arm he’d trapped under himself, feet swinging off the bed. He was careful to avoid stepping on his poor, floored blanket.

Donnie was taken aback by the the way it made his head spin, reaching up to lightly grip his forehead while he tried to ride out the way the room rocked and sashayed around his vision. Like it was mocking him.

Or he was overthinking it.

On the other hand, what crime should he commit?

Standing up, he cursed his feet for their lack of cooperation, taking too wide or too janky steps around his room. Probably because it was still spinny.

Medical malpractice on himself was always an option, much like acting sick to get out school. April always said it was far easier than the movies made it out to be, unless of course you had moral qualms with the act.

He’d asked her if she had ever done it, but the answer was vague and inconclusive.

The brand new, soft shell cover Donnie had made was light in his hands. He’d scrapped the fitted sheet prototype and gone a whole new direction with it, using foam clay and paint, so it better resembled his metallic, heavy duty shells. It was most closely built to mimic the curve of his spider shell, after all, he had no need for extra compartments. They would only weigh it down, as unfortunate as that was.

In any case, the whole thing was light, but provided acceptable coverage and did well to uphold his normal look.

Slowly gaining his better coordination, finally , Donnie slid his wrist pad on and fought the well loved, purple hoodie over his head, stretching his arms out awkwardly behind him to tug it around his foam shell. The thick, familiar fabric and long strings would be particularly appreciated today. Optimal for twirling (and hiding) .

There was a loud ding from the phone by the bedside.

Deep down he just knew it was Leo.

— — —

Maybe Leo felt a little bad for sending out the group text.

Maaaaybe it was a wimp’s way out of having to coordinate with his twin and gather the troops one by one.

In his defense though, he’d spent over forty minutes lingering around the doorways, eyeing their purple themed brother’s subway car for any sign of life.

By all means, he’d meant to get Donnie to choose a day to do this, but his expectation had been like- the coming week. Not the next day.

He’s held him to it anyway, because what else are you supposed to do when your extremely closed off and emotionally constipated twin agrees to do a big serious family conversation so soon?

He’d love some real advice on that, and honestly totally wished April was here. She was good at knocking some follow through into Donnie without him actively fighting her on it, or at least not with the same intensity that he brought to their brotherly arguments.

God forbid he try to use shock factor though. His super cool 4d chess planning skillz seemed to set Donnie off like a ghost to a cat.

“Leo?” Claws scraped against the wall as his big brother turned the corner, hand drifting to hold the corner.

“Raph!” A wide gesture and upbeat greeting.

God , he was so fucking anxious.

The snapper jabbed a thumb over his shoulder. “Mikey‘s fetchin’ Splinter.”

Leo nodded quickly.

Eurhggg, totally too quickly.

“Please tell me this’s ‘bout whatever’s been goin’ on with you two.” Two claws, in desperate need of trimming, massaged a red-masked temple.

Leo didn’t have to ask who he meant. “Yup if turtle two,” he held up two fingers, “actually shows up.” He hoped he was joking, but there was always the unfortunate possibility he was not , and would have to go fish out Donnie from whatever work hole he’d dug himself into, to avoid avoid avoid!

“Is-“ Raph seemed to rethink his question, “did he agree to this?”

“Yea, I like totally cornered him into it though. Told him to give me a date on the spot.” He flapped a hand out, chuckling almost guiltily.

Raph lumbered over and plopped down heavily onto their couch, new since the involuntary lair change. Well, voluntary. Just not like reasonably option to anyone sane.

Ah, good times. Going strong with the sarcasm.

In any case, Raph dwarfed the thing, tail flopped awkwardly to the side.

Leo often wondered how big Raph was going to get. From what they could squeeze out of Casey Jr, the snapper would be massive. He described him as a great hulking mass. Easily rivaling the Krang themselves in size. Hell, if that didn’t scream ‘we’re gonna need new furniture’, he didn’t know what did.

Speaking of CJ, they’d had a solid week or so of the guy hanging around, helping out wherever he could and all that. Until of course he one day just stood up and told them he was going off radar to adjust to the hidden city for a while, as opposed to New York.

It made sense, or at least Leo made the assumption it must have, considering yōkai and mutants were never shied away from in Casey’s retellings, compared to the way they were currently taboo, y’know, to put it gently.

Raph moving to rest his arms on his knees drew Leo’s attention back.

“How’ve your legs ‘n shell been?”

Leo shrugs. “Still using the crutches some days but the leg braces help. Plus, Don said he planned to make me some custom functional ones.”

“I know we all think you should use them more than you do.”

“And I think you should be coming straight to me when your conformer falls out.” He points to Raph’s covered eye socket.

The snapper shoots him a narked look, mouth pulling up in a lopsided grin. “Raph learned his lesson. Got enough of a talking to from his little brother.” His hand raised to Leo’s height, as if that was small to anyone but himself.

“How’s that thing feeling, anyway?”

“Different.”

Before the conversation could go any further, raised voices drew into hearing distance, the mild complaints of Splinter, dragged away from his television, and Mikey, the one dragging him away from his television.

“Cmon! There wouldn’t be an important family meeting if it wasn’t important.” The peeved tone and stressed words could finally be heard as the two trudged into the family room, separate from the tv room splinter hid out in.

“What is going on, my sons?” Splinter dusted a piece of popcorn on his robe, and from the corner of his vision, Leo could see Raph’s eye twitch.

“Has anyone caught him up on recent events?” Leo scoffed, possibly ruder than he should have been. On the other hand, Splinter wasn’t making any gold star, dads of the world list, right now.

“Donnie and Leo have some important news, pops. We’ll catch you up.” Raph saved him.

“You did tell Donnie he had to show up, right?” Mikey aimed a finger at Leo. “I practically have to trap him like a feral animal for,” he air quotes, “unprovoked Dr. Feelings sessions.”

“Are they unprovoked?”

“They don’t need to be provoked!”

Raph does well to stay out of this one, too close to either side of the argument to help Leo or Mikey out.

“Anyyywhizzle, Donnie did agree to show up today.”

“Did he say what time today?” If it weren’t a genuine question he’d accuse Mikey of full on sassing him.

“I’m a leader! I can take some liberties!” Leo defends, valiantly.

“Leo!” Raph doesn’t sound all that in agreement.

“I’m actually amazed you know what liberties are.” Speak of the devil and he shall appear.

Donatello Hamato, the one and only, strolls in by his own free physical will.

Leo pressed a hand to his plastron. Was this pride? Shock? Disbelief? “You made it, DonTron!” He wasn’t yet over how Donnie came out to a serious family meeting on his own accord, especially regarding his health.

It was almost too good to be true.

“Yes. Someone sent out a group chat that didn’t leave much flexibility.”

Leo shot him a famous Neon Leon, shit eating, grin.

“Let us not dawdle if we have to be here.” Donnie clasped his hands together and strode between the couch, the cushions, and the tv, in the very center of the living space.

Ohohooo, Leo was getting a bad feeling about this. Like watching a cat voluntarily eat a pill, just to spit it out the moment you aren’t looking.

Leo sat down on the far end of the couch, closest to the doorway Donnie was most likely to beeline for.

Once the rest of the family was settled, Mikey plopped down on the floor in front of Raph and Splinter taking the rather small, cushiony chair to the opposite end of the couch, Donnie seemed ready enough to begin.

“As you all know, I have been less than ideal lately.”

Something about that sentence rubbed Leo the wrong way, and he was sure the others noticed it too. Maybe he was overthinking it, but describing being ill as being ‘less than ideal’, well, it just felt wrong in a way he couldn’t nail down.

“And I’ve been made aware it’s a direct result from the,” Donnie cleared his throat, “invasion.”

Raph’s palms turned outwards, head angled down in a clearly curious manner. Unfortunately it didn’t free him of his Raph Chasm or the worry lines he was making elsewhere on his face. “You’re sick from the Krang?”

Leo could just see the way Donnie was itching to avoid any and all questions.

“Yes, and it is more than likely also causing my nighttime… state.”

He could give Donnie some credit on that one. None of them would know how word that any better.

“Thank you for your time, brethren and father, that is all.” Leo’s purple clad brother spat out the last sentence simultaneous to his attempt to escape, darting the exact way the slider had anticipated.

Leo lunged out of his seat, grabbing the back of Donnie’s hoodie and yanking him sideways, and once in reach wrapping arms around his around his torso to flip back onto the couch, hauling his twin with him.

There was a moment of furious writhing and hisses, the two locked together with all of Leo’s limbs wrapped around his brother in a vice grip. Eventually, Donnie accepted his fate, and instead of continuing his attempts to escape entirely, he began squirming over Leo to reach the spot on the couch beside him.

With Donnie’s new goal seemingly just freedom from the flytrap hug, Leo let go, and with a swift kick delivered to his face, got to sit up all triumphant, Donnie now hunched over beside him with his legs pretzeled.

It was far from the stock straight posture he’d had before.

The rest of the family would probably be inclined to laugh, if the topic itself wasn’t still churning questions in their mind.

“Now, Don and I are gonna do a little qna for everything he left out .”

“What is this about night stuff and sickness? I have not seen anything wrong with purple.” Splinter was the next to speak.

Leo loved his dad, really. Always had, always would be the kid competing tooth and nail for his attention and affection. The thing is, even Leo could have it up to the roof with the bullshit parenting. He was biased, not blind.

So, he put a healthy bit of bite in his voice, reserved for his father alone. “Well, why don’t we go over a series of events. To get everyone caught up with what’s related to this whole shebang.” He turned to his twin. “Do you want to do the honors, or shall I?”

Donnie bared his teeth in a sarcastic, snippy smile. A quick gesture that made it very clear Leo was as on his own as Donnie could let him be.

“Very well,” he brought up a hand to list, “let’s start with the Krang flesh still in his shell way after the actual invasion,” well, maybe he could have been nicer about it, “the vomiting, the nighttime situation, lethargy, fainting, and a collection of other symptoms you make a profession in being vague about.”

“The vomiting and fainting were one time things.” Donnie argued.

Because of course he had to argue.

“They’re also important events to note.”

“Hold up, Leo said Krang flesh in your shell.” Raph leans forward more, jaw visibly clenched. “How long was there literal Krang in you?”

“If I can add in, when did you faint?” Mikey does in fact add in.

And oh, Donnie is bracing for this, withering in his shell where he sits.

He has the audacity to look to Leo.

“No no, the first one is yours to share. I don’t think I’m quite over it.” The slider crosses his arms.

His twin looks at absolutely no one when he then says, “Weeks.”

“Weeks?!” Mikey shoots to attention, back rod straight.

“Weeks?! Donnie, you-“ Raph lifts a hand to massage the space between his non existent brows, mask painfully furrowed. “Weeks the nasty Krang meat was inside your shell and you didn’t take it out or tell us?”

“I was not entirely aware of its existence.”

Raph’s face suddenly fell, eyes wide and brow-line upturned. “Nobody checked you over.”

Leo would have tried to comfort the guy, if he wasn’t somewhat pissed that, yea, nobody checked over the turtle best known for going radio silent about anything even remotely wrong.

Donnie seemed alarmed at the new emotional development. “I knew something was wrong with my shell but I assumed it was closer along the lines of the shredder situation.”

Apparently, Donnie did not know that the comparison was just as bad, bringing up memories of deep, angry scarring across his brothers shell, was fresh as could be. Injuries they were forced to discover by pure accident when they caught him without any back coverings.

Raph looked like he was going to pinch his own face so hard it would draw blood.

“That isn’t any better!” Mikey waves an arm in some wildly arching gestures. “You never told us about that one. We had to actually see it to even find out! Also the fainting, when was the fainting?”

“Yesterday when I went to get tests run at Draxum’s. Currently it’s chalked up to a suspected worsening of my anemia.”

“I still do not know what the ‘nighttime thing’ is.” Splinter interjects, getting what could almost be called a glare from Raph as they popcorn around topics.

Honestly, the snapper deserved to be fed up in every way possible. Leo was almost mad he wasn’t more often, with how much the big guy shouldered.

Thoughts for another day.

“In short, very short, I experience what I’d dare to call severe understimulation and,” he waves his hands around his head, “I struggle to properly focus on anything aside from yucky internal thoughts.” It’s short and leaves out details, but it was probably the easiest way Donnie could have phrased it for their dear old dad.

“Can this all be fixed?”

“Is it because you connected to the ship? Of course it is!” Mikey mimed slapping himself on the head, almost interrupting Raph.

“Is it going to affect Purple’s ninja training?”

Donnie held up his hands up, head shrinking down into his hoodie a bit.

Christ, while his own family meeting was awful, Leo was at least glad he didn’t have to answer a pop quiz trivia about the experience. 

“To answer your questions Raph, Leo and I have already taken steps to handle the situation. We’re working with Draxum, who is soon to update us on a confirmation of the details and progression of the illness.” He turns to Mikey.

“So you don’t know if it’s going to get better? Is it getting worse?!” Mikey starts before his purple brother can continue.

Donnie grimaces. “I’m positive all things can be scientifically solved, and unfortunately there does seem to be a steady rate of decline in my health.” He flips a hand back, as if miming his scroll to the previous questions. “And yes obviously it was the Krang, but I wasn’t even technically supposed to survive that, so really this is a better outcome, all things considered.”

Maybe it slipped out distracted, with the softshell’s gesturing, the possibility was, well, possible. It seemed to hit his brothers like bricks though, and he remembered his own feelings in that moment, mouth stretched to a thin line and that miserable stomach dropping sensation whilst being told the job he gave his brother could have very well been the last Donnie ever did.

Mikey shot over appearing by Donnie’s legs with his head dropping against the softshell’s knee. The contact wasn’t removed or flinched away from, so their little brother stayed there. 

Leo was sort of shocked Donnie let it happen, to be entirely honest.

“How did you survive, if you weren’t supposed to?” Raph’s throat bobbed, claws tightly clasped together now. He was really not faring well in this conversation and looked on the brink of excusing himself.

Donnie on the other hand, apparently found it much easier to state facts and explain the outside bits of the scenario, versus his own current issues in it. “Well technically I wasn’t supposed to survive being taken in, and even less so being ripped out. My ninpo, whether active or not, and the ships resources being diverted elsewhere at the time seemed to allow for my survival and relative ok-ness.”

Wow, Raph looked just sick now. “How long have you been keepin’ this a secret. The whole thing.”

Leo felt downright bad for his twin, but he couldn’t help here. The secret keeping was Donnie’s choice.

“Since the invasion, obviously.” Donnie shrugs, shoulders tight. “Leo is the only one who found out any sooner but that was only due to his unfortunately pushy nature as our solo medical personnel. Even that was only after he was free from the medical bay.”

“Why didn’t you tell us?” Mikey pipes up. “Were you worried about how we’d react.”

It’s clear Donnie is downright uncomfortable now. “I wanted to have the details down. To at least know I’d be able to give you an answer, soon, if not immediately.” He looks to Mikey. “And to be very transparent, none of you have a perfect track record of reasonable reactions.”

“We are not discussing reasonable reactions after you tell us you could have died , Donald ,” If stares could kill, Mikey would be slaughtering Leo’s twin right now. “but we can understand that our possible reactions made you hesitant to tell us.” There’s a clear undertone of Doctor Feelings when Mikey speaks again.

“Do not think that excuses this. You cannot ever wait again to tell us something this important again, and Raph will be pressurin’ both you and Leo to be keepin’ everyone updated on how you’re doing. And there will be further conversation about this, whether it be with me or Mikey.” Raph points to their little brother.

Leo nods, paying no attention to if Donnie does as well. He’s going to keep everyone informed, whether the sick turtle has anything to say about it or not.

“And what about my question?” Splinter jumped in at the wrong moment, impatient.

Raph gave Leo a well crafted look .

“Dad, hey, why don’t you let us figure out the ninja stuff? We’re big boys. Survived a whole apocalypse.”

“You almost…” Their dad couldn’t seem to bring himself to say it, and the brothers still had a bit of that raw grief to share over the moment.

“And I lived and learned and grew right? Point isn’t that. Point is that we can decide some things among ourselves, right hermanos?”

A murmur of agreement went around the room.

Splinter sighed. “Fine. I will be on my chair.” And the rat left the room, wandering back to his nostalgic movies and long commercials.

—-

“Now that that’s out of our way., it’s next topic time” Leo clapped his hands together. “Sorry Donnie. I suggest we remove you from missions. Sorry Donnie.” He’s pulled a very mixed face, apologizing twice.

Donnie glowers . He was making a solid attempt to kill Leo with his eyes.

Raph and Mikey looked somewhat torn. Mikey, seemingly preferring to be on no one’s bad side at the moment, much less Donnie’s, who had lowered down a leg to let his little brother cling to him.

“I will not be entirely pulled out of the field by you. ” Donnie jabs a finger at Leo, refraining from making contact.

“I’m sure there there’s a middle ground.” Mikey tries.

“No. We plan to start patrols again any day now and you’re clearly unable. The day you threw up is a good starting example, if you need one!” Leo is meeting Donnie’s tone now.

“You can’t even fully pilot the turtle tank without me there!”

“Says who?!”

Out of the side of his vision, Donnie sees Raph hold up a hand and wave a bit. As opposed to butting in. “Wait, Leo,” Donnie’s twin gets addressed first, “Donnie had a good point. Things don’t run half as smooth in there without him.”

Donnie couldn’t help the relief that ran through him. He was woozy with it, his head throbbing. It was frequently- consistently unkind to him now.

Leo is silent as Raph continues, and Donnie thinks he can see him physically biting his tongue.

“You knuckleheads, ‘specially you Donnie, are way too likely to go out of your way to break any extreme rules out in place. Raph thinks it’s best to do it safely.” He lowers his hands to his knees. “Raph’s heart can’t handle you guys going off alone.”

“But there are things we don’t know. What if extreme ninpo use makes it worse?”

Raph shrugs, and Donnie can confidently say the face he makes is sympathetic, or maybe just so, so tired. “I would rather have to ban him from that later than risk a vigilante brother running off sick.”

Leo seems to mull this over, sitting back in his seat with a deep frown.

Throughout this, Mikey has taken to tapping little patterns on Donnie’s knee. “I think the turtle tank idea works.” He chimes in. “It’s clearly not something he can just get better from without help and I’d go stir crazy if I was left alone in the lair all the time.”

Donnie pats his head appreciatively, even if it wasn’t the ideal outcome.

“Fine. I make it magically happen as leader, yada yada.” Leo waves a hand in a lazy circle, still somewhat pouty.

Donnie has a feeling it will come up again later, either to him or Raph.

“Well clearly this family meeting is over with then.” Donnie rises, prying Mikey off of his leg and making a wide arc around Leo as he moves down the hall to his lab.

Tackle him once, shame on you. Tackle him twice, shame on him for waking that close.

The lab door shuts heavily behind him when he reached the lab, and he whips out his phone. He needs to get to April before they do, otherwise he’s going to be set for a worse tongue lashing then he’s already overdue for.

His thumb hovers over her contact. He’s afraid but his ears are also warm from the flood of adrenaline. The relief of running away. 

His thumb trembles over the button, like reminding him. It’s obnoxious. 

He bites the bullet. He knows it would hit him anyway. Might as well meet it head on.

To his, too soon, demise, the call only rings twice before she picks up.

“Hey D.” There’s clanking and yanking in the backround, like she’s moving things from one drawer to another.

“April.” He needs to do it fast. Like ripping off a bandaid.

“Donnie?” She sounds suspicious this time.

“Apologies for the abrupt call, but I just had a family meeting and thought it be best to update you before someone else beats me to it.”

“Oh?” There’s a pause. “What about?” Her words drag out suspiciously.

“Some things concerning my well-being and the Krang.” It’s dead silent, so he takes it as his cue to keep going. “We had the whole talk about the eyebags just yesterday but they’re presumably from an illness the Krang connection seems to be causing me and the walk yesterday was a visit to Draxum’s lab to talk about it. I do not yet have the results of tests ran, but when we are called about it, you will be informed, of course.” He takes a breath.

The noises have stopped entirely until, “Donatello Hamato you did not just tell me all of that through a phone call.”

He laughs humorlessly. “There’s more. Detail wise. I gave you the summary.”

“Are you fucking kidding me? How long have you known.” She sounds beyond peeved. Dare he say, furious.

He takes a long breath, sliding a foot over the smooth flooring. He’s shaking. It’s embarrassing. Everything is embarrassing.

“Since the invasion.”

There’s a sharp inhale. “Yea, obvious question, ok. You- Donnie you’re an actual asshole sometimes. All of you are making me go gray, I swear to god. What exactly caused it? The Krang obviously but I want better specifics.”

He leans against the wall, blinking slowly before answering. “Connecting to the Krang. It was technically supposed to kill me but the situation was just right, to put it simply, and I lived.

“That is not ok, none of it, and we are SO speaking later, in person. I cannot properly beat into your big fucking forehead how much, and I speak for everyone when I say this, we cannot deal with more surprise health information, just because YOU don’t want to tell anyone.”

He melts against the wall, hitting the floor with a thump.

“This isn’t ok Donnie.”

“Got it.”

She huffs through the speaker. “I really don’t think you do.”

“Can I hang up now.” He would whether she said yes or not.

“… Fine, if you swear not to spend your whole evening holed up away from your brothers. It’s not good for you or them to just hide from them after this.”

“I wouldn’t dare.” He would. He will.

“Fine.” Theres a choppy sigh. “We will be speaking about this more.”

He ends the call.

Donnie pulled his knees up to his chest and let his mind run through the morning.

He’d gone through enough family discussion time that he stiffly believed it should have been night. Of course, he’d be wrong. It was only nearing noon.

So why was he so energy-less?

He knew why.

Like a liar, he’d be staying in his lab for as long as possible today.

Like they say, what they don’t know wouldn’t kill them, and in this case, April’s ignorance was his bliss.

The vicious purple LEDs above glared down on him with no restraint. Donatello’s safe haven felt anything but safe.

Chapter Text

Donatello knew better than to hide from his brothers the next day, and by noon he’s stood out in the concrete ditch, one they’d found while exploring the different ways in and out of their subway sewer home. He was trying to reintegrate himself into a normal conversation, avoiding any and all mention of the day prior. Naturally Leo and Mikey were his best bets in achieving that normal.

He loved Raph but the guy was seriously having a time of it yesterday and Donnie really didn’t think he was equipped to deal with that. Distressed people had never been his forte, per se.

Mikey comes tearing past him on the skateboard, hips twisted and knees low as he tries to pivot harder on the way up.

It wasn’t perfect, but the concrete ditch was just deep enough to make for a decent skating spot.

“You’re still too shaky turning. Stop hesitating so hard.”

“No.” Mikey slows a bit, doing a couple quick back and forths with wide, rattling turns as he took them in what Donnie could only think to call the gutters of the gutter. “What I’m doing is getting the hang of it. You try skating on rough concrete.”

He would have loved to try, and most likely eat shit along with his own words, considering his ‘encouragement’ was closer on the side of egging and he already applauded Mikey for riding on the new terrain with the ease he did. 

Point being, he was here for big talk, not follow through. The excuse could conveniently allow him to leave out the way fast turns and high jumps had him shaking from a lot worse than anticipation.

In any case, he was certainly finding some enjoyment standing in the muggy outdoors and watching his little brother try his hand at speeding up again.

Mikey began riding up the sides with the confidence Donnie expected, little stones rattling under his wheels.

“You think I can master this before it gets snowy?”

Donnie is taken aback. The air is sultry and oppressive, bringing with it an uncomfortably, summertime heat. It makes his head swim, limbs sluggish on his body. In the moment, he doesn’t believe he could outrun anything better than he could in a dream, the push of too slow legs and ground that never moves far enough past you.

Except, he’s uncomfortably worried the monster is fainting and not the disfigured silhouette of a feasting, morphing Meat Sweats.

He stuffs that in the recesses of his brain, the bits that never see the light of conversation, and responds to Mikey. “ Scoff . How are you even thinking of winter in this weather?” He gestures out to the sides, nearly hitting Mikey as the box turtle zips past.

“Well, it was a little chilly a few days ago, wasn’t it?”

“It’s barely fall, Michael.”

“Barely fall is still fall!”

Donnie shakes his head slowly, arms crossing. “When do you think fall begins?”

He’s starting to think ignoring the sensations wasn’t the smartest choice to make, and squares his stance to keep it a bit wider. Totally not because he’s paranoid and feels like he might keel over.

“It already has?” Mikey pivots to draw skate circles around Donnie.

It’s a strange experience, listening to his voice come from every different direction as he speaks.

“Oh!” Mikey snaps a finger before Donnie can respond. “Is it groundhogs day?”

Donnie fights the urge to snatch his brother off his board and spin him around. He refrains, both due to humidity and other circumstances he’s genuinely tired of having to even think about.

“Groundhogs day is when they lift an animal up and ask it whether winter is going to go on for an extra six weeks.” He corrects. “Autumn starts in September, here.”

“Raph said it started in October.” He thinks Mikey shoots him a grin from where he’s circling.

“Hence why we’ve been calling it summer.”

“Cowablam.”

Donnie has nothing to add to that, but it does tug a smile up from his beak.

On another note, he’s really thinking he’s going to have to sit down soon. Maybe, if he was lucky enough to be smooth and inconspicuous about it, he could excuse himself inside to fetch them hot weather refreshments.

There was nothing some good laying on the floor couldn’t fix. He lived by that.

A sharp trill interrupted his thoughts, and Mikey skipped a beat, hopping off the skateboard with a skip and stumble. Luckily there was nowhere for the sticker loaded thing to go and it soon rocked to a stop at the bottom of the ditch.

“Relax, it might just be spam.” He fishes out the ringing phone from where Mikey had asked him to keep it, tucked away in his shorts pocket.

“I thought you blocked spam from all our phones?”

“I blocked most spam but that doesn’t entirely stop random numbers from accidentally calling us.”

Mikey makes a curious noise and takes the device from him, forehead furrowed. By the time it’s in his hands and unlocked, the ringing has ended.

“Barry called.” He states, thumb swiping up on his screen. “Oh he’s texting!”

Donnie raises an expertly drawn brow, waiting. He wasn’t above being curious about the sheep man’s reason for calling, though simple scheduling or a morally dodgy question on the daily New York life he had to lead were at the top of his list.

“He says to have Leo call him?”

Donnie is half tempted to ask for the phone, to call Draxum back himself, but in the case he was wrong about the topic at hand, he’d rather not butt in all paranoid like.

“Best go take it to him then. Chances are he fell asleep on his phone again and the thing died.” He adds a bit of flair. “I can upgrade his batteries to the end of the world and back but I can’t stop pure determination to drain it dead.” He flourished a too slow hand, still unnaturally sluggish.

“Do you want to come along?”

Donnie shakes his head.

Mikey shoots him a thumbs up and starts down the tunnel into their home, phone still in hand.

“Michael, your board!”

“Grab it for me, D!” Mikey shouted back, a slight echo through the smaller space.

He might as well, considering he didn’t want to spend any more time on the surface anyway.

Turning around, he ambles over to the board and clenches his jaw hard as he bends over to pick it up. He’s got no proof it does anything, but he was right to anticipate the vicious head rush that has his skull aching with a pressure he can’t quite pin. Something along the lines of holding your breath too long. He only ever had the patience to do that once as a child.

With the board in his grasp, he walks over to the back entrance to the lair, ducking through the small semi circle into sewers.

The path was dry and easy, long as it was winding but overall no issue like the previous lair had been (and he’d still trade a lot to have his old home back).

As he nears the lair, following the sidelines of a sewer stream, he can feel the air grow crisper, the dark of the tunnel taking the sun off his skin and the ventilation ac system bringing an easier temperature to be in.

The main system cooled the entryway rooms best, and Donnie swore he felt it strongest in the one he was entering, swinging the thick-barred, circular door shut behind him when he crawled through. It had been wide open when he got in, likely, if not certainly, a product of Mikey’s sprint over.

Donnie strolled through the living room, ignoring the faint voices from the kitchen to the best of his abilities, to reach his little brother’s subway car, tossing the skateboard against the outer wall of it. Carefully, of course.

He’s not sure he quite succeeded when it clanked loudly, the wheels spinning round and round again.

The ac unit huh?

He should probably add an HVAC zone system. They would all miss it dearly when winter rolled around again, especially Mikey, who found himself sleepy and more or less lacking the proper energy to fulfill his creative urges if he sat in the cold for over twenty four hours.

Clearly, Donnie couldn’t allow that.

The main heating worked great, but it was more localized to one area with manual vents, and not properly controllable from separate rooms, which would both allow him to control their power usage much more closely as well as assure that nowhere got uncomfortable in the more unstable months.

The obvious choices would be to start with replacing the filter on the current unit and to replace the vents in each of the rooms. He’d salvaged enough to have quality, working ventilation in every area of the lair, if he took a couple inventive liberties on the way.

Hah! When was the last time he didn’t take inventive liberties? Never, was the obvious answer.

He would start with the vents. They were most desperate for a good remodel. Remake, even, said the vent replacement parts piled by the closet.

He went to collect them, reaching down to pick them up, before he then made the quick decision to lay down on the floor, shell cover to the ground and plastron up.

It made his head do uncomfortable flops and spins for a moment and he was pretty sure it was something like being on a rickety sea ship, but he enjoyed the relief all the same, and stayed that way for however long he had the opportunity.

He was ever so fortunate his arms could reach the closet door, swinging it open and using a broom handle knock down a pair of gloves from a shelf. Maybe he knocked down two and a half pairs, but no one had to know about that.

Donatello only finds this works for so long, as now he has gloves and replacement parts, but no toolbox. Even if he did, he’s never heard of anyone getting a lot of home improvement done from the floor, even if it is cool and refreshing.

Rising, albeit reluctantly, he picks up the extra gloves that were never meant to leave the shelf and piles them back up, keeping only his pair, made from a thick fabric and a dark recognizable purple. It would be a crime to go off brand.

He puts them on, pleased as always when they fit snug and comfortable. He’d had to alter all of their gloves himself, for obvious reasons. No one made gloves for three fingered mutant turtles outside of the hidden city, and even then he didn’t want to have to pay for custom made.

On the plus side it really awakened his love for cloth crafts at the age he made his first pair. The dream to make not only a tech brand, but an apparel one, in the future of course. He already had the name and trademark, and Casey Jr. had the proof of his success.

Dreams for a day where they had a better heating system.

Donnie peeked into his lab and scooped up the transportable tool box by the door.

Ideally, that day would be very soon.

Next, he dragged over a stool, the one with multiple steps and the rail on the side. Sue him, he still wasn’t entirely sure light headedness wasn’t out to get him. He pushed the thing by the first vent, edge up against the wall.

Climbing the steps up to the makeshift living room archway was nerve wracking, which was absurd because he is a ninja, for supreme sake!

He could do a backflip. Normally. Not being able to a backflip right then was pushing him towards the mental slide into the pit of despair. He wasn’t ready to go down that yet.

Donatello got to work, collecting a screwdriver from his beautifully organized toolbox, and getting to removing the vent cover from the wall.

Whether there was anything actually risky to be feeling up in a subway station wall, he was thankful to have the gloves, if just to protect him from the dust wiping off on them.

It made it feel uninhabited in a way he thought he long got over. In the way that it was never as warm and orange, and the ceilings were never as high, and it didn’t have proper levels, much less the same number of them.

Every time he took Mikey’s, or surprisingly, often now Raph’s advice, and just grieved whatever came along, he always found something new. Infuriating, honestly.

Honestly, he just didn’t know how to grieve.

Now where was he? Oh yea.

He grabbed one of his new vents and screwed it onto the now open hole in the wall. The look up made his head go all funny feeling, per usual but with less to really hang onto. Maybe because he didn’t try to decipher what it felt like. He didn’t want to think about it.

He liked being busy.

On another note, like a whole new mental tab, he’d installed a remote connection system to the high tech vent replacements, but he actually needed to decide how he was going to set it up.

He could have a remote, but they’d all be dead by winter if he trusted his brothers to control the heat and cooling with something small and prone to be found in couch cushion cracks.

A single panel system was a strong possibility, but he could do better.

Maybe light switches, but for heat and cooling. There was always the issue of leaving lights on or off but it was better than overdoing it and putting an entire panel in every room.

It didn’t exactly surprise Donatello, but he wasn’t expecting it when Leo suddenly appeared behind him, the only alert he was approaching being the soft footsteps, nearly drowned out by the active background noise cancelling in Donnie’s headgear.

He turned it off. It was grating his brain in a weird way now anyways.

Donnie turned, setting down all his tools as such to give Leo his attention. He didn’t always do such, but apparently he was wrong before in deciding he didn’t know what this was about.

Not to sound too cocky, but he had a clue.

It didn’t help that Leo sort of looked like he was trying to cheer up a kicked puppy or something. Jesus, Donnie had little grip on expressions but this was just pitiful.

He slips off his thick gloves, setting them down on the closest flat surface, and takes the few steps down to floor level.

“Lee.” Saying the first thing felt weird. He hadn’t been the one waiting, after all.

“You sure are busy.”

“Just installing a new system for the lair.”

Leo nods, or it’s more of a head bob, back and forth. The slider even rocks back on his heels. Back and forth, back and forth, back and forth- “You sure you’re good up on the stool thing and all?” Leo almost cringes as he asks.

Deadpan, Donnie jabs at his own plastron. “Ninja.” He raised his sharpie black brows, as if to say ‘remember?’

“Mikey just told me you were lookin’ a lil funky outside, yknow?”

Donnie offers a vague hum, somewhere along the lines of ‘uhmhm’. Admittedly, he was irritated his little brother had noticed.

“You called Draxum.” It’s as if saying the words made it true, even before confirmation, and Donnie’s lungs are suddenly tight, coiled up in his chest.

It was uncalled for.

Leo laughs. “You’re the goat for guessing that first try.”

Donnie could puke.

He can see Leo squirming where he stands, still rocking on his heels and shoving his hands against his legs like he might find pockets in his skin.

Donnie, through seventeen years with his family, still doesn’t know exactly how to hug his brother, so he shuffles a little forward and opens his arms low at his sides, palms out but fingers curled in.

Leo comes forward a lot faster, arms going up to wrap around Donnie’s neck, and head making it for the crook of his shoulder.

It throws Donnie off balance for a moment, and he has to shoot a leg back so he doesn’t teeter.

He feels Leo try to correct, to move his arms under Donnie’s instead of leaning on him, but the softshell quickly shuts that down, shoving his own arms under Leo’s to wrap around his shell and hold him close.

Leo is holding onto him tightly now and Donnie is holding back, fingers gripping the fabric of his twins tank top.

“Draxum was right. The sheepy bastard was right.” Leo’s muzzle is raised up, just enough that he can talk without being muffled. “Your body is like- killing itself and shit. He was right on both fronts actually, it’s both reliant on the Krang and being broken down by it or something.” A sniffle. “Draxum uses a lot of words I’ve never even seen in a medical textbook.”

Donnie processes the information. Or, at least, he thinks he does. “Did he say anything more useful.”

“He’s trying to get a cure in motion. He didn’t sound very positive about it, like he seems to think he can make it but not that it’ll be a miracle cure yknow? Like chemo or something. Really sucky to take.”

“Is it a pill.”

“I think he’s more of a liquids guy.”

“I was thinking gas was more his style.”

Donnie, as absurd as it is, is honest to god fantasizing for a moment. All these ideas in his head, mental images of growing up alongside Leo, all the way till adulthood. He imagined them as brilliant, hulking mutants, easily as tap as Draxum, reaching the ceiling with a bent arm and hardly fitting on their bar stool seats. It’s weird to think there’s even a possibility that future could be taken away. He thinks that, as if they don’t do deadly things weekly, whether it be seeing if mutants are immune to tide pods or battling aliens.

“Dying would suck, I’ve heard. ” Wow Donatello, real good one. Way to not make this awful.

Someone has got to install grammerly in his head for tone correction.

“Yea. You’d miss all my killer puns.”

“Don’t joke around, Leo.” He starts, because he was gifted this chance to recover so gracefully, “this is clearly a grave situation.”

There’s silence and then Leo bursts into giggles that almost sound wet, shoulders hiking with trembles, and a hand leaves Donnie’s back, no longer resting on his foam shell and presumably shoved against Leo’s own face. “I’m just trying to lift our Hamato Spirits.” He says once he can speak through laughs.

Donnie pats his back with a good laugh of his own and Leo pulls back, looking at him with that soppy, stupid face he has when he actually gets Donnie to kid around with him or laugh at his jokes.

They sort of just stare for a moment, a rare bit of extended eye contact for Donnie, but just this once it’s ok. Just this once, because the way Leo is looking at him is heart melting. Because as much as he doesn’t know how to identify or approach feelings, he’s sometimes hit with the clearest, most intense understanding that he loves his family. God, he loves them so much. Evident, considering he’d jump off a cliff to save them.

He still doesn’t want them involved with this whole situation though. Not to some degree. Feelings are hard.

He breaks the moment. “Who else knows about the phone call?”

Leo’s look turns sheepish fast .

“The guy of the hour was the last to know, huh.” Donnie is unimpressed.

A guilty shrug is all he gets in return.

“On that note, I think it’s best if I finish replacing the vents.”

“You sure you’re good?”

“Are you asking physically or emotionally.”

“Either, both, but I was thinking more emotionally when I asked.”

“In that case I’m doing fine. I’ll think about this or whatever more later. I guess let me know if you need to talk more about it or something?” He tried a bit of open communication or something at the end. Whatever it was called.

“Nah, join us for dinner though. No work at din din.”

Donnie decides the words ‘din din’ are a good place to wave his obnoxious twin off and get back to his work.

- - -

When Donnie sat down for dinner in the kitchen, the room went silent.

In all honesty, he considered it might be a little overdramatic considering most illnesses were deadly if not treated. He decided to say something along those lines. Inspired by the thought at least. “Next time Mikey gets a cold, which can in-fact be deadly if untreated, why don’t we all boggle at him.” He holds up his hands to his eyes for emphasis, miming a shape similar to his goggles.

Raph clears his throat. “This is a little different.” He starts.

He doesn’t get to finish though because Leo holds up a hand, as if they didn’t have a subjectively nice moment hours ago, and says, “Yea, you’d know wouldn’t you Donnie? According to Raph and pops you’re actually infamous for going all recluse with a cough until you’ve got pneumonia or some shit.” He waves the other arm out, putting the previous one down.

Donnie made a mental note to talk to Raph later. He despised emotional conversations and hated conflict, but it was worse thinking Raph was just mad at him or something without him knowing. Not necessarily even about the illness thing, but all the rule breaking for one. Going to Draxum’s lab being a big possible issue.

Mikey stumbles over, interrupting the train of thought. He’s got two plates balanced on each arm and he’s teetering with silverware between this teeth.

Raph reaches out to help, making a loud tutting as he helps Mikey distribute the plates. 

The meal consists of over garlic-ed bread sticks that drip gooey cheese from the center when Raph cracks one in half, and a plate of rice and stir fry.

Donnie’s is filled with veggies and smooth sauce he’d normally stomach just fine, but the smell makes him want to grind it in the sink’s garbage disposal.

“Leo made the sticks and your amazing chef Michael made the stir fry.” Mikey takes a deep bow, and with food already shoved in his mouth, while sitting, Leo tries to do the same. No one is surprised when he nearly drops his fork.

Donnie grabs a clean napkin from where they’re crumpled and piled around, and wipes off his utensil. He didn’t want saliva all over his hand.

It also gave him time to waste while everyone else dug in.

Leo is on the small end of the kitchen island, while Raph is on the large end and in the kitchen himself. It leaves Donnie and Mikey on the other large end, shells to the rest of the room.

It’s not ideal, and it doesn’t put Donnie in a spot he can easily avoid being seen.

With that in mind, he opts to ignore the breadstick entirely. The wafting smell of cheddar from Raph’s long devoured one is still fresh in his nose and he despises it.

His throat feels tight, jaws locked in his avoidance. He picks up the fork anyway and scoops up a bite.

The sauce, something he formerly found delightful, was disgusting, and swallowing it took more effort than he could stand.

His throat bobbed as he looked down at the rest of the bowl. He took quick, intentional breaths that were too hard to be considered calm, but subtle enough that Mikey wouldn’t hear. To try and keep himself calm .

He looked up to see Raph staring, the famous Raph-chasm furrowed.

“Hey,” Mikey taps Donnie on the shoulder. “What if we cooked together one day?”

Donnie bites back an obnoxious, frustrated sigh, and pushes back from the table, rising with pressure flooding away from his head this time, leaving it light, as if he hadn’t just been sitting and had been upside down or something instead. “Sure, Mike.”

With that, he doesn’t bother to comment on his leaving and instead just does it.

Marching away, he wills the black spots from his eyes and steps off into the other room, hearing chatter rise behind him.

Good. Maybe they’d relax a bit now.

He heads to his cart. It’s getting late anyway.

- - -

Donnie melts on the bed. It’s six o clock and he’s tired. He’s so very tired but there’s a part of him that knows it may never end.

He is a man of science, and secondly, reluctantly still, a mutant of mystic. He believes there is always a fix.

Sometimes the back of his head is a realist, even though he has never been confined to achieving the realistic. That part of him knows there is not always a fix soon enough or good enough. Not always a patch that can cover the wound.

Leo would suggest he dismiss the thoughts. Mikey would suggest he address the thoughts in a healthy way, whatever that means. Raph would try to soothe the thoughts, or deny them in his own way. Donnie sits on thoughts. He broods and waits for a better plan to hatch. 

Donatello Hamato has never once given up on something so serious, and he still isn’t. He is instead forced to come to terms with the idea that nothing is happening. Not now. Not like this.

And now? Now, what matters is that he is tired, so very tired, and he is one with his comforter, and one with his pillow, but strangely unaccepted by his body.

His stomach growls, a raw, nauseous complaint of its hunger. It hurts and he does not mind it. For as clearly hungry as he must be, as hungry as he does not feel, he cannot bring himself to think of anything he could stand to choke down.

Regardless, there was something sure about the pit in his stomach, something that hollowed him out and promised him that the aches in his joints from laying in the same position atop his bed would be worth it. Not because he would benefit, but because he did not have the energy to do anything else.

There’s a noise outside the door.

Donnie is tired, still so tired, but it is eight o four pm and he’s supposed to be able to pull all nighters with ease. He can only hope it’s not Mikey with an attempt at luring him out to the kitchen. He loathes the idea of dragging his lethargic limbs off of this bed.

“D?”

Oh gods it was April.

He hadn’t realized how much he was, at the end of his rope, to put it, until she came in. Until it hit him that he’d have to deal with the aftermath of his poor explanation on the phone and whatever emotional downfall came with todays news.

The news he is sure she was not spared before, nor after she arrived.

He couldn’t do it.

Donnie curled his limbs in, mourning the way it dragged his dead-tired body from where it had tried to merge with his blankets, a deep imprint in his mind that traced out the touch, the sensation, the warmth that gripped his limbs and lingered.

His arms were draped over his head in a crossed, protective manner, elbows atop the slits of his ears.

He could feel his heart beat speed up, a sickening, noisy thump in his chest, like it was beating his plastron and fighting up his throat. It made him feel out of breath, expectedly.

He feels the bed dip, just enough that she’s clearly touching it but not quite sitting on it. “Came in here to give you a hard time about leaving me outta the loop so much, but to be honest you kinda look like you’re already having a shit time. A birdie told me it gets like that in the evenings for you.”

“I’m fine.” He forces himself to stretch out, laying on his plastron with his arms up around his pillow.

“So you’re good for company?”

“Not really.”

“Tough.” She’s properly sat on his bed now. “Self isolation is fun and all but you’re gonna take a bit of big sister slash best friend love after the last two days.”

He glances back. “Is it really love if you’re berating me the whole time?”

“That’s part of the love.”

He groans.

She tugs at the foam battle shell on his back. “Woah, what’s this?”

“I was banned from-“ he waves an arm at one of his battle shells, still left in his room. He didn’t feel like taking all of them to his lab. It felt safer like this.

“Neato. It cool if I take it off?” She waves something in the corner of his eye. “Got a happy shell cleaning sponge.”

When he turned further to look, it really did have a smiley face.

He plops his head back down on the pillow. He’s really not sure he has a brain power for silly topics and kidding around tonight.

“Go ahead.”

April gently removes the foam shell, tossing it beside his bed. It hits the floor with a soft thump and he imagines it tries to roll.

“Let me know if you start to get like- brain funky weird, k?” She starts dragging the sponge over his soft shell, brushing away any shed or leftover foam debris that weren’t quite freed from the shell until worn.

He takes a long breath, relaxing under the attention.

Wait, hadn’t April been grounded? Forced to stay home? Hovered over after the invasion and whole saving the world event?

“I thought you were grounded?” Donnie taps a finger on his pillow.

“This was important.”

“Not really.”

She didn’t stop her soft scrubbing, but he could feel her eyes on his back, and not in the friendly sort of way. Or maybe he was making it up because he knew she wouldn’t be fond of his comment. Something you only really realize after it’s all said and done.

“Excuse me? You’re telling me you’re doing just great after yesterdays whole shebang and being told that you need to get a cure to an illness that has never previously existed or you die? Taking that all great are you?” She is snappish and obviously sarcastic.

“Mhm.” He grumbles into his pillow.

“Then what’s all this.”

He assumed she gestured at him, but he’s also a little busy trying not to cry. Not because he’s sad, but because he’s an overstimulated, exhausted turtle, being emotionally confronted.

“Stop.” He requests, oh so quickly.

“The shell cleaning or talking about all this?”

He reaches around to bat the sponge and by extension, her hand, off of his shell.

She sighs, tossing the sponge who-knows-where. “Ice chips?”

He doesn’t want her to go get ice chips, like he can’t do it himself. He can do it himself.

Donatello drags his arms under him, pushing his far too heavy body up and swinging his legs off the bed. “I’ll do it.” He needed to be alone for a minute. Come and go on his terms. 

He pushes off the bed and just stands. He’d moved too fast, gotten up before giving himself time to adjust.

“Donnie? You-“

He holds up a finger, taking a slow breath in to try and combat the discomfort.

After a moment, he decides to go, without another word. After having to pause getting up he accepted there was no way to come back from embarrassment.

He leaves with limbs like lead and tears threatening his eyes if he doesn’t get space. Space away from sound and sight and touch.

After heading to the empty kitchen, he grabs a short cup and fills it halfway with ice cubes, straight from their molds in the fridge, twisting and turning the rubber until the ice falls out with a crackle.

He plops one in his mouth and just stands there for a minute to breathe. His head is heavy on his neck.

He just needed to not cry. Easy. He wasn’t a crying kind of guy. Usually. He just needed to explain to himself that, no, April is not a problem. No, he’s not going to be taken out by some random illness that’s entirely curable.

It does scare him, how bad it gets. How fast it gets bad. Nothing’s really an emergency until it puts you in a hospital bed though. At least that’s what he likes to say.

He’s not sure whether Leo would be all on board with that, or horrified Donnie would dare think such a thing.

It was so fifty fifty with his family sometimes.

He rubbed a hand down his face, crunching the cube and plopping the cup back to catch another.

Game face.

Donnie reluctantly trudges back. He misses the comfort of his bed, but the cool air of the lair helped, even if it was mustier than the night sky. Can’t have everything in life.

Reentering the room isn’t as jarring as he thought it’d be, brushing aside the curtain and being met by April, who was still sat on his bed.

He waved.

She beckons him over, from where he’s stopped in the doorway.

“Don’t worry. I’ll bust your balls about this whole sick thing another day.” She offers him a smile.

“How eloquently stated.” He joins her on the bed, flopping backwards with the cup safely lowered by his side.

She leans over him.

“I am beside myself for that cure.”

“Did you install something in your contact lenses to scroll through a thesaurus because that was a weird ass way to tell me you’re excited.”

He snorts. His nerves have far lessened, though his heart still feels unsteady as his breathing. “I don’t have my contacts in.”

“You’re not denying the thesaurus.”

“I like the idea.”

She flicks his forehead, laughing at his wince.

Cruel, truly.

“You wanna watch nature survival shows? Bear Grylls or that lady that plays survival games or something?”

He scoots up the bed, head cushioned on the wall of pillows and soft objects Raph gifted him over the years, like a cushion between him and the wall. A throne, even. “Low volume.” He agrees, with the stipulation.

She throws a thumbs up and leans over to grab the laptop where it is, at the end of the bed, dragging it over with her as she scoots up next to him.

She doesn’t request any more contact than that and lets him choose when or whether he initiates, setting up her choice of the survival lady that plays survival video games. Donnie can never remember what she’s called, but they end up with a playlist that consists of green hell, sons of the forest, and a few other games he doesn’t recognize from the thumbnails.

They keep it on low volume. It’s nice.

Donnie takes another ice cube before placing it beside the bed and scooping April up, his skin itching for contact.

She grins hard enough for the corners of her mouth to crinkle excessively and sprawls half on top of him, head above his plastron, cozied between his chest and shoulder.

She properly cherished any cuddling from him, and at times, so did he.

Surprisingly, as they lay there and the clock ticked on, she was the first to fall asleep, the playlist inching towards its end.

Donnie was tired and he was processing. His head tumbled around the events like a washing machine. He was tired of it, to be honest. He didn’t even think it was getting him anywhere.

Like seeing a really impactful piece of media and feeling like you’re thinking over it really hard but turning up with… nothing. Nothing to show for this theoretical revelation.

Maybe it was emotional? He wouldn’t know.

The softshell dimmed the laptop and slid down his pillow built headrest, aiming to be a bit more horizontal with the mattress.

April was dead weight in his arms and he took her with him. She didn’t wake, back rising and falling in sleepy snores.

The dim light and steady beat of backround music, overlayed with the chatter that began to grow senseless to his ears as he melted into the bed, well, it was pretty nice.

Chapter Text

Donatello Hamato, is readied on one of the few weapon stations installed around the turtle tank, and he is lethally efficient on the controls (or, he would be, if he were allowed to use that level of force), gripping the handlebar beside the controls, a real battleshell on his back, weighing him down. It’s uncomfortable and slipping around his shoulders like it never has before, but he’s too caught in the exhilaration of the situation to care, vehicle peeling around turns as they gain on a very effective robber that made out with Señor Hueso’s register cash.

Donnie may live for these missions, but this one was rocking him around, even with the metal claws of the spider shell attached to every bar and grip they could reach. He’s jolted forward, heart hammering and arms like jelly as he prays he can hold on through every vicious turn Raph takes. The snapper is an excellent chase driver, as is Leo, and Donnie himself, but nonetheless it’s grinding the line of his limit.

The inside of the vehicle is broad and yet he feels smothered by the air inside. Every loud shout grinds in his head like rusty, jagged gears that screech for the sweet touch of sandpaper. His head is tight, aching, and he can no longer say he’s positive he won’t puke. Not with his throat so tight and gripped with an indescribable sensation he’s grown disgustingly familiar with.

If only that made it any more tolerable.

And well, maybe he spoke on how horrible it was too soon, because it was only the worst thing he could imagine happening when the vehicle stopped, hard and fast in its tracks.

Mikey shoots from the vehicle quicker than Donnie can imagine should even be possible, tearing open the lower door with his mystic chains.

Raph is quick to follow, fists alight with mystic energy, and Donnie hears Leo call out after them, presumably following down the hatch.

The trap door is left open.

Donnie, on the other hand, has had his stomach jostled around his innards and is almost entirely convinced it has become one with his esophagus, bile rolling up and down the pictured tube.

He’s on the ground now, arm sliding from the controls as he’s put to his knees with the misery of it.

He feels every inch of his mouth and throat, the way his tongue sits and teeth press against the edges of it. The way he knows exactly where his throat would touch if he gagged and the sensation it would bring to his lower jaws.

It’s not, he knows it’s not, but the turtle tank feels suffocatingly small, like there isn’t enough air to breathe, not enough room to exist.

“Donnie?” Raph’s voice comes through comms. “If you’re still in the tank, can ya see if there’s, like, temporary cuffs for takin’ this guy back to Hueso’s, so he can get picked up by the hidden city po po?”

Donnie covers his mouth with a hand, hunched over where he kneels.

“Donnie?!” Raph’s voice takes on a hyper note, and the audio is intense in the way that suggests his beak is far too close to the actual mic the it has any reason to be.

He can faintly hear Leo asking Raph to secure the bad guy in the backround, and assuring him he’s got it covered, before the comms go quiet.

The period of silence feels long to the ill.

Soon enough, Donnie hears someone climbing up into the tank and looks over to see Leo’s face, scanning around until his sights land on the crouched softshell.

“You good, man?” Leo crawls all the way in, taking a few steps towards Donnie. “Feelin’ pukey or something?”

Donnie fights the urge to slam his hands over his ears. “Do not say that and do not touch me.” He orders snappishly. He’s trying to take slow, deeper breaths at the same time.

Leo stops in his tracks, making it clear he won’t get any closer. “Ok, ok, would talking about someone like Atomic Lass help?”

Donnie thinks, but the voices grate his brain, even his own. He’s entirely ready to strangle his own internal monologue if that’s what it takes.

“No,” he answers. “Silence right now.” His chest rises and falls as he takes a slow breath, willing himself just the plain belief that he won’t throw up.

“Would going outside help?”

Donnie nods this time, forcing himself up with floppy, adrenaline shot limbs, following his twin out the actual side door, as opposed to the trapdoor one.

He’s taking two risky steps down at a time in his rush. The idea of being free of tank is too good to properly concern about the likelihood of him eating the ground with his face, especially with the weight of the battleshell pushing him forward.

The chilled weather elicits real, deep breaths from the turtle, and when they’re down on the rough concrete, he practically melts against the chilled metal of the tank, pressing himself to the back of it and drinking in the sweet fall air like he’s been starved of it.

The New York buildings seem lower in the later months of fall, like they’re close enough for anyone to touch. Orange leaves dance purple in the night, flying from wherever trees get a grip on the rare spots of soil, only to end up crushed beneath the roll of wheels on the road, crunchy with the early frost.

It makes him shiver, but great Galileo, it feels good to be out here.

The uncomfortable, hyper aware feelings still linger, but he’s remarkably less nauseous.

Leo taps his shoulders with the cap of a bottle of water he got from who knows where.

It wasn’t Donnie’s business to ask, but additionally he really just didn’t give a rats ass how or where it came from. He’d already had the revelation that Leo could pull things out of nowhere like he was Mickey Mouse.

He snatches up the bottle, checking for anything that would give him a reason to be suspicious of it, before he promptly snaps off the lid with his teeth and chugs a few desperate gulps.

Leo’s gaze is lingering on his arms.

Donnie lowers the bottle.

“You been eating?”

Donnie looks around, eyes following old muddy prints on the sidewalk. He has eaten. Not a lot. Not enough.

“You’ve lost weight… muscle too.” Leo points out.

Donnie opts to not respond. He has nothing to say.

- - -

To his own surprise, Donnie is truly hungry one evening. Not just at the whims of his body’s request and slicing hunger pains, but actually craving food.

It is well past dinner time and Mikey is ecstatic about this. So much so, he’s chattering about it to Donnie as he takes each ingredient he can think of off their shelves and out of their cabinets. Even drawers aren’t safe, much less the fridge, ripe with options and possibilities.

“We could do anything at all! Don’t have it? We can get it! Options are endless! Cooking shows are forever!” Mikey flourishes a spatula, a ladle, and an oversized spork all at once, poses in his Kondescending Kitchen apron, and why it’s spelled with a K, Donnie has no clue. He assumes for trademarking purposes, but even that just makes Ruppert Swaggart seem uneducated in his opportunities.

He enjoys the enthusiasm though.

“Ok so, we thinking of making a pasta? A bake? Maybe some kind of sandwich variation?”

Donatello’s expression pinches. “Something easier, please.”

“Like texture wise or we speaking flavor?”

“If I’m being honest? Both.”

“Sooooo, super lumpy bake with thick chunky red sauce, sweet sweet bell peppers, rich cheddar, plus goat cheese, and zucchini in shreds?” Mikey giggled hard at the end of his description.

“I do not think I could physically express this enough but, gag! ” He waves a finger at his mouth. “I would never accept that repulsive goop, you creature of culinary cruelty!”

Mikey is nearly laughing so hard he can’t put the unwanted ingredients away. Almost. He’s a true master of the kitchen, of course, and gets it done even as he’s left gasping.

Donnie puffs his chest a bit, proud to see he really kept that well earned title of funniest brother.

“Soup or crepes?” Mikey offers this time.

Donnie considers the offer. “Let’s start with soup. Of course, I wouldn’t mind trying the crepe idea too, on another day.” He offers a smile.

Mikey nods. He had a parody of a very serious expression on his face, scrunched up to an extreme.

“Soup it is! Is it cool to put pasta in it today?”

Donnie thinks on this for a moment, before nodding.

“Alright, for veggies, only soft stuff I’d assume, but not gooey gross.” He wiggles his fingers, and Donnie notes the action as one of his own. “Maybe some cauliflower and peas?”

He shakes his head, hands curling up infront of him to hold the classic rex pose. “No peas.”

“I guess corn is off then.”

“If peas are, then corn isn’t even welcome in the conversation.”

“Spinach?”

“What kind?”

“Leaves. I could also blend a little in the soup?”

Donnie nods. He can accept that.

“Would potato be ok too?”

“A small amount.” Donnie stresses.

He observes as Mikey sets out the veggies and shimmies over to the cabinet collection to look for a soup base. “We have beef broth, chicken broth, some fish broth, more like soup honestly, and some veggie broth. Also more like soup.“ Mikey flips through the containers, picking each one up to scrutinize with a flattering amount of care.

“Fish.” Donnie lands on. An aquatic turtle through and through, plus from what he can remember, it’s not painfully fishy. A shocking thing to say about something mixed up with sea life.

Mikey pours the broth in a pot whilst Donnie sets off to put all the extra containers and such where they go.

He was still feeling a bit off that day, even if it was a relatively good one for him, but it did mean he was moving less avidly than he’d care to admit.

Overall though, he couldn’t say he wasn’t getting a good kick out of the cooking experience.

They work like that in relative silence for a while. It’s easy, and it’s hard. He forced to stand in that general feeling of crap, and his head spins if he tries to twirl around in any dramatic flourish. But being with Mikey is good. Particularly, watching him work in his element with all his energetic stated ‘razzmatazz’.

Soon enough, the soup is ready and set, Donnie ladling a hefty scoop into a bowl with Mikey eagerly watching.

The rim of the bowl meets Donnie’s beak and when he tips it back, hot soup floods his mouth.

It’s good. It’s actually good. He can stomach the salty broth as it rolls down his throat and enjoy the heat, scalding his tongue, a consequence of his stubborn refusal to blow on it first.

“It’s good, Mikey. Like honestly, from the depths of all good things I have to say, it’s truly phenomenal.”

Mikey pumps a victorious fist, knees bouncing him up and down.

“Maybe next time I’ll make stock too, if you’re up to trying it. Add some extra spinach to it. See if you like the thicker texture.”

Donnie takes another sip. “I’d love to try it.”

They stand in silence for the next couple of minutes, Mikey cleaning up the dishes from the dinner previous to their little cooking session, one of the many Donnie didn’t attend, and the softshell enjoys his meal, drinking the soup faster than he’d eaten anything in over, what was it now? Over two months maybe?

He’d been avoiding calendars while he finished their HVAC system. The impending dates of the winter months didn’t help his focus.

On the plus side, he’d finally finished it, the kitchen comfortably warmed while his lab and any other unused rooms remained a mild temperature or on the chilly side.

Donnie takes another gracious sip of soup. His stomach begs for more.

Something else bites at his mind.

Mikey, Raph and Leo all finished dinner but an hour ago. Mikey really shouldn’t have even been cooking this late. Not for a brother that had rejected nearly every single one of his recent meals.

“I’m sorry.” He says quickly. In hindsight, it really looks like it came out of nowhere.

“Hm?” Mikey spins around from what he’s doing, mask scrunched with concern. “Do you not like it anymore? It’s ok if you don’t, really.”

Donnie shakes his head, banishing the idea. “No no, it’s good, I swear Leo’s action figures on it.”

He sees Mikey visibly relax.

“I mean, I apologize for being somewhat of a problem.”

They just stare at each other for a heartbeat, thick, uncomfortable quiet stretching across the length of the kitchen, before Mikey’s expression morphs into something Donnie can only guess to be scrutinizing.

“Who told you that?” Mikey points accusingly.

“What?” Donnie is taken aback, head snapped up.

“Who told you you were being a problem? For me or anyone.”

Was he kidding? “No one. I just took into ac-“

“Bup-bup-bup.” Mikey silences, waggling his finger now. “Stop that stupid brain stuff then.”

Donnie wishes he could cross his arms over his chest. He settles for gripping his bowl harder instead.

Mikey moves across the kitchen and opens a cabinet, digging through it until he comes up with a box of ritz crackers. The entire time he has a finger up, indicating that Donnie should remain silent.

Scoff .

Mikey marches over and sets the box down on the counter beside them. “They go good with soup.” He takes out a sleeve and offers it up.

He is smiling.

What in the acts of service was going on?

Donatello Hamato cannot imagine how they can stand this, any more than he can. How they can stand his refusal to eat their food, play their games, dance.

He imagines it would be some kind of metaphor to say he ‘dreams of a cure every night now’, because in truth, all of his dreams start and end in the gooey pink vines of the Krang mothership.

Mikey places the sleeve beside him, opting to free one of Donnie’s hands and simply place a cracker in his palm.

He pops it in his mouth. Mikey was right. It is good with soup.

Mikey looks to the clock and Donnie follows his gaze. 9 pm.

“Patrol time?” Donnie asks.

The box turtle won’t look at him. “Yea.” He sounds guilty. “I can stay here if you want to do the cool techy stuff together?…”

After the last incident, Donnie was removed from tank duty entirely. He and Leo had argued for over an hour about it until Raph stepped in and added his take, not only as the former leader, but as their big brother. The decision was made to remove Donnie from the field entirely.

Donnie gulps down the last of his soup and takes the dish to the sink, twisting the handle to soak the bowl.

Water washes the remnants of the delectable meal away, down the drain, and Donnie soaps up a sponge to hand wash it.

Behind him comes the tap tap of more footsteps.

Donnie had no doubt in his mind who they were, so certainly no incentive to turn around and face them.

“We’ll check in often.” Raph’s voice comes from far closer to him than he had expected, the snapper sounding only a few paces behind him, if even that. “Ya got ice?”

Oh well, Donnie thinks they’ve been over this enough times now that they could just trust him on his own. He was still entirely capable of taking care of himself, and on a much less important scale, shoving ice in his own mouth. “I’m five feet from the fridge, Raph.”

“Yea, ok.”

He scrubs harder, listening to the telltale sound of his family’s footsteps filing out behind him, no doubt headed for the sewer exit.

They all call out some form of goodbye, before he is alone.

He rinses the dish off again, suds swirling down the drain, and places it on the rack to dry.

With that finished and taken care of, he shuffles to the side and swings the fridge door open, grabbing the ice tray and cracking several into one of Mikey’s mugs.

Tonight, to his own mild shock, he is still peckish, and so he takes the crackers with him.

The walk through the lair is an eery one, the lights dim and his family gone.

Somehow, the low sound of commercials floating over from another room isn’t comforting. It feels something like living with a ghost. In some ways, he doesn’t think that’s far off at all. At least, during so called ‘bad weeks’.

Donnie flips on the switch to the lab vents, as well as the ceiling lights, entering as it slowly warmed up.

The floor is frozen against his feet, and he opts to walk a little faster.

He sits down at the computer to get his night started and accepts the first alert, flashing bright and even a bit painful on the eyeballs, for his Donnie Detection system.

Pulled up, the alert goes over a new pattern of foot clan rituals. They’d become a regular occurrence, reported as the attempt to re-summon the spirits of the foot clan leaders.

Who knew if that sort of thing was even possible, but he wasn’t permitted to be so eager as to find out anytime soon.

Personally, he wishes he could watch, even I it was tragically lacking in anything solidly scientific.

He forwarded the alert to his brothers, crunching on another cracker.

With another two to toss in his mouth, seeing if he could catch them. He missing the first, the cracker landing on his lap. The second was snapped in half by his beak, and he was left with a cookie and a half to show for his failure. Satisfied enough with his small win, he ate the fallen pieces.

The sleeve was half empty.

Good time as any, he concluded, closing it up to move on to ice cubes.

Rather unengaged with the patrol at the moment, Donnie made use of the his ‘man in the chair’ position, to go ahead in searching up any traces of the leftover foot clan.

It was a dull job overall, monitoring and assisting from afar. Some part of him tried, genuinely, to find any kind of positive to this job. Evidently, as he had nothing good to say about, he failed. He could point out that he didn’t actually try that hard, but what was the point in that?

On the topic of his job-

The shoe store franchise they had was fairly widespread across New York. Enough so, that it was easily believable that some avoided the almost-end-of-the-world from their basements.

Imagine that! Sitting out an entire, massively horrifying invasion.

Donnie banished the thought. He refused to ever resent his work.

But by bit, he was growing uncomfortably surprised none of his brothers had reached out to ask for direction or a digital favor. Usually, the foot clan was decently tucked away and they used his mystic detection system to track them down.

Curious, he opened up comms.

“I hate it!”

Donnie jolted up as Leo’s sudden, choppy voice came through the speakers.

The brain fog he’d hardly recognized practically evaporated and his heart pounded, making him dizzy even as he sat in his desk chair.

At this rate, he wouldn’t even need the ice. If his cretin of a twin kept shouting he’d apparently scare Donnie right out of his own noggin.

“Leo…” Raph’s voice is low and gentle compared.

Donnie leans back in his chair, slowly whistling a relieved breath out. His heart still hammers. He imagines it will for the rest of the evening. Trying to dismiss the way it makes his chair feel like a boat on the open ocean, walls tilting back and forth in the corners of his vision, is fruitless.

“Don’t ‘Leo’ me. How would you even do it?”

“Honestly?” Raph sighs. “I don’t know.”

“I don’t want to find a permanent solution.”

“No one said you have to.”

“Draxum still doesn’t have a cure ready. His battle shells hardly fit. When’s the last time you heard about any big new inventions?”

There’s silence from Raph’s end.

Leo speaks again. “Obviously I’d never say anything to him about this. He’d feel all bad about us having to change tactics and strategies to make up for his absence.”

“Not what any of us are bugged by.” Raph agrees.

“Is it like totally selfish to miss him being here. Especially with-“ There’s a crackling, as if Leo cut himself off with some kind of noise.

“No. We all want him in the field an’ able join us. You worry, Mikey worries, Raph worries. Ain’t much we can do though.”

“Fuck. Yea ok. It just sucks ass though.”

“Language.”

Donnie shuts down the comms. He’s shaking.

Witch Town replays in his mind, everything he said, everything he didn’t say.

They were right, and he hated it. Despised it even. Found it deplorable that he couldn’t bring himself to make anything of great magnitude nor value recently. In all honesty, the HVAC system didn’t feel like it should count. No home upgrades did anymore. It wasn’t flashy or impressive. It was necessary.

He wasn’t on patrols anymore because he, a mutant ninja, was taken out by car sickness over and over. Because he couldn’t be trusted in a fight.

His contact practically beckoned, and he could almost imagine a claw arm popping out of the screen to make a come hither motion at him.

Donnie can feel his heart in his ears. His throat. His fingers.

For a guy with poor introspection, he’d been feeling a lot lately.

Comms open up from Leo’s end. “How’s it going over there? Found the culty circle. They did their whole shebang in the middle of the park like a bunch of newbies.” It’s punctuated by a laugh.

Donnie ghosts a handover his plastron. It takes him a moment to find the words. “Perfectly well. If you have a plan to continue your patrol, I can comb through the Donnie Detection alerts for something of more severity than a cult meet.”

“Acessss! Always got us hooked up with that sweet sweet crime.”

There’s a loud shout in the background, coming through as ear ringing feedback, Donnie can only presume it’s directed at Leo’s creative choice of words.

“If that is all, I’ll go ahead and send one over to you.”

He closes comms.

Donatello has a job to do, and he plans to do it. The spinning of his head, both metaphorically and in certain ways, medically, can wait.

It’s not like he expects it to be leaving him anytime soon. Galileo forbid he be that lucky.

Chapter Text

Donatello waits across the road for traffic to let up, the streets of New York unusually alive, fast and loud in the late hours.

Was it too busy for his brothers’ patrol? The bustling crowds and closely packed cars made for a hazardous environment, especially for mutant turtles serving unrequested justice in back alleys.

That wasn’t his business anymore though, was it? After all, here he was, sent out to meet Draxum during tonight’s patrol time.

There always seemed to be something for him to do when they went out, something they needed him to find, somewhere they needed him to go. Sometimes he wondered if they thought he was stupid, as if he wouldn’t catch on. Honestly, it was obvious from the very first time they did it.

He never would have believed it was any kind of coincidence that Draxum had suddenly and awkwardly called to let him know the meet up time was changing. This was a permanent change, set in stone ever since he ran into issues with his man in the chair job. He’d had an unfortunate development in his eyes, or more likely his head. Luckily, it was nothing like the blur of cataracts, but instead something that left everything a little out of focus and only worsened his sensitivity to light, including the harsh glare of his own computer screens.

He related it to grabbing his phone first thing in the morning, squinting at words that grew fuzzy around the edges and shot hot pain into the backs of his eye sockets.

He’d already called to update Draxum on that. 

Thinking about it, Donatello almost felt guilty, kicking his foot against the concrete curb. He’d recently been, and still was, far more willing to give his medical information to their old enemy, than his own so-called twin.

He knew it was the disconnect of it. The knowledge that the man did not react, didn’t worry unreasonably. He was professional in that area, giving him any necessary advice regarding what the turtle chose to share. Nothing more, nothing less.

That’s not to say Donnie was volunteering to hand his issues to anyone at all.

He’d nearly gotten away with sticking it out, weathering the storm, per say, until Michael , his traitorous little brother, stumbled upon him hunched over his desk, eyes screwed shut and a thumb dug against his forehead to punch out the ache.

Even the bright lights around him now proved to be more than just overstimulating, presenting him with the lovely (sarcasm) sensation of frying corneas.

He kept his eyes mostly down. The view was not interesting, weeds withering back into the cracks of the pavement to escape the cold weather.

The only thing Donnie could consider himself lucky for, was that his brothers let him go alone. Scratch that. Calling it luck was embarrassing in itself and definitely felt like it cancelled the whole thing out. A fat red mark scratched across the whole thought.

The city lights and loud streets did one good thing for him, providing enough flashing stimulation to keep his head screwed on right. Hence why he was trusted alone.

Something falls on his head, dripping onto his jacket. He looks up.

Old rainwater weighs heavily on an overhang, slithering down a tear in the tarp.

He shuffles to the side to avoid the drip drip drip.

Donatello lets his head rest further down into the nest the hood of his coat makes, old stagnant water rippling as a truck rumbles by.

The trek to Draxum’s lab is embarrassingly tiring and he’s too aware of his shell, the way the leathery back of it crawls and aches, stuck between the stretch and twist of the scars as he moves.

Donnie thinks about the technodrome a lot. It felt disloyal to the Mad Dogs to do so, traitorous even. Like he was turning his back on his family, on Raph.

Like missing it was dismissing the trauma it had put them through. The physical damage on his eldest brother alone. The eye that was subsequently missing now.

That wasn’t all it did though, was it? When he thought about the damage they sustained from the invasion, he’d always considered himself to have been relatively fine in comparison. Lucky, even. He’d taken little things, like severe bruising to his arms and chest, the physical damage to his shell… but he’d never counted the actual illness he suffered from now, even though it was all her- IT’S fault.

He could only assume Raph would be horrified if he found Donnie thinking like this, humanizing it , as stupid as a word that was for an alien spaceship.

He would never consider her equal to him, but he was worthy of her, worthy to pilot, to fill the gaps in his head with all she could offer.

Sometimes he ached to cup whatever remained of her in his palms, achingly gentle, and let her slip into his ears, or perhaps find the edges of his eyes and allow her to make her way through the cracks. Find her way into his brain and make it a home. He’d offer her everything he had, present to her his very conscience. He’d lift a hand, scoop his eyes from is skull and let her build down his legs, stretch over the earth and-

He shuddered, raising his hands rub the sides of his arms over his jacket.

Maybe the New York lights didn’t keep him as. sane as he thought. Maybe they just offered him a false feeling of lucidity to hide his madness behind.

The bliss of ignorance, huh.

He jogged when the road cleared enough to get across, regardless of the way it labored his breaths.

Across the street now, he slipped into the alley, fishing from his pocket, a mystic artifact Draxum had offered him for ease of travel. It only worked in certain places, much like the first time they’d been down to his lair. Notably, it functioned most often on brick walls. Donnie assumes it’s due to the age of them, but has nothing to actually support the idea.

Donnie appreciated some good convenience.

He stood in front of the tall brick wall, stretched up to draw a large circle with the mystic chalk. He tried to keep it fast and wide, resisting the urge to stop halfway through and do the other side separately.

Mikey had been kind enough to give him a rundown on how to draw a working portal, and the box turtle had stressed that the lines had to be confident.

Donnie sketched a couple more lines in the non-symmetrical M shape, adding the little line through the left side before stepping back and pocketing the chalk.

His drawing pulsed with a pale glow, stronger and brighter than the times before, the payoff of practice, and a portal swirled to life, beckoning him in.

He stepped forward, walking through with a fwoop as it twisted shut behind him, chalk dust  misting through.

He brushed it off.

He recalled the path to Draxum’s being short from here. It was explained to him a while back, that the different symbols and additions to the portal would change where he ended up in the hidden city. A useful tip.

It was an easier trek through the wreckage of the lab, much of it tidied and moved to the corners or built up towards the walls.

Draxum couldn’t be blamed for wanting to fix the place up, even if he was rarely here to do so.

Donnie considered bringing up the possibility of letting Draxum have the laid back. It wasn’t a safe idea, by any means, but Donnie found himself unusually empathetic, kept from his own lab more often than he’d like.

Turning the corner around an almost majestic stack of rubble, dark purples melting into the pale green crumbled atop, he found Draxum, right in their usual spot, the least bothered by the destruction.

“This place is looking better.” He states, approaching the alchemist from behind.

The old sheep man clears his throat, looking somewhat surprised it was commented on. “Of course. I can only leave it in so much disarray. One must have respect for their station.”

Donnie hums a genuine agreement.

“You’re going to make the others nervous, getting all cozy here.” He tries for a joke, being the funniest turtle and all.

“You four do not have the power to stop me if I so choose to continue my work here.” Draxum seemed to almost bristle up, shoulders wide as he straightened his back and towered over Donatello.

The softshell took this in a stride, growing used to these mood shifts in their conversations.

He was tempted to bring a hand to his ear to mimic a phone but alas, he resisted. “Yokai emergency services, I’d like to report the Baron Draxum in his laboratory.” He deadpanned. “That’s how I’d explain the situation to the cops. Incase you were curious.”

The side of Draxums lip peeled up in clear irritation and he looked pointedly away now.

Donnie proudly held the audacity to smirk at him as the sheep man was faced with the cruel mug of responsibility, soon turning back towards Donnie to slip the needle in his arm, waiting a moment to be sure it would drag through a consistent flow of blood.

Donatello takes a step back with his shell towards the equipment, Draxum shooting him a quick glare for it, and leans back on the table, elbows folded behind him.

“Stay still, turtle.”

Donnie does not respond, nor does he want to.

With nothing better to do while his blood draws, he strikes up a separate conversation. “So, your titles,” he starts. “How’s it that you ended up as a warrior and an alchemist?”

“Which one are you asking about specifically?” 

Donnie’s elbows twinge and he shifts further back on the cold metal. “The warrior part is a more interesting question. The hidden city isn’t quite the same as above of course, but it’s still considerably modern.”

Draxum’s nails thrum against the desk top, his other hand dragging over a loose couple of papers with scattered, highlighted charts. All the marker scratches are in obnoxious pink.

“That comes from my family, my mother being a warrior in a larger collective. A community. It’s passed down to me, and she shared with me her knowledge of war tactics and combat skills.”

Donnie blinks slowly, eyes drawn to the tap tap tap.

His heart’s doing just the same thing, going a little too fast, thump thump thump. It’s uncomfortable in his ribs and he feels just a little too short of breath.

He can’t say if it’s because blood is being drawn from his body, or if he’s anxious, but it’s happening all the same.

“Did you go to school to become an alchemist?”

“I went through an apprenticeship actually.” Draxum corrects, dragging one over to start scribbling away on a chart that lacks the bright highlighter, skipping over a few lines as he goes.

“With anyone notable?”

“No, but ‘Big Mama’,” he pauses to fold two fingers in mock quotation marks. It’s clear he doesn’t care for her title. “has sponsored some of my endeavors in magic and alchemy, ones that she benefited quite well from.”

Donnie nods. “That’s actually… really smart.” He compliments.

Worst went to worst, it would benefit him if he could offer up some of his research to a buyer like her, or even Draxum himself. To have simpler ideas realized, dreams continued, or just to make a quick buck off things he wasn’t all that attached to. Even if all he got was hidden city currency, there were yōkai who would exchange it.

That was in the off chance he couldn’t continue his work though, and with the cure nearly realized, he didn’t see a point in actually discussing any of that.

Draxum, ever so humble and appreciative, says absolutely nothing in return, glancing over to check on the blood draw. “There’s a chair to your left if you need to sit down when we’re done.” He informs curtly.

Donnie, despite some level of embarrassment over the ordeal, offers an appreciative murmur.

“You go through a lot of work to help me here.” He comments, more offhandedly than anything, letting some old thoughts run while he watches his blood travel out.

Draxum has turned back to the papers, eyes scanning over what he’s jotted down, pushing one loose sheet off another.

“Well,” The sheep man starts, “I did create you, along with your brothers. I don’t care to see that go to waste.”

Donnie drops his head onto his shoulder, regarding the man with narrowed eyes. “You’ve made other things, I’m certain.”

Draxum puts the pencil down, straightening up so he’s no longer hunched over the metallic counter. “Mikey has informed me that using your own experiences, will help you all to understand things, and has therefor educated me about some of your projects and history.”

Donnie isn’t sure about where this is going.

“You created a robot you called Shelldon, yes.”

He’s not sure he likes where this is going.

“From what I’ve heard Shelldon is your life’s work. A sentient ai you’ve been creating your whole life. A work of brilliance that evolved and grows overtime.” Draxum gestures stiffly, hands near his sides and arms bent at the elbows. “That is your Magnum Opus, as they say.”

Donatello tries, oh he really tries not to think about how much like a son to him that damned robot is. That dead robot.

Instead, as much as it bothers him, he attempts to hone his attention on the way his neck feels really there . Uncomfortably present.

“You and the other turtles are my greatest and most advanced creations. Your mutagen was pure, unaltered. It had not touched even the outside air. Nothing but the pure Lou Jitsu DNA I wove into you.”

Donnie thinks he just might get it now.

“I had always assumed you saw less of us, being mutants rather than yōkai.”

Draxum scoffs. “Perhaps it’s a chore to see past your start, nothing but pond grade turtles, but you were not soiled by a foolish human life nor the act of fornication, not when you were transformed into your mutant bodies. You are science.”

There’s something about that, that Donnie can appreciate, looking past the negative speak about sex he doesn’t think Draxum would ever say about his own mother.

“Good to hear.” He’s a bit lost for words around this, unsure how to thank a guy for keeping his own life’s work alive.

Draxum takes the few steps between him and Donatello, turning to fiddle with the blood bag a moment, before facing the turtle with gauze and a cotton ball, slipping the needle out of his arm.

The softshell feels slower than he’s supposed to be, not quite in slow motion but something sluggish when he turns his head.

Donnie’s leaned against the table, elbows starting to ache, and when Draxum finishes setting him free from the equipment and wrapping his arm, he drops, as gracefully as one can, onto the ground, legs folded under him.

He’d be tempted to just grab the chair instead, but previous situations made him paranoid, and he couldn’t be confident he wouldn’t hit the ground before he got to it.

Solution? Sit on the floor.

It saves his pride somewhat that only Draxum is there to witness. Despite popular assumption, the man had tact in medical matters.

Who would have thought.

His brain suddenly feels like it’s rolled to the side, and though nothing rocks in his vision, he feels off kilter and has to fold himself over, head low.

“Ok?” Draxum checks.

“Ok.” Donnie affirms. The feeling is subsiding.

“May I continue discussion, or do you need a moment?”

A slow breath whistles out between his teeth, and he gives it another moment, before slowly lifting himself back into a normal sit. Normally, he’d stay like that for longer but he doesn’t seem in too much risk of fainting, so he calls it ok.

“Yea,” he shoot’s Draxum a thumbs up. “Go ahead.”

“Before you go,” Draxum returns to his papers, “I both have a paper with adjusted information for you about the medication, and I’d also like to ask you to bring up any new symptoms or issues occurring. That includes continuing ones that have worsened or evolved.”

Adjusted information most certainly meaning filtered facts that left out the large, medical field words that even Leo struggled to catch onto.

Donatello, though eager to be as useful in the process as he could, was not going to list every single thing that had worsened. Minor things did not realistically matter all that much.

“Nothing I haven’t already told you about over the phone.”

“I imagine the new vision and head related issues are hindering your work?” He brings up, rather casually.

Donnie drags himself to his feet, brushing off his pant legs. “It is.” He agrees.

“Care to lend a hand around here for a while then? My gargoyles have long found work elsewhere and I’d like to spend my time here more organized.”

Donnie wants to roll his eyes and ask how often he thinks he’ll be here, but he’s not going to be some kind of idiot and get the offer revoked, so he snatches it up with an eager, “ Yes .”

Draxum nods, and that is it, directing Donatello to a cluttered array of test tubes and samples, unorganized, before returning to the blood taken.

“I’ll send you on your way when I’m finished going through this and highlighting the important points here. Forbid you turtles miss crucial information.” The last part is said with a bite that Donnie is beginning to suspect may not be so real.

In any case, he has no complaints to being useful again, and gets to work, sorting tubes and labeling them appropriately in short, neat print.

—-

Donnie is let go after another good few hours. In all honestly, he’d lost track of time, hunched over the counters and doing rather fascinating work.

Now, he strolled through his subway home, paper loosely gripped in hand. He’d been surprised it wasn’t more beefed up, like he’d seen the rare collection of medical papers on tv, but he supposed without the legal documents, things could be shortened pretty drastically.

Maybe he could request the legal wavers, just to be able to sue Draxum if it all went to shit.

Donnie approached Leo’s subway car, foot halfway in, arm outstretched for the light switch, wide eyes level with his-

Donnie snapped out an arm, and his fist came into contact with a flat palm, three fingers closed around his knuckles.

“Jumpscare.” He drones, finding himself face to face with Leo.

Leo drops his fist and both of their arms swing down to their sides.

“I try.” Leo’s eyes snap briefly to the fresh gauze on Donnie’s arm.

Donnie lifts up the paper Draxum gave him, waving it in front of Leo’s face until the slider snatches it from him, flipping it around to read.

The guy turns as he does so, meandering back into his dark subway car, and Donnie follows, flicking on the light with an incredulous expression.

“Why were you in the dark? No, scratch that,” he taps two fingers between his eyes, swinging the arm back out to sweep around the room, “Why did you walk back inside without turning on the light? Reading, nonetheless!”

“Ninja.”

Donnie flicks the lights back off.

The silence is loud.

“Turn the lights back on.”

He thinks Leo tried to sound cool, but it clearly came out meeker than he’d intended, and when Donnie turns the lights back on, he’s met with the most unnamable, yet acutely embarrassed stare of his brother. The softshell can’t help but to let out a raucous laugh, gripping his stomach.

“Just kill me why don’t you.” Leo complains halfheartedly, going back to scanning over the document.

Donnie understood the bare minimum of the thing from when he’d skimmed over it at Draxum’s. He knew basic field medicine. He could handle wounds. Illness related things though? He wasn’t well versed in anything overly complicated.

“Goddamn, D.” Leo slaps the paper with the back of his hand in a downright comedic way.

He’s clearly not intending to be funny, so Donnie does not laugh this time.

“This stuff is-“ Leo doesn’t continue his sentence, cutting himself off and squinting at the paper.

Donnie is impatient. “Is?”

“It’s like chemo? Sort of? It doesn’t work the same way but the idea of it is to kill the Krang cells that are, more or less, as he puts it, making home inside you.”

“And the issue with that is?” Donne prompts.

“It’s also making itself a part of you. Tearing bits of you apart and replacing the structure there with itself and obviously functioning way wrong.” Leo’s free arm is gesturing wildly, swinging up in time with his words.

Donnie absorbed this silently, skin itching at the thought of Krang taking home inside him, messing up his body. Being a part of him. Invasive. Everything about the Krang always felt invasive.

Leo is walking in a tight, agitated circle, still scanning over the paper. “Basically, the plan is to give you large enough doses, back to back, of the medicine to kill the Krang cells. All of them.”

“So the risk and reward would be losing what’s simultaneously damaging and supporting parts of me?”

Leo slowly dips his shoulders side to side, beak pressed into a thin line to hum. “It also has the risk of plainly damaging you internally and messing with your immune system. It’s a destructive substance, even intentionally aimed at the Krang.”

Donatello shrugs, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Then we know the risks, and I’m ready to take them.”

In all honesty, it was kind of- most definitely horrifying, hearing it spelled out, and yet he could feel strangely detached from the idea. He’d never actually experienced it, so he had no measure for the effects.

It sounded awful, sure, but he couldn’t bring himself to muster up any sort of emotional understanding. Any panic. It was just a grim understanding.

“Draxum didn’t even give us a list of side effects.” Leo says out of the blue.

“It’s untested.”

“That sucks.” Leo stops moving, hip jutted to the side.

“You can document it on my first dose. Just get out a good ol’ pen and paper.”

Leo snorts. “That’s so old school, especially for you.” He tosses the sheet onto his bed. “I’ll be using a computer thank you very much .” He leans forward at the waist as he stresses the last line.

“What are we looking at if it doesn’t work?” Donnie redirects them back on topic.

Leo scoops the paper back up, barely even looking at it when he answers. “That depends what goes wrong. If it completely misses the Krang, it’ll attack something else in you or just be see as foreign.”

“How will we know if it’s attacking the right thing?” He asks, arm gesturing out.

“Draxum is going to be there through the process and we’ll have a blood draw at some point to make sure it’s doing what it’s supposed to do.”

That meant they were definitely doing it in the medbay. As unpleasant as it was there, it was the most accessible place for all the equipment.

“Are you sure?” Leo asks, out of the blue.

“What?” Donnie’s a bit taken aback.

“Are you sure you’re ok with this?” Leo’s not looking at him, indents in the paper as he squeezes it.

“I’m way more ok with this than I am trying my luck without it.”

Leo opens his mouth, and he looks ready to ask something, but shuts it with a frown and steps over, clapping a hand on Donnie’s shoulder. “Then we’re gonna cure you, brother.”

Donnie laughs. The smile does not reach his eyes, and the sound doesn’t vibrate further than his chest.

Chapter Text

Draxum arrives before noon the next day.

It feels almost unbearably soon, but that’s to be expected, anticipation under everyone’s skin.

Donatello is on the computer to one side of the room, sat at the freshly wiped down countertop and scrolling through the charts he set up for proper documentation, adding further specification labels and color coding at Leo’s suggestion.

The click of the keys and repetitive copy ‘n pasting was mindless, soothing even.

Behind him, the shuffles and sighs of Draxum sorting out the equipment rose, more often than not followed by an unintelligible mutter in a tongue Donnie himself did not know.

He turns around to ask a question but it dies on his tongue, replaced by a new one altogether when he spots the equipment in question. “An IV?”

He hadn’t seen Draxum come in with the thing, paying little attention to the world as he squinted at the too-bright screen of Leo’s laptop. He vaguely recalled lifting a hand in a half-assed ‘hello’.

“Hm?” The man seemed just as surprised he was being spoken to, as if he too had forgotten about the presence of the turtle. “The IV is so we may get results faster, as well as allowing me to pull an accurate blood sample from you sooner on to make sure the medication is working as intended.” His arms gesture at the thing while he speaks, and he leads Donnie’s gaze to the bag of liquid on top. “It also gives us more flexibility to stop it at any time if the medication does not.” He adds.

Donnie nods, shifting his weight back on the stool, hands settling on his knees. Leo, in is twin’s absence from the keyboard, gently pushes the stool, turtle atop and all, a few inches to the side, sidling over to make his own edits to the document.

It’s clear Donnie’s found a good moment to take a break when Raphael comes in, arms around a single, large pillow. He carries it to the far wall where a big hospital bed is tucked and ready.

“Raph-a-la.” He calls, beak twitching as he fights a smile.

The snapper’s toothy grin is all the response he needs, but the explanation is nice too. “For comfort.” Even if it is short.

Donnie waves him off. “Thanks, but you should really be going to get some lunch or something. No need to help out.” He advises. “It’s going to be a long day in here.”

“Raph’s not staying?” Raph says it slowly, head tilted down and brow lines raised.

He’d been more involved since finding out exactly what the Krang remnants were doing inside of Donnie, and the softshell could only assume the idea of him effectively having the Krang functioning, poorly, as a internal part of him was off putting at the least.

Arms sweeping out to the sides, Donnie responds. “Well no one’s stopping you,” he clarifies, “It’s just not going to be very interesting, I assume.”

“What is it going to be like?” Raph shifts to face him, and Donnie really wishes Leo was paying more attention.

Or even Draxum for that matter.

Donnie still has no proper grasp on how bad it’s going to be, only his own assumptions, hints from Draxum, and the dread under his very own skin.

“Bad.” He answers honestly. “Depending on how much the Krang has built inside of me and how much my immune system is compromised, it could be the worst experience of my life, or a stuck in bed sick day.”

The snapper looks more unsettled than before, and in hindsight maybe Donnie should have worded it more tactfully for his big brother.

“Raph doesn’t like the sound of that.”

Donatello can’t find it in him to respond to that. Doesn’t think he even knows how to.

It’s not like he can smack the guy on the back and go ‘ me neither ’.

“Depending how tired you are after we might leave you here to nap after and go get pizza or something.” Leo chips in, still focused on the computer in front of him.

“You’re a traitor, Leon.”

“You won’t be saying that when you’re cured.”

“I reserve the right to say anything I want to you.”

“Nuh uh.” Leo sasses.

Draxum clears his throat, interrupting any further bickering. “Everything is ready.” He informs curtly.

Donnie hops off the stool, patting Raph’s arm as he crosses the room to the fresh sheeted hospital bed.

He sits down and pulls his feet up, one leg straight and the other knee raised to rest his arm around. “You can go big guy, really.” He pulls out his phone, pointing at it with his free hand. “I’m just gonna be calling April after I get hooked up. Catch up on some things while I wait for this stuff to kick in.”

Raph nods, but only leaves once Leo gets up to usher him out, waving his hands at the retreating tail, like swatting away a troublesome dog.

Once he’s done with that, Leo swipes his palms over his legs and brings his attention back to Donnie.

There’s something unsettling about looking past Draxum and catching the eye of his fiercely attentive brother. The constant swapping from good ol’ Leon to lair doctor is going to give him whiplash, he swears by it.

The alchemist, abandons his IV stand to move onto Donnie, wiping down the chosen IV site with disinfectant and skipping the tourniquet altogether.

Donnie watches, and Draxum doesn’t question his choice, making no suggestion he should look away as the catheter is brought to his forearm and the needle slipped inside.

There’s a dot of blood welling on his skin. His vein is hit.

Assuring it’s well inside, Draxum gently pulls out the needle, pressing the catheter further into Donnie’s arm and applying tape over it, passed to him by Leo, who’s now hovering over his shoulder.

Donnie thinks, with nothing but amusement, that his brother’s interest is less in anticipation, or concern, but in fascination. Donnie would even dare to say the slider is jealous he didn’t get to insert it himself.

The softshell could relate, though sharing no such love for medicine, he was inclined to trust the steadiness of his own hands over others, even if he was not at his best… or anywhere near it.

Finally, Draxum connects the cannula and adds more taping, triple checking it’s all secure, even when Donnie circles his arm around, letting it bend and stretch.

The sensation is incredibly uncomfortable, a foreign object tucked inside his skin.

For a moment, it reminds him of the research he intends to request from Draxum. He’s desperate to learn the details of their pain tolerance and accelerated healing.

“Start the IV.” Draxum instructs, and Leo does so without discussion.

Donnie has to resist the urge to rub his arm when the liquid reaches his vein.

It’s hard not to protest when Draxum presses on the the skin above his vein a few times, checking the flow, but he doesn’t have it in him to argue smart medical practices or caution exercised, so he settles for shooting a lame thumbs up.

Satisfied, Draxum backs off and checks the IV bag a final time, before pulling a plastic chair to the other side of the room and sitting down with his own computer, a strange, hidden city branded model that Donnie was itching to take apart and study.

I’m his precious free time, Donnie turns his attention to his phone, pulling up April’s contact and trying to ignore the pressure in his arm and his just too fast heartbeat. Beside him, he hears Leo drop to the ground. Intentionally.

An “Umph.” Leaves his brother when he lands.

Rightfully, he’s ignored.

April picks up on the first few rings, to Donnie’s delight, and he presses the phone to his ear, tilting his head.

“You called me when I was leaving the lair last night.” He skips greetings altogether. “Couldn’t pick up.”

April, absolute wonder her, takes it in a stride. “Oh yea. It was about my latest assignment for that elective I’m doing.”

“I’ve got a little while to talk now.” He rubs around his wrist, avoiding the loop of tubing. “Is it the programming class?”

“Sure is. I gotta design a game.”

Donnie hums. He hadn’t imagined she’d be doing something quite that advanced. Well, actually, that was him assuming what kind of game it would be.

He asks for specification. “What kind of game are you expected to make?”

“Point and click 2d.” April answers.

That made far more sense.

There’s a tap on his bicep, and when he turns, Leo’s staring up at him, eyes flicking back and forth between him and the phone.

Donnie straightens his legs and swings one off to deter him, but it doesn’t reach, and he’s poked again.

“Leo wants to be included.” He gives in, pulling his leg back onto the hospital bed. “Assuming you are still in the creative phase. He looks like he’s dying to pitch ideas.”

He sticks his tongue out at Leo.

“You guys are hanging out?” April sounds surprised.

To be fair, they hadn’t had many group calls recently.

He clicks on the speaker and moves the phone down between him and his brother. “Yea. Today is cure day.” It’s on the family calendar. Shame on April for not checking it.

“Oh shit, really?” April’s voice crackles out of the phone and Leo shifts so he can hear her better.

It helps that Donnie turns the volume up.

“Yup.” He pops the P this time. “Got the IV in me and everything.”

Speaking of, his head’s growing light, and when he brushes a quick hand across the back of his neck, there’s nothing there but an uncomfortable heat under his skin. Like someone was pouring the steam off boiling water down his neck, letting it drip down his back.

He doesn’t have any of his battle shells on today, not even the soft mimic one, and boy is he thankful.

“You’re making a game?” Leo chirps.

“A point and click.” April offers a shorter repeat of what she told Donnie.

“Do a murder mystery. A murder mystery with pirates.” Leo snaps his fingers, pointing at the phone as if April could see him.

“Let’s just start with a genre.”

“Perhaps a kind of thriller?” Donnie suggests. “I double the vote on murder mystery as well though, it’s an excellent choice.”

Leo beams.

“We’re not even going to discuss other options are we.” There’s a quiet snickering in the background, as if April was trying to conceal her laughter to feign seriousness.

“Why on earth would we need to?” Donnie asks.

After that perfect transition, offering the floor for debate, he lets Leo take over.

He’s a bit thrown off kilter, at the moment, struck by the growing pain in his chest and aching tendrils stretching down to his abdomen. For a moment he envies others, yōkai and human alike, for their soft stomachs. Their ability to press into their skin, dig against fat, muscle, and bone. His plastron is as unmovable as his shell, and he knows there is nothing but innards beneath it.

He had assumed the medication would take longer, but he was realizing, a bit too late, that Draxum came prepared for mutant body functions, not humans. There would be no forgiveness, no joking about how long it takes to kick in.

“Romance is a no. It’s good but nothing compared to a murder mystery. Adventure? Same. Simulator? No. Fighter? No. Survival? No.” Leo swings an arm up and brings it down on a raised knee for some loud emphasis that has Draxum turning in his seat to check on them.

April’s cracking up over the line. “Jesus, I’m convinced. You both have serious issues. Ain’t socialized enough.”

“As our big sister you legally have to love us.” Leo coos back.

Donnie’s still tuned in, sure, but his head is heavy on his neck, shoulders slouching down.

“I’ll unmutate you, is what I’ll do.”

He twists where he sits, earning a quick side eye from Leo. It doesn’t matter. What’s more pressing is that his back hurts . He’s well used to the buzzing, but the pins and needles are getting unforgiving, digging deep into his shell, as if reawakening the wounds.

“Sorry to interrupt,” He really is, having been enjoying the threats against his twin and all, “but we’ll have to call you back later.”

Leo’s playful attitude is gone in the blink of an eye, attention snapped to Donatello and body tense, coiled, ready to help in any way possible.

It was as appreciated as it was uncomfortable. 

“Oh- ok gotcha. Hope all goes well. Keep me updated and feel better soon.” April does not raise her voice on the goodbye, and saves Donnie the trouble of hanging up.

The call goes silent and it flashes to his lock screen.

“What’s up, D?”

The pain is growing unbearable, and it’s sharpening, deepening with each breath, as if the rise of his stomach pushes some invisible knife deeper into him.

Donnie hunches over, curling with his arms around his plastron, fingers digging into his sides, right behind the ridge that lines his front.

“Donnie?” He feels Leo’s hand land on his shell.

His lips peel back, warning his brother. The touch on his shell makes it so much worse, setting his nerves on fire.

The rattle of the old plastic chair across the room has Donnie glancing up, meeting Draxum’s eye while he turns to see what’s going on.

“What hurts?” The alchemist is quick and blunt, but not uncaring, brows ever so slightly pinched as he looks over the pained turtle.

“Chest. Abdomen.” He croaks, a slow breath whistling from between his teeth. “Back. My shell’s absolutely burning.” He drops his head a moment, nails scraping against his sides. It leaves shallow marks on his shell. “This is all supposed to happen, right?”

Draxum nods. “Yes, in theory. I have little to compare the level of Krang build up in you to, so I cannot accurately predict how much pain you will be in, or the severity of other symptoms.”

Donnie drops his head against the bed, feeling his fingers finally dig into the softer layers of his plastron. It’s hell. “Thats so unhelpful right now.”

“What’s your pain on a scale of one to ten? Eleven being beyond what you’ve ever experienced.” Leo’s voice is closer to his ear than before.

Donnie haters number scales, having to sit there and assign every pain he’s ever felt to a number, juggling the difficulty of weighing entirely different kinds of pain right beside each other. Eventually he comes up with something satisfactory. “Six.”

The turtles had been through the near end of the world, so it was clear Donnie’s six was far higher than mosts’, but Leo had asked for his . Not the average.

He closes his eyes.

Before long there are hands touching his, gently prodding his fingers off his sides and onto the bed. Cooperatively, he fists the sheets, fibers catching on his nails.

Leo’s hand drifts back over to where he’d drawn lines in his side of his plastron, and he bats him away, unable to find the patience to sit still while he’s poked at.

“Do you want a distraction?”

Yes, he certainly wanted to be distracted, but more often than not, having to focus on yet another thing was too much, brain splitting, like sloshing around an overfilled soup bowl, overstimulated and spilling over.

He shook his head.

There was silence, relief.

At least, until Leo had the audacity to break it. “Can you sit up and drink some water? Draxum did stress that you’d need to.”

There is nothing Donnie thinks he regrets more in that moment than agreeing.

As soon as he lifts his head, the changing colors behind his eyelids coax his eyes open, and he’s caught off guard by the sharp pain that homes deep in the sockets, radiating through his head.

He feels like he’s been thrown off kilter, brain spun around in his skull until the room is swaying around him, some kind of pale, tile floored ocean with an IV stand as his ships flag.

He swallows hard, stomach rolling once he’s righted himself.

Apparently, he’s not quite as upright as he thinks, because there are quickly solid, grounding hands on his shoulders, steadying him.

“Hey, right here ‘Tello.” Leo pats his shoulder before removing his hands. “Dizzy now, are we?”

Donnie wondered if this is what vertigo was. It was one of those words he’d googled over a thousand different times and yet seemed to forget faster than a goldfish. He’d ask Leo, but his jaw is clamped shut and he doesn’t feel like being educated at the moment.

He’s squinting, forced to blink through the pain, but dark spots dance around his vision, pulsating and blotting out whatever expression Leo’s wearing. He’s starting to question if he can even see Draxum, colors melting together into incomprehensible shapes the longer he stares.

It’s like a colorful collage, or better described as an old kaleidoscope, constantly changing, rotating and twisting inwards.

There’s a thrum of underlying discomfort he’s not sure how to place, a general gross feeling that crawls in his gut, sitting under his tongue to stake its claim in his body.

He imagines himself as a mansion for all that’s happening, tossing keys to each unbearable sensation until there’s something residing in every inch of his body.

“Lay down.” Leos hands are on him again, pushing him firmly against the large pillow under him, and Donnie drops his head against it, a groan slipping from his lips, unwarranted and without his consent.

He throws his hands over his head the moment Leo let’s go of him, angling his elbows in and dragging his hands up and down the side of his head, as if he’d manage to push out the pain.

The lights are so fucking bright, even covered, and he’s not trying to cry, but it seems to happen anyway, a sob catching his throat before he can stop it.

The fat, rolling tears are no easier to see through.

Everything hurts. He doesn’t feel like he can look back and properly grasp when it started, or how it happened. How any of this happened. His limbs ache, sore and cramping, and he has the biting urge to stretch his legs out until the muscles finally tear. He imagines it would leave him satisfied. Even in this state, he’s not stupid enough to try it.

This time, he’s not wondering about the cause of his too fast heart. He can feel the pulse in his neck. If it’s not from one thing, it’s the other. He believes it’s a concoction, a hideous soup of everything that hammers in his chest.

Things pulse and merge together, and he feels sickeningly guilty for the flash of regret. He doesn’t want to regret the medication, his cure.

Somewhere he hears Leo, talking nonsense about numbers and green waves over his vision.

Maybe he wanted Donnie’s pain scale again. Donnie could do that, he thinks. If he were anyone else, he’d surely say eleven, but he was alive and eleven was forever intended as unimaginable.

“Ten.” His chest, his stomach, it all aches when he shoves out the word.

It slowly comes to his attention that it doesn’t just ache.

He rockets up, arms flailing to shove against the bed under him, to keep himself stable as he- oh god-

Donnie doesn’t have time to think , his IV arm swinging to shove Leo back, and he keels over the edge of the bed, unable to hold himself up as his body lurches, throat bobbing violently in thick swallows as he fights back heavy gags, shuddering with each resisted attempt to expel.

He’s doing everything in his power not to retch up whatever’s in him.

There’s chatter around him, hard tones and urgent, clipped words.

The arms that land on him this time are notably larger than his brothers, pinks and purples dominating his vision.

“Fuck.” He cries, trying to get away from the hands on him, touching him, grating on his panicked brain like sandpaper.

There’s a clear moment his patience snaps.

The snarl that tears from his body is indication of that.

He should not be forced up, moved back. He wants to be on the floor. He needs them to let him fall from the stiff bed and sleep there, press his cheek to the cold, dry floor, and feel the textured squares draw indents in his face. He’d stay there until it’s all over.

He’s let go of, kept atop the bed, and he curls forward, arms pressed so hard to his wet eyes they protest. The ache cannot be separated from the pain already shooting back into his head. He needs the light to go away. He needs the noise to go away.

He needs everything to go away.

There are clips of conversation and he catches “IV tube-“ and “Bin.”

“Stop.” He hisses, clawing at the tears. “Stop, stop, stop.” His head is shaking back and forth, visually, verbally begging .

The talking stops, and when he hears noise start up again to his left, it’s quickly shushed.

Donnie can hear his own breath now, thick and gaspy.

He moves a single arm down and clutches the top of his plastron.

“Add-“ Leo’s speaking again, “-meds.” It’s so loud in his ears.

He’s all that exists right now, more stuck in his own body than he’s ever been.

Breathing is all he can do.

He wants it to stop.

Leo’s speaking again. “Get him-“

Pain,

“-blood-“

Pain.

“-after-“

Pain.

“-do that later!” Leo is not loud, but he is demanding.

Something drags at his head, a thick exhaustion creeping over him like hungry waves, ushering him down into the suffocating depths.

He’s not responsive to the green that places a hand on his chest, easing him back against the pillow behind him.

He blinks, eyelids dripping down with the waves that sweep over his lowered head, drowning him.

There’s agony, and then theres nothing.

——

Donnie’s pulling himself awake, drudging up from a sleep that is most definitely drug induced, and fighting tooth and nail for awareness. His eyelids flutter as he tries to open them, and harder yet, keep them that way. They’re heavy as led and sticky, clinging to each other like glue.

There are more moving blurs around the room than before, and something red sits high in his vision.

The first thing he can make real sense of is how shitty he feels, full body aches and more going on in his innards than he can understand.

He tries to shift.

Panic lights up his brain. It’s like a rib through his lung, pushing, piercing with every movement.

He’s not sucking in enough air anymore, whispery breaths leaving him fast and shallow. 

He forced his eyes open, squinting at anything that moved, twisting and turning the dials of his brain trying to catch words in a language he wasn’t sure he knew anymore, like using google translate in real time as long, stringing sentences are tossed about.

“ Raph, we have it covered.” Leo, he sluggishly puts a name to his twin’s voice. “Love the all hands on deck sentiment but there is nothing to do here.” His tone is sharp, unkind.

“Leonardo.” Baron Draxum. “I would appreciate your view on this.”

“Fucking- ok got it, got it.” Steps click across the room.

Donnie struggles in the silence. He thinks his chest may be concave, empty, hollowed out. It’s melting down into him, crushing his empty lungs.

“Fuck fuck fuck.” Leo’s voice is further away now. Separately, he thinks the cursing is never a good sign. “Drax, buddy, this looks awful. Worse than before.”

“There are less living Krang cells.”

“Yea how much of him will be alive when they’re all gone.”

The silence is deafening.

A sound draws Donnie’s attention towards the foot of the hospital bed, big, red, and green is easy to focus on.

“Donnie?” A hand lands on his foot.

Donatello reacts, a hand flying to his chest as if he can catch the air whistling out of his lungs through his plastron.

There’s nothing logical nor reasonable about his panic.

He yanks his legs away.

Green and blue is here in a snap. “He’s awake.” It’s not a question by the time Donnie meets his eyes.

Leo is close enough that Donnie can make out his stripes now, leaning over the softshell. “Donnie, Donnie breathe.” There’s a high note to his voice and it scares Donnie because he can’t .

All he can do is let oxygen drift in and out and resist the urge to breathe. He doesn’t think- he knows he can’t handle that pain to come with it.

“Lift him up.” Draxum barks.

An arm scoops behind his back.

“Raph, if you want to help, go tell the others the drip is going to be running low again soon.” Leo snaps, pushing Donnie up and forward.

“Do you need Raph to bring more?”

Leo hesitates, and Donnie’s hand is forced away as Leo rubs a hand above his plastron, gently digging his fingers into the center.

“No. Don’t bring more.”

Raph turns and leaves, moving faster with purpose.

“We’re stopping?” Draxum raises the question.

Donnie’s head is spinning, light on his neck.

“Don, please, try a breath for me man. Please just take in a little more air. You’re gonna pass out like this.”

Donnie relents, slowly drawing in more air. It aches, but his lungs are no longer being assaulted. He sucks in a bigger one, relief washing over him so hard he begins to tremble, the aftermath of the leftover adrenaline.

The head rush is immense, pressure squeezing, crushing his skull, but he welcomes it, going boneless in Leo’s hold.

He feels the slider rush to adjust, grunting. “There you go. Oh thank god.” He doesn’t set Donnie down just yet, moving to properly hold him in his arms.

Leo’s breath is gentle against his head, the one and only sensation he can’t resent.

“Leo?” It’s Draxum again.

“Yea, I heard you the first time.” Leo isn’t as loud as before, and Donnie’s never appreciated something more.

“Do you really think we can do that again? Do you-“ Leo’s voice cracks. “Do you think he can take anymore of this?”

“I don’t know.”

“This, all of this,” Leo specifies, “went horribly.” Leo does ease Donnie back into bed now.

“No.”

He stops. “Don?”

Donnie lays a hand flat on his chest. “Not again.” He whispers. He’s so tired, eyes heavy and every part of him radiating with aches and cramps.

He’s still shaking.

“Wha-“ Leo cuts himself off with a shake of his head. “Won’t happen again.” He promises instead.

Donnie doesn’t think he has the energy to worry anymore, nodding sluggishly and melting into the hard backed bed.

Sleep is easy to return to, a reprieve from the inevitable pain.

——

“-mean you’re stopping?!”

This time, Donatello wakes up to arguing echoing around the room and miserable stomach cramps that stretch out through his legs, crawling up into his arms like it wanted to follow the lines of his veins.

He wavered between sleep and the waking world, until another voice rose.

“This drip is almost out. Once it’s done, we’re not starting him on another. I have half a mind to stop this one right now.” Leo is no longer beside him, his voice coming from the doorway to the medbay.

“I will not lose my son because you do not want to deal with this.”

There’s a growl that Donnie can only associate with his biggest brother.

“I will not do this to my brother!” Leo raises his voice. “ You haven’t been here. You haven’t had to watch him writhe in bed, and wonder if he’s awake and suffering or asleep and still suffering! ”

The wrinkled sheets beneath Donnie spoke to the truth of that. He could feel the bunches beneath his arms.

It’s no easier this time when he forces his eyes open, tracking the colors he can pick out in the sterile room.

Splinter seems to catch the very moment his ill son properly wakes. “We will ask him.”

There isn’t even a moment before Splinter is crossing the room, and Donnie swears he can almost see the shocked looks his brothers’ wear this time.

The rat’s hand lands on Donnie’s arm, and he feels his skin itch in response, the light contact only further muddling his mind.

He’s stared at, intense, beady, yellow eyes on him. “Do you want to continue treatment, purple.” It doesn’t feel like a question.

The overwhelm is more than Donnie can physically contain, on the verge of breakdown with every moment he’s conscious. His eyes sting, and his skin feels like it’s already dry and cracked, unwilling to spare water for his tears.

He realizes that doesn’t really matter, when something wet slides down his cheek.

“SPLINTER!” Leo shouts, and suddenly he’s between Donnie and their dad, tearing the rat’s arm off of Donatello’s. “ Get out.” His twin snarls , blocking the softshell completely.

“I think-“

“No.” Raph interrupts this time. “Pops, you have to go. ”

Splinter huffs, but apparently the order from the towering snapper is enough to have him compliant and escorted out.

“Leo.” Donnie’s voice is quieter than he intends, but at least it’s above a whisper.

It gets the others attention well enough, the slider turning to focus his full attention on Donnie.

“Bad time for Draxum to take a bathroom break.” Leo jokes lamely, voice quiet.

Donnie takes a deep breath. Somehow, it still leaves him breathless, not like before, but just exhausted. Breathing felt like more work than it ever had before.

“I want to continue.”

Leo stares at him, mouth agape. His hands fly to his face, covering his eyes, and he takes a step back.

There’s a long moment before he speaks again.

“Why?” His hands are dropped, and Donnie swears his eyes are more red rimmed than they were a moment ago, though he’s sure his own are just as bad, if not far worse.

He realizes he’s still actively crying, a tear sliding down his cheek, veering off the side of his face.

What did Leo ask again? Why?

Donnie blinks, long and sluggish. “Wasteful.” He can’t put his thoughts together properly, can’t communicate effectively.

“No.” Leo’s response is immediate. “No, this is not wasted. None of this is wasted.” He swallows thickly before continuing. “I would take back every moment of this process, not because we used all the medication we did, but watching over you through this has been the worst experience of my life.”

A exaggeration, surely. Regardless, Donnie wants to apologize, but he can’t remember the words to.

“I have regretted getting that damn tube put in your arm since the moment the medicine kicked in.”

He wants to ask if it’s working, if the medicine is at least doing what it’s supposed to.

“I,” Leo pressed a splayed hand to his chest, eyes appearing wet when he gets closer. “can’t keep giving you something that may kill you faster than it’ll cure you.”

Leo turns around, leaning his hip back against the edge of the bed. “It might get worse when we take you off of it. Your prognosis-“ A pause, a sniffle. “Draxum says the Krang may adapt, move faster.”

He may die if he takes the cure. He’s definitely going to die if he doesn’t… eventually.

A sob crawls up this throat, and he doesn’t have the energy, nor the emotional capacity to stop it.

Leo spins around, arms shooting out in a soothing motion. “Shit, shit, Don, I’m so sorry. We should have talked about this another time, shit I’m-“ Leo’s voice breaks. “Sorry, sorry.” He reaches out like he wants to hold his brother.

Donnie shakes his head, heaving with the force of his growing distress. He’s sure he’ll die if anything touches him now.

Something moves in the doorway, the furthest wall from them.

“I was gone not even fifteen minutes.” Draxum reaches them in a few strides, three water bottles clutched in his hands.

Donnie’s gasping at this point, strapped in the backseat of his body, unable to regain control on his own.

“You’re too dehydrated to be crying, turtle.” Draxum’s tone feels odd in a way, softer than it should have been.

Without warning, Donnie convulses, an arm shooting out to brace himself, a sheet between paling knuckles.

Nothing leaves his gaping beak, and he hacks. Once done dry gagging, he’s left quietly gasping, shaking so hard he nearly prods himself in his eye, digging his palm against his forehead.

He hopes, that some part of the ache in his skull is from dehydration, and not just the medication.

He’s so tired. He’s in so much pain.

“Make it stop.” He’s not proud of the way his voice comes out, verging on a whimper. “Just make it stop.”

Leo’s moving before he finishes his sentence, closing the roller clamp on the tube.

He turns back to Donnie. “Can I touch you?”

Donnie takes a deep breath, steeling himself and nodding.

The tape safely covering the insert is removed, peeled off his skin.

“Draxum, grab the gauze.”

The requested item is handed over, and Draxum is silent, offering no opposition to Leo’s actions.

Leo presses down on the IV site with the gauze, sliding the catheter out from under it.

Draxum hands him the bandages before Leo can even ask, and the slider wraps them around Donnie’s forearm to secure the gauze in place.

Donnie drops back against the raised pillow behind him, a hiccuping sigh leaving him.

He feels awful, but there’s a visceral feeling of relief. Assurance that it’ll be over soon, that he’ll be free of this bed and the pain .

“It’s almost over, man.” Leo offers a tired chuckle, bending over and pressing his forehead to the top of the softshell’s head. “Go to sleep.”

Donnie feels Leo’s breath puff over skin, and he deflates, eyes drifting shut.

——

The shiny sounds of subway surfers is the first thing Donnie can make sense of when he wakes up again.

His body feels unmovable, stiff and molded to where he was lying. Moving felt unreasonable, borderline impossible.

He cracks open his eyes, fighting that bone deep stillness to raise a hand and rub his eyes free of the crust caking them shut.

He feels like he can breathe for the first time in who knows how long, and when he finally opens his eyes, colors and shapes slot into place.

Per usual, the light in the medbay is on, and Donnie has no sense of time, clueless to when it was, or how long he’d been there.

He moves his arm down and is surprised to see Leo beside him, arms crossed on the bed beside Donnie’s belly, the triumphant cry of the police officer playing as Leo’s attention is entirely off of his phone, eyes glued on Donnie.

“Hey, how are you feeling?” Leo’s browline is knit, a gentle worry.

Donnie feels a smile lift the corners of his mouth. “I’m fine.” He croaks, voice dry and grating.

Leo grabs a water bottle off the floor, and there’s a crack as the is lid twisted off. “Here.” He holds the open bottle out.

Donnie accepts it gratefully, tilting it back and letting the water wash down his throat. His arms shakes the whole time, and he has to grip the mouth of the bottle in his jaws.

He’s gotten less than a quarter down when he has to stop, an ache in his stomach as it protests.

The bottle’s handed back to Leo, who holds it up, scrutinizing how much is gone, before setting it back down.

Donnie can’t recall the last time everything made this much sense, the last time he felt really, truly, coherent.

He also can’t help but miss his brother, and beckons him with a small movement.

Leo hesitates, but slowly shifts forward, crawling his arms over Donnie’s plastron and resting his head down on the longest slope of it.

The softshell has never been more grateful to be a makeshift pillow for his brothers.

“How long has it been.” He yawns, idly patting his brother’s head a few times.

“Since you were last awake?”

“Since this whole thing started.”

“Oh.” Leo tilts his head, laying his cheek against Donnie. “It’s been a couple days now.” 

That long?! Donnie hadn’t had a sense of time, which left him sort of assuming all his jumbled memories were closer together than they were.

Leo speaks again. “The last time you were coherent was yesterday when we took the IV out.”

Donnie nods, recalling that.

“Since then you’ve been riding out the after effects, sort of in and out. Nothing I’d expect you to have been awake enough to remember.”

Donnie refrains from asking Leo what that was like, what he was like in the moments he can’t seem to scrounge up any memory of.

He takes a deep, shaky breath. “What am I looking at now. What’s after this.” He asks instead.

Leo’s smile is watery, but gazing at Donnie, it still reaches his eyes. “Congrats on surviving hell.” He rubs his nose. “But uh, Draxum and I talked last night before he decided it was safe for him to go home.”

“Go on.” Donnie prompts.

“He suspects this not only worsened your current condition, but that it’s not going to get better. We didn’t kill all the Krang matter and it’s highly adaptive so…” He trails off, before inhaling sharply and carrying on. “There’s a high chance it will progress faster than before.”

Donnie closes his eyes, swallowing the growing lump in his throat.

So, his prognosis was going to be significantly worse. The medication he’d waited so long for, the medication that sucked every ounce of energy from him like it lived off his pain, was for nothing. Not even nothing, not even! No, it was going to be what ushered the grim reaper along, waggling its sick finger at his door.

He opens his eyes.

“I’m so fucking sorry for this, all of it.”

Donnie shakes his head. “You’re not responsible for the choices I made, whether I knew the risks or not. You’re not responsible for the fallout either, and,” He sorts the right words in his head, “ I am sorry, Leonardo.”

Leo shakes his head right back, turning to  hide his face against Donnie. “Fuck you.” Is all that’s heard from that until Leo seems to figure out that his curse is pretty vague. “I’m not taking any apologies from you about this. Not after everything thats happened here.”

Donnie doesn’t have the energy to argue right now, settling to prod his brothers head with a finger until he lifts it back up.

The softshell is relieved to see his twin isn’t crying. He can’t deal with crying.

“Hey, Don?”

“Mh?” He hums.

“Celebrate Christmas with us this year, yeah?” 

Obviously he would. He did every year- oh .

“Asking me to live ‘till Christmas? That’s gotta be the soppiest thing you’ve ever said.” He doesn’t let his voice shake.

“Yea?”

“Yea.”

Chapter Text

Donatello staggers, arms swinging back behind him to brace against the bed.

It doesn’t matter much because Leo’s hands are on his shoulders within seconds, holding him steady and upright.

“The meds should be totally out of your system.” His brother’s become a broken record. It’s his third time repeating that statement, or remixes of it, this morning.

“Yes, yes.” Donnie dismisses flippantly.

That urges a frown from Leo, and Donnie offers a pointed look in return, eyes wide.

“Fucking sue me if it’s a bit concerning you’re still not-“

“Bouncing back to normal?” Donnie interrupts, head angled.

Somehow, Leo’s expression manages to sour further, brow-line knit.

Maybe, Donnie’s inclined to suggest, it’s not entirely his fault, and the slippery floor beneath his feet isn’t helping the cause.

“Obviously I don’t expect that.”

“It kind of feels like you might.” He counters.

Leo groans. “I swear to you I don’t.”

“Ok.” Donnie reels back his argument.

“Ok?”

“Ok.” He gives an affirmative nod. “What’s the issue then?”

Leo pauses, eyes flitting up and down as he actually puzzles over this. “Your balance.” He decides.

“Mhm?” Donnie prompts.

“You got dizzy before but you weren’t uncoordinated and unsteady everytime you stood like this.”

“Right.” He agrees, brushing Leo’s hands off his shoulders.

“You’re very calm right now.”

Freeing his other hand from the bed, he stands on his own, getting properly reacquainted with gravity.

After a moment, he straightens up, before holding his hand out expectantly.

Leo exhales, and hands him his mask.

“I am,” Donnie pulls it on, bracing himself momentarily against the back of the bed whilst he ties the strands behind him. “And I’m also not entirely sure I can grasp reality in a room this clean.”

“Touché.”

It’s well practiced, and a decent bow hardly takes him more than a few seconds.

“Where do you want to go with this newfound power?” Leo asks, gesturing to Donnie’s free standing.

“Not really a power, and the kitchen’s fine.”

His twin offers a hand, and he takes it, a subtle assistance.

“You couldn’t do it yesterday.” He points out.

Donnie offers a blank, low browed look. Truthfully, he has no counter for that.

Leo laughs, striding out the door with the softshell in tow.

As they wander down the lair, one thing is painfully clear.

Donnie’s still tilting. Despite having found the strength and balance to get up and walk at all, he’s finding it unreasonably hard to just move in a straight line or remain steady without keeling off.

“Don’t overdo it today, ‘right ‘Tello.” Leo squeezes Donnie’s hand.

He gets a half-assed sound of vague agreement in response.

Partially because Donnie’s not entirely sure what overdoing it would actually entail.

Before long, they can hear chatter coming from the kitchen and the bang of a pan on the stove.

With it, Donnie’s struck with a furious ache for normal . To be surrounded and encased with the environment he was so familiar with.

He pushes away from Leo, who’s saying something he’s paying no attention to, aimed for the arch entryway.

Feelings are more often than not, something Donnie troubles over, unable to quite decipher or name. It’s no different now, stuck on the idea, the desire for his family in some way. He wouldn’t be able to tell anyone exactly how it felt, how he wanted it to feel, but it was critical to him now.

He entered the kitchen on shaky feet, taking rushed, uneven steps that made the rest of him lurch forward.

Mikey was the first to see him, dropping the handle of the pan he was holding and flying over the kitchen island to skitter over, feet a blur where they swung.

Donnie often tolerated hugs from his youngest brother, a quick hang across his shoulders or squeeze over his arms, squishing him against his sticker covered plastron. He opened his arms invitingly, expecting just that, and making it clear he was fine with the incoming touch, encouraging it, infact.

What he got though, was a lot more than he bargained for.

This time, Mikey literally scooped him up, Donnie’s feet no longer touching the ground, and the box turtle’s arms hooked under his, secure around his back.

With one hand he held his little brothers head, and with the other he reached out for Raph, who was rushing from his seat to embrace them, gently lifting both of his younger brothers from the ground.

Donnie was squeezed, crushed and suffocated, but he was alive.

Raph crooned as he placed them back on their feet, muzzle pressed to the top of Donnie’s skull. Nothing specific was said, nonsensical noises and all.

“I missed you.” Mikey squeezed.

Donnie pat the top of his head, wheezing.

Raph gently wedged a finger between Mikey’s arms and Donnie, giving a few suggestive tugs, a hint Mikey should let go.

Luckily, Mikey was rather good at cues, and released him, skirting around the island this time to get to the stove.

Donnie reached up to a still lingering Raph. The oaf was staring down at him, expression pinched in a way that was familiarly bittersweet, but with a twist he couldn’t quite name. Some extra pull at the corners of his eyes, an added wrinkle to the Raph Chasm between his brows.

He cups the side of the snapper’s face, hardly getting his hand across the expanse of his cheek, and smiles.

Raph melts against it, leaning into the touch and bringing a hand to lay over Donnie’s.

“Raph missed his little brother.”

Donnie nods. “I know, big guy.”

Slowly, the hands were lowered, and with a claw on the back of Donnie’s soft shell, Raph herded them to the island to sit.

“You feeling better?”

Donnie didn’t really want it talk about or think about it. He ached all over, sore, tired, and dirty.

The sensation of illness that invaded every part of him was something he was sure he wasn’t going to be rid of, not now, nor ever.

Every time he woke up it was a new adjustment, a new abnormal he’d have to trudge through.

“I don’t want to talk about it.” Honesty is the best policy when you’re a miserable liar.

Raph nods.

The smell of pancakes grows strong as Mikey mixes together a new batch across from them, a hum on his tongue.

Donnie can see a few test pancakes off to the side, bite shaped dents dotted around the perimeter.

“You up for any food? Soup?” Mikey calls back. He slides a butter knife over the edge of the pan, shaking it by the handle to get the bottom coated.

Honestly, he was . He was genuinely quite hungry.

“Are the pancakes any good?” He can see Mikey start at his question, undisguised surprise.

“Yea they’re good! Not a lotta chocolate chips in them though. I didn’t have as many as usual.” He explains.

“Is there enough for me to have some?”

“Absolutely.” There was no hesitation.

A sizzle and crack. Mikey poured a generous amount of batter into the pan.

“What do you want on them?” He asks.

“Nothing.” Donnie shakes his head. He easily imagined the syrup, clogging his throat with sticky sweetness. No thank you.

Mikey scooped the previous set of pancakes out of the pan, skirting around the still wet and sizzling batter, to slide in some butter butter, only using half as much in as he had before.

A yawn crept up Donnie’s throat and he lifted a hand, pressing the back of it to his gaping beak.

“Tired?” Raph lifts his elbows onto the table, resting them there.

Definitely. Donnie’s still lethargic, heavy limbed and with bones of led, weighing down his neck and sitting atop his shoulders like cruel, mocking birds, shrieking of every new ache and pain.

He grunts, flipping his hand back to rest his cheek on it, propped up. His eyes flutter shut, and he sighs.

“How long you been up?”

“Awake or out of the medbay?”

“Awake.”

Donnie wracks his brain, failing to recall what time it was. “What’s it now?” He checks.

Theres a pause, presumably Raph peering off at the time for himself.

Mikey speaks up first, closest to the clock. “Ten forty A.M.”

“Late breakfast.” Donnie mumbles against his palm.

“Not for a patrol night.” Raph argues softly.

“You went on patrol last night?” He was pretty sure at least Leo had been in the lair at all hours.

“…No.” Raph admitted, sounding- what? Sheepish maybe? “We’ve been staying up late recently.”

“Why?”

There’s a shift and Mikey is suddenly cooking slower, quieter, less clanking and more soft sizzling as he nudges the pancakes around.

Donnie’s well aware it’s to eavesdrop, despite the fact he’s very much welcome in the conversation and had hopped in only moments ago.

Raph sighs, and Donnie peeks an eye open to stare his direction, intrigued.

“Usually you were asleep-asleep around ten P.M. or later and stayed like that for a couple ‘o hours.” Raph specifies. “Leo would come out to have dinner and update us on ‘ur condition.”

“I’m sure that hasn’t been necessary.” Donnie’s arguing for his own sake, honest to god hating the idea of his family sat around just to hear how many times he’d woken up that day.

Why’d he despise that so much? It was technically a good gesture, but it rubbed him the wrong way. Guilt? Pity? A desire to be ignored entirely in that state?

Feelings aren’t lining up, and he can’t exactly force them. He just has to let them tumble around until they make sense of themselves or unravel all over his brain like yarn.

“The nights Leo was-“ Raph stops, eyes narrowed and mouth moving like he’s trying to rephrase his thoughts in whispers before he says anything else. “There was a night we wer’ told that, if, y’know, worst came t’ worst an’ you didn’ stop the medication, we might wanna see you before weren’t coherent at all.” He can see Raph’s throat bob.

“We stayed up the nights after, just in case.” Mikey tacks on.

Donnie, well, to say he feels sick would be a pointless reiteration, but his stomach’s dropped, and something is so thick in his throat he thinks it may be tears. He wants to name the emotion, he really does, but he thinks it may be some mutated monster, a pulsing, heaving mix of them all.

It stings, and he looks away, head raised and his hand moving to cover his mouth. “That’s not why you were in there, is it?” He whispers. He can’t help it, his eyes swivel to stare at his big brother.

Raph is silent.

“Raph.” His voice doesn’t come out pleading, tone without audible stress. No, that’s not right. His brothers hear it. They must.

Raph looks at him, eyes crinkled and the line of his beak wobbly. “I promise,” the snapper swears, “on Raph’s life, that’s not why I was in there. It didn’t reach that point. It stopped. We weren’t called.”

Donnie’s practically gripping his own face, whites of his eyes stark and glaring.

Raph shakes his head. “God- Raph’s sorry. Shouldn’ be ruinin’ your first day out like this.”

He didn’t. Donnie asked. He prodded at it until he got an answer.

“We can have a Dr. Feelings session later, if you’d like.”

Donnie’s eyes flick to Mikey, still pinpricks that well expressed his horror. “No.” It’s immediate.

Mikey steps back, gripping the spatula with both hands, brow line furrowed.

Donnie shakes his head, firm on his decision. “I won’t do that to you. Absolutely not, I won’t pour my guts out right after you were told you may have say bye to your dying brother.”

Mikey opens his mouth like he wants to argue, but apparently holds it for later, Donnie is too aware his youngest brother does not simply drop things to expect him to this time.

Then again, what the fuck does he even know about expectations anymore.

The silence that holds the room now is suffocating, digging into Donnie’s ears. There’s a ringing in his head, growing in pitch by the second.

“How you feelin’?” It’s tentative, like he’s hoping if Donnie won’t talk to Mikey about it, he may answer to Raph.

This wasn’t therapy. It was fine. But did Raph mean mentally? Physically? Emotionally? Was there a real difference between mentally and emotionally right now? Yes, surely there was. If only he could have an answer for either.

“I don’t know!” Frustration bubbled, dripping over into his exclamation.

At least there was no more ringing.

Raph stares at him, sorta wide eyed and all.

He moves the hand on his face again, up to pinch the space between his eyes.

Raph didn’t deserve that, nor did Mikey. Neither of them did anything. This was a him problem. His brain being his brain. “Sorry, sorry.” He rushes out, taking a deep breath. “That came out wrong.”

“Feelin’ a lot?” Raph bumps his knuckles against the hand Donnie still has laying on the counter.

“Yea.” Donnie puffs out something that could almost be a laugh.

“Not used to that, huh?”

“ Raph .” Mikey draws the word out, waving his spatula in what could be a ‘mock’ warning. He turns his head to talk to Donnie next, “Anything good?”

Was there anything good? He tries to sit back and look , because he’s certainly not going to find the answer within himself.

Beyond him, the kitchen lights are warm, and the room has its own orange-y glow, glaring weakly off the shine of the countertop. Clutter is everywhere, spices stolen from April, clean dishes out to dry, various bowls and ingredients all over the counter, or spilled in the sink.

Donnie inhales the sweet scent of pancake mix and burning butter, going a little light headed with it.

“Yes.” Yes, some of it was undeniably good.

His brothers were here, in the kitchen, and they were going to eat pancakes together for the first time in several days. That was good enough for him.

Raph moves his hand an inch back, no longer touching Donnie, but just there . An option, a gesture.

Donnie leaves his own where it is. Closeness will do.

“Barry and I have been gambling.” Mikey’s on another topic now, not one to sit in silence, even short lived. That’s not to say he’s entirely brushed past the topic held moments before, a fond smile still baring its teeth.

Donnie gawks performatively, leaning forward. Playing out social cues like they were a game. He didn’t have to, his family wouldn’t mind if he sat dead faced and monotone, but sometimes it was a bit of fun. “You’ve what now?”

“When he was sure it was fine to leave the med bay or he really had to take a break, we’d play card games and I taught him poker.”

“And he liked it?”

“He could’a done worse.” Raph chimes in.

“Ah,” Donnie smirks, “Mikey won then.”

“For the most part.”

“I did.”

They spoke at the same time, overlapping.

“What do you mean ‘for the most part’?!” Mikey would surely use his spatula for some gesturing, if not for the fact he was peeling a stubborn pancake off the bottom of the pan.

Raph raised one hand, the one opposite from Donnie, and grinned sheepishly. “My bad, big man. Draxum didn’ do too bad though.”

Mikey glares for a moment, all play. “Donnie do you hear this crap?” He rallies his purple brother.

Donnie nods solemnly. “I do, Michael.”

“I’m joining as-“ Leo lunges in, reaching between Donnie and Raph to drum on the counter. “Raph’s lawyer!”

The softshell’s heart pounds, jumpscared.

Donnie reaches across himself to shove Leo, and his twin pushes off from the counter, acting as if Donnie’s push actually did anything at all.

“Donnie pushed me.” He complains, hopping around the softshell to drag a stool to his right, and sit down.

Donnie didn’t mind being sandwiched between brothers, left enough space to choose whether he touched anyone or not.

Raph clearly didn’t take the claim seriously. Even if Donnie had meant to cause harm, he really couldn’t, arms lacking most all their muscle mass and growing miserably weak, sapped of energy as the rest of him.

“Cry about it.” Donnie snickers.

Leo sticks out his tongue.

It’s wild to Donnie, the difference between Leo like this, and as the doctor of the lair.

Real bit of whiplash, if you ask him.

“Or-“ Mikey dumps what seems to be the final pancakes on a plate and tosses the pan into the sink so carelessly they can actually see the Raph Chasm get deeper in real time.

“You can eat!” He announces, sliding everyone a plate with some forced assistance from a grumbling Leo.

Leo’s eyes get a bit owlish when he’s told to pass a plate with plain, steaming pancakes to Donnie. He seems halfway to saying something, before clearly thinking better of pointing this out. Regardless, something softer creeps up his expression when Donnie accepts the plate.

“Oh!” Leo’s turned back to his own plate, but that seems to be entirely unrelated to his sudden exclamation, because he digs into his short’s pocket and pulls out Donnie’s phone.

Oh his glorious phone!

Honestly, the softshell hadn’t thought about the thing at all. As far as he’d been concerned, it didn’t even exist after hanging up with April.

Well, shit. He also forgot about April.

Donnie reaches over and plucks it from Leo’s now extended hand, muttering a quick thanks.

The sharp light makes the back of his eyes twinge, and he knows he’s visibly winced.

Pointedly ignoring his brothers for a moment, he opens up the device and finds April’s contact.

There are messages left for him.

                                O’Neil!

                                Mon 8pm

hows curing going?                          

                              Tues 11am

the guys told me its still                

going on

hope all’s ok

                              Thursday 7pm

love you don 💛                                              

                               Friday 5pm

heard youre doing better

lmk if theres anything I

can do

Thursday was what caught his eye.

If he was properly coherent for the first time yesterday, than Thursday had to be when he was taken off the medicine. When he was at his worst.

“Tech gone haywire without you?” Mikey snickers from across the island.

Donnie hesitates for a moment, brain cranking to check his facts, before he responds. “No no, just messages from April.”

Leo leans forward and says, “Oh?” In the same kind of way people do when the slow down to stare at fresh wreckage on the side of the road.

Donnie may as well ask, second guessing himself so hard he ought to be paid for all this brain power.

“Thursday was the day I stopped the iv, correct?”

“Yea sometime ‘round then.” Leo stabs his stack of pancakes and shovels whatever stays on into his mouth.

It earns a deeply judgmental sound from Raph, though he’s no better himself, mouth stuffed.

Donnie does not see the purpose in Leo’s borderline intentionally vague answer but chalks it up to the process being at all hours. He doesn’t doubt the information enough to feel the need to press more.

He will keep a mental note of it though, incase anything else is hedged around, or outright avoided.

Responding to April, he sends a short message about being out of the med bay and lets her know, as tactfully as he can, that there’s no rush to come by.

Not to discourage her of course, but she has other things to do, being in college as well as her various elective side classes.

He adds on an extra text, inquiring about how her project’s going.

Satisfied, Donnie sets his phone on the counter, screen down to avoid prying brothers, desperate to guess his password for their own gain.

With that, he’s left to his pancakes, stabbing at one a couple too many times before bringing the fork to his mouth.

He’s practically drooling as he chews, the sweet, but otherwise bland meal, a gift to his cavernous stomach.

It’s not even a minute later, Leo opening his mouth to suggest some absurd topic of conversation, when the slider’s phone rings.

Leo groans, and it’s followed by snickers from his brothers. He grabs the thing, eyes narrowed.

It’s clear he’s rejected the call, silence heavy after the sharp tune, but to the turtle’s clear dismay, it picks right back up again.

“Mikey, you ought to teach Draxum some calling etiquette. It’s like the boy who cried wolf!”

Mikey giggles, “how so?”

“He’s allergic to just texting and telling me why he’s calling!”

“He forgets he can text.” Mikey offers.

Leo rolls his eyes, tapping away at his phone. “First of all, I don’t believe that. Second, I thought I was finally getting a break from him.”

“Thought your eyes had really opened on what a decent person he was.” Donnie hinted at previous discussions, jabbing a heel to the side of Leo’s calf.

The slider yanks his leg away with a humorously betrayed look.

He does not confirm nor deny this though.

On Donnie’s other side, Raph rises, well stacked plate emptied.

“There’s watermelon in the fridge,” Leo points out.

Raph sidles behind Mikey to the sink and rinses off his dishes, getting them far too sudsy, in Donnie’s opinion anyway.

The softshell has nothing better to do than observe, and apparently neither do his brothers, as the watch Raph open up the fridge, taking out an entire watermelon, ripe and uncut. He doesn’t sit down, but sort of moves just off to the side of the island, taking the most careful bite from the fruit he can manage. More than anything to make sure it didn’t burst and end up all over the floor.

“I’ve ordered some craft stuff.” Mikey’s restarts conversation now, down to his last pancake and munching happily.

“What sorts?” Donnie’s finished his first, and is gauging how much more he safely stomach.

“Some sewing kits, fabrics,” he taps the top of the counter whilst he speaks, eyes figuratively sparkling.

Mikey and him, they used to go to the craft store at night, or during days it was sure to be dead, collecting beads and rating all their favorite fabrics on an absurdly long scale. There was a certain thrill to it, skidding through aisles in chunky coats and grabbing, almost blindly, at the various items they fancied.

“Beads,” Mikey continues listing, and Donnie is pleasantly not surprised. “Aaaand I may have used some of your money, just layin’ around, to get paint pens.”

Donnie lifts a brow. Privately, he’s glad. He often chided his brothers for that sort of thing, not because he particularly minded them getting themselves things with his money, no, much of it was spent on them anyways, but it was a matter of principle. They had to at least be aware they were not supposed to be taking his money. Otherwise he’d be broke in a night. 

Raph makes a noise in his chest, and when Donnie turns his head, the snapper is holding out a piece of watermelon, carved from the rich, red inside.

The softshell reaches out and gingerly takes it with the tips of his overgrown claws, pulling back and popping it into his mouth.

It’s sweet and juicy without getting mushy on his tongue. Bit of a satisfying crunch to it as well.

He shoots Raph a thumbs up.

“Grrngruhmgn.” To his right, Leo makes a long, unintelligible string of sounds, teeth grinding and head swinging down to gently bump against the countertop.

Like a good brother does, Donnie kicks him. “What’s wrong with you?”

“Draxum.” Leo grumbles, crossing his arms around his head.

“What did he say?”

Leo peeks out from behind a forearm. “I don’t want to tell you ‘cause you’ll want to do the thing.” He mutters, face twisted in a sour way. 

Donnie can’t lie, he’s intrigued. At an equal measure, it winds a ball of what he’d call healthy anxiety in his gut.

“You really should tell me about this thing I’ll want to do.” Donnie leaves it at that. If it’s about him, he ought to be informed. Also, it sounded undeniably interesting.

Leo makes another despairful, and honestly way overdramatic noise, before lifting his head to look at his phone. “Draxum,” The name is not spoken kindly, “wants to know if you can meet today.”

Huh. That wasn’t so bad.

Donnie snorts. “Oh no, he wants to speak to me.” He waggles his fingers at Leo, “maybe I’ll get grounded.”

Mikey joins in, wiggling his own three fingers at the slider. “Oh noooo.” He echoes.

“He probably wants you to go to his lab.” Leo throws his arms out, nearly smacking Mikey, who yelps and pulls back.

“Whoop- sorry Mike-“ Leo apologizes for the near hit.

“Or maybe his apartment.” Raph muses, crunching on his melon.

Leo’s head is fully lifted but he’s not stopped frowning. “Still…”

“Still what?” Donnie prods at his food. “Did you expect that I’d never go over there again?”

“No…” Leo pulls back, shoulders high and crooked as he gestures. “But it’s today .”

Donnie huffs. “Meaning?”

“Meaning,” Raph reaches out with another piece of watermelon, extended towards Donnie, “you jus’ got out of the med bay.”

Donnie takes it, popping it appreciatively into his mouth, before responding. “I know but do you think it’s going to get better or something?!”

He considers, maybe, that’s not what they wanted to hear. At least that’s the vibe he gets when it’s silent for a long couple of moments.

“Don,” Mikey picks up, “maybe, we don’t want you to leave when you just joined us again.”

Donnie deflates a bit, the umph built up from their minor disagreement leaving him.

Raph passes him another piece of his fruit.

He chews, thoughts flip flopping with feelings that were, again, getting too complicated for him to properly decipher.

“Tell Draxum he can come to the lair.” He speaks slowly, trying to offer the idea as nonchalantly as possible.

Leo’s brows pop up. Like he’d been expecting more argument. He says nothing of it though, and jabs a few messages into his keyboard.

Mikey looks delighted.

Raph on the other hand is somehow making both faces at once, peering down over the remains of his breakfast.

“He’s on his way.” Leo shrugs, tossing his phone riskily to the side.

Donnie spears a couple bites of pancake and scoops it into his mouth, eyes bouncing around the island.

He’s noticed he’s by far the slowest eater there today, Mikey’s cheeks puffed as he chews on his final pancake, stuffed between his jaws as if he believed it was going to be taken from him.

Donnie would have imagined he’d be ahead of Leo at the very least, with the phone call derail and all, but the slider was clearly making up for lost time, going ham on his meal.

Donnie thinks this may be where he should throw in his towel. Give up, so to say.

Raph holds out another piece of watermelon.

Reluctant this time, Donnie takes it, before rising from his seat.

Raph does not carve out another. Most likely because Donnie is placing his silverware on the plate, pushing it a bit away from himself. A clear indicator he’s done and cleaning up.

The meal is delicious, honestly, but any more leaves him with a discomfort he can’t put a finger on. An end to his hunger? An aversion? Exhaustion from eating? Of eating?

It’s like playing an elaborate game of charades with his innards.

He slides off the stool and collects his plate.

He can feel how he shakes, ground subtly tilting under him, rolling slow circles. Obviously it’s not actually moving and he’s just fucking gone insane.

Raph’s watermelon is gone in seconds, smashed between his jaws and down his throat. “I can help?” He offers, hands shooting out with his palms up.

Donnie is almost certain they are sticky, and shares a look with Raph, who backs up to shimmy over to the sink, throat bobbing around embarrassment.

He should be embarrassed, going to interact with someone with watermelon juice all over his claws. He should be publicly humiliated.

If Donnie weren’t such a stellar brother he’d point and jeer.

His hip brushes the edge of the counter as he makes his way over to the sink, following after the snapper. He feels Mikey reach out behind him, palm to his back for a few seconds. He can’t be bothered by the gentle assistance, mostly because he despises feeling like he’s rocking around, about to plummet.

Raph moves out of his way, hands clean from the sticky watermelon residue, and Donnie ducks down to grab an old plastic container from a lower cabinet. It makes his head ache.

He hopes it won’t be like that forever. But then again, hoping wasn’t getting him very far, and he ought to believe himself better than to even do it. If just for his own sanity.

Dumping his leftover pancakes inside, he squeezes the lid on, and dunks his plate beneath the running water of the sink, craning the knob up a bit to get rid of any crumbs.

Fortunately, he’d snagged his own sponge, one his brothers were banned from using. Clean of any muck or food, and with it he scrubs down the plate, squirting a generous amount of soap on the smooth surface.

“Has Hueso messaged recently.” From the sound of it, Raph’s made his way over to where Leo is sitting, and Donnie can hear the clink of plates.

“Yeaaaa he’s been blowin’ up my shit.” Leo drones.

Donnie rinses the suds off his dish, holding it beneath the faucet until the bubbles disappear.

“He offered me a gig to do some baking a while back. Like a bake sale thing.” Mikey chimes in. “Had to tell him that baking was Raph’s hobby. Not mine.”

“You like it.” Raph jokes.

“I like sweets.” Mikey counters.

Water runs over Donnie’s fingers, cooling the backs of his palms and trickling down the indents and lines, before spreading out into a blanketed rush. Clear and cool.

His wrists are thin, and a bone juts out the side, surrounded by bright veins that run just under his skin.

He turns the water off, wiping his hands on a spare towel before bringing them back up to stare at. To study.

He slowly turns them. His palms are smoother than before, rough but not so thickly calloused, and the spaces between his fingers are cracked and peeling, flaky when he dries them off.

“You good, D?” Mikey taps the rim of his shell, and Donnie reaches back to press his palm to the top of it.

He slides it down, and feels a sharp prominent ridge. Several, in-fact, the lower he goes.

He slides back up and cups his hand over the first one.

“Donnie.” Mikey ghosts over the back of Donnie’s knuckles. The one covering a knob of his spine.

Donatello’s coming to the sudden realization that he hasn’t really looked in the mirror recently.

“Yea?” His voice comes out softer than he intends, fingers curling in, feeling over the ridge. Morbid curiosity.

Mikey’s fingers gently wrap around his own, pulling them to the side, off of his shell. “I’m here. If you need to talk.”

“That’s ok.” He dismisses the offer gently this time, curling his own digits around Mikey’s.

He turns. “It’s ok, ‘Angelo.” And lets go of the box turtles hand.

Behind them Raph and Leo are still yammering on. Donnie wasn’t paying much attention before, and still isn’t now.

“Draxum should be here soon.” He grabs the leftover container of pancakes, plastron pressed to the counter as turns around and sidesteps to face the fridge. “I’m going to go get things ready for that. Have some stuff I want to go over with him and all.” He excuses himself, storing the box of leftovers away and shutting the door.

“Alright” Mikey props his head up, a fists supporting each side of his head.

Donnie transitions to holding the island countertop, following the edge past Raph.

He didn’t like the idea of not being able to hold onto anything. To be fair, he also didn’t think he was actually going to face plant here, but it didn’t fix how unsteady he felt .

God, he was so tired of contradictory bullshit.

“You goin?” His departure gets Raph’s attention.

“Not for long.” Donnie waves a hand. “Send Draxum down the way when he gets here.”

Raph makes an affirming sound behind him.

Donnie continues on, hands catching on walls, furniture, and pipes as he works to keep himself feeling steady. It’s frustrating, and he swears he doesn’t quite manage an even gait when he crosses a bit of open space, no longer in eyesight or easy earshot of his family.

He reaches his sub car in whatever the opposite of record time is, but fortunately, there’s plenty to cling to inside.

Curiosity bit at his ankles, rushing him inside and his eyes flit around the room, curtain swinging behind him. He was seeking out the spot he was certain he last left his battleshell.

Lo and behold, there it sat, right where he’d left it, leaning against the start of his desk on the far side of the room.

Marching over to it, he leans down, wrapping his fingers around the edges and heaving .

It’s fucking heavy. He doesn’t remember it being this heavy.

He mutters about as much.

He gets down on his knees, rather than lifting with them, and hauls it around to maneuver it onto his back.

It aches, and he can practically predict the shoulder pain he’s going to deal with if he wears it a moment too long.

He straps it down across his plastron, fruitlessly adjusting the thing. The shoulder clasps dig into his skin and the waist strap sits too low. None of it feels right .

Grabbing the nearest surface, a desk, Donnie pulls himself up, legs bunched beneath him. If he were anything but a flesh being, he imagined they’d groan. Like too much weight placed upon the metal bones of an old creaky bridge.

He manages, following the desk to the other side of the cart where his mirror stands, tall and sharp edged. He liked posing with his bō staff in-front of it.

What he saw now, it didn’t exactly boost his ego.

His battleshell was heavy on him, too large and tilting backwards with no proper grip on the space beside his shoulders. It made the middle strap tilt, top ridge digging against his plastron.

Speaking off- Donnie breathes, ghosting a hand over ribs that rose from his front, making visible lines and indents in his shell.

He leaves the table, stepping closer to peer at his side, shallow lines traced into the bridge of his shell, the connector between the front and back. Distantly, he recalls doing that, Leo pulling his hand away when he mindlessly dug to find the pain. To fix it.

He’s still sore.

He moves a hooked claw to draw along the stripes, like marks in wood.

His attention drifts up, climbing over harsh collarbones, sharp shoulders, and to sunken eyes, dark purple carved beneath the lower lids in half moons.

He can’t help but feel, big picture wise, that he looks wrong . His head is disproportionate, limbs scrawnier than they had ever been.

He doesn’t even think building his strength back would fix this. Chances are, he’d look more like muscle wrapped bones beneath too tight, pulled and tortured skin.

He continues observing, hungry to absorb everything. To know how he’s changed. The unknown is exhausting, discovering something new every other day. He doesn’t want to just stumble upon changes anymore, no, he wants to catch them before they’ve even dared to fully form.

A bruise beneath the dressing that winds itself around the IV site. An unwelcome tint to his skin, cracking and peeling in a select few places. Especially around his ankles and hands.

Even his palms have flakes of shed dotted around.

God, looking close enough, he can see the blotches, patches around his neck and arms where he’s gone unwashed, unable to soak or bathe.

His hands raise to rub at his eyes, to physically shove down the vicious frustration.

He couldn’t fix this.

The clasp around his waist is found, unclipped, and with a half-assed shrug, his battleshell crashes down onto the floor with a muffled thump.

It throws him off balance, weightless and ungrounded.

Donnie lowers himself in a jittery lunge, on the floor with his knees pressed into the fibers of the rug.

He holds a hand over his mouth, claws pricking his cheek, and he tenses, as if he can coil up and contain what troubles him.

He can’t .

Donatello Hamato, the great scientist and inventor, world prodigy if only he were known, is hunched over on the floor, folded in on himself.

His eyes are burning and his throat is clogged. 

Like a stone on the shore, just beneath the furious lapping of ocean waves. They rush up, overtaking him, dragging and pulling at his stationary body, and just begging it to give in, get swept up. He cannot. A rock does not have a choice to make, stuck in the ground and at the wet, caving sand’s mercy. When the last of the sea water sweeps away, he’s left in the cold wind, exposed to the air, and sticky with salt.

Donnie tries to pull himself together, hands sweeping back over his neck, sharp pets and brushes to his skin, like he can wipe off the imaginary salt and sand.

Draxum will be here soon, he reminds himself.

Draxum will be here soon, and he cannot stand to be found like this.

Do not speak of the devil . He’d hate it if Draxum suddenly appeared.

He takes a deep breath, and it whistles out, hollowing his heavy chest.

Donnie unfolds his arms, his body as a whole, and drags himself up. It’s much like the movement of a wobbly cat, jerky and rushed without the proper balance or coordination he ought to have.

Gaining some semblance to a normal gait, Donnie moves over to the dresser, stuffed beneath cluttered shelves and memorabilia. He fishes out a pair of pajama shorts and a shirt with a blue bong print on it.

A smile creeps at the sides of Donnie’s beak.

He pulls the shorts on, leaning against the wall for balance, and fights the top over his head. It’s not tight, but he thinks, at some point, it hugged his shoulders a little more.

He can’t really recall how far back that was, he realizes. The decline, it didn’t happen in a day, after all. It was just more prominent now. Stark with discoloration.

Donnie slams the dresser drawers closed and treks back across the room, reaching his bed and seating himself on the edge, feet planted flat to the ground.

There he stays, giving up on the very idea of preparing for Draxum’s arrival. It’s not like he actually had anything he needed to do prior. Not like he tried either way.

He hangs his head, letting it just sort of rest, as limp as it can comfortably be. He felt jet lagged, out of place and sick with utter exhaustion. He was tired of his body, of his environment. Of constant changes, constant stress, constant worry, constant pain, constant worry about pain.

The list could really go on, couldn’t it!

He knows he can rest. If he asked everyone to fuck off and entertain Draxum while he slept, they would.

It wouldn’t fix this though. He’d still have to talk to Draxum eventually. He’d still have to talk to April too. He’d still have to deal with future plans, things related to his testing with Draxum, if it even continued, and what he would he tell April when the time came.

He wanted, so badly, to shrug it off. To stop caring how well it got done, how it was perceived, and let everyone scramble to pick up what he left behind.

No, he wouldn’t dare do that to his brothers.

He’d wait for each issue to present itself, catch and deal with it like some kind of Pokémon, and move on to the next one.

“Donnie!” A call rang from down the lair. “Draxum’s hereeee!”

The click and clomp of hooves on the floor confirmed that, approaching from down the hall.

Right.

Donnie pushed himself up, hands trialing behind him to keep him upright at first, before swinging out to grasp at the subcar doorway, curtain brushed aside.

“Draxum.” He greets, a mere couple of feet from the man.

“Donatello.” Draxum, naturally gruff sounding and all, slows his tone, and it takes a softer turn. “So,” he continues, sweeping an arm out to gesture down the way, “would it be best to speak in your lab?”

Donatello nods and leads him out across the room, passing by the other subway carts.

He glances down, noting Draxum’s grown out claws, much like his own. The turtles usually kept them well cut, but his were long and curved down like talons.

Donnie moved his hand closer, comparing lengths, and to his utter shock, when their hands brushed, Draxum’s fingers twirled outwards and he wraps his own hand around the turtle’s.

Donnie gawks. He was sure this was a habit picked up from Mikey, the box turtle eager to hold any of their hands, including, especially Draxum’s.

Chances are, the sheep man eventually scooped up any leathery hand that grabbed for his, like muscle memory.

Donnie shakes off his surprise with a wiggle of his head. He’d like to say it only made him dizzy, but he was like that before.

The rooms, the halls, they don’t go on forever, and soon enough they’re at the lab, door left open.

Yikes, he’d forgotten to close it the day he made his temporary home in the med bay.

“If you could start with whatever you’re here about.” Donatello pulls himself, hand included, away, righting a shirt sleeve.

Draxum stares, expression furiously puzzled as he properly processes that he’d grabbed onto one of his creation’s hands without real prompting. That the request was accidental, and not a request at all.

The sheep man centers himself in the room, looking anywhere else and looming over half finished projects with a critical stare. “The medicine was working. It killed much of the Krang.” He starts.

He’d figured, left without even the condolence that he’d ended something doomed from the start.

“Now that it’s stopped, the Krang have adapted, evolved. It’s retained a level of the destruction it wreaked on the medication and your prognosis is significantly worse.” Draxum glances at him briefly.

He speaks like he has the words memorized, reading out a script rather than just rambling from memory.

“Are there any other cure options?”

“Not that I can think of, nor invent. Not in time.”

Donnie can’t help but find some sick amusement in that. “Forty years from now and you’ll be visiting my grave with a serum called insta-cure in a pepto bottle.”

Draxum rakes a hand through his hair, strands weaving between his fingers. “Right…”

Donnie clears his throat. “Can you make something that manages it or,” He moves out towards the edge of the room, loitering around the hangers for his pride and joys. “gives me more time.”

Draxum makes a considerate noise, a sharp finger raising to tap at his bottom lip. “That’s not unreasonable. Perhaps something that sustains the Krang systems while also enclosing them. Like internal scabs.”

Donnie is not processing, instead categorizing and organizing the information in the front of his brain, scrambling for his own script when it falls quiet. “How would it change my symptoms?”

“Without knowing your full list as we currently stand,” Draxum starts, staring pointedly, “I can’t be sure. Though, I can say I believe I’m able to make something with few to no averse affects. The idea would be to slow the spread to other parts of you that are not so severely affected. Unfortunately, the best ‘ideal’ I have to offer you involves your current symptoms only getting worse and expanding, as they already are. I cant change that.”

“It wouldn’t attack my body?” Donnie needs to hear those words. Or something close to them.

“It would not attack your body.” Draxum affirms.

Donnie sighs, nodding, “Ok.”

“To be transparent,” Draxum turns to face Donnie, hands clasped, “I think the idea of it would be to make sure you… have an easier end time. One without any new symptoms nor unmanageable pain. Keep it out of things like your lungs to avoid a more unpleasant end.”

Fuck.

“I understand.”

Privately, Donnie wonders if this, if abandoning the cure and turning to other things to make it easier, is a bad choice. A self sacrificial act with no bigger purpose than fear.

Draxum is no moral compass, so Donnie won’t say it aloud.

“Can I ask you another favor?” He says instead.

“Might as well.” Draxum grunts.

“You- uh,” he reaches up, pressing his knuckles against the dip of his forehead.

His mind is screaming, alarm bells ringing so loud he thinks he hears the whistle of it in his ears.

He has to convince himself he’s not making a mistake.

He waves his hand out in an arc, “Take some of this.”

“Some of what?”

Right, specifics. He can do this.

“My tech. My projects. My research. My materials. My drawn out ideas!” His arm swings down, sweeping out to gesture at the grand collection. He quiets. “Take whatever.”

Draxum looks around slowly, poised like he’d stopped mid move. “Is there anything in particular you want me to continue in your… inability.” He says instead of absence.

That doesn’t fly over Donnie’s head.

He strides across the room, gripping whatever is in reach to keep himself feeling steady.

His desk is covered in scattered papers, and the monitors are extended, still set up for the missions he stayed home for. The microphone sits near his elbow when he leans over the desk.

He pulls a stack of papers from the corner, drawn out ideas and research, ambitious plans of machines, weapons, generators, and oh so much more!

“These.” He shuffles them together, dragging the ones littered around or slid away into the stack. “I want you to take these.”

Draxum joins him by the desk, towering over Donnie to peer at the diagrams and short, scribbled text visible.

“I assume I have permission to continue these? Bring them into fruition.”

Donnie nods. “Please.”

When Donnie steps back, Draxum follows, facing him, and holds out his hands.

The softshell passes over his grand plans, his life’s work. “You can take anything else you care for aside from the remains of Shelldon, my tech bō, and my battleshells.”

He breathes, for just a moment, silence stretching between them.

Draxum does not rush him.

“When I get around to it there will be a box or something with upgrades for the lair and gifts I meant to finish or saved. All that junk.”

“More things you don’t want me taking.” Draxum fills in.

Donnie nods. “Exactly.”

“I will put thought into what I remove.” He’s assured.

“Thank you.” It’s genuine.

Draxum is flipping through the pages, eyes scanning over the text and elaborate, labeled sketches. “I am honored.”

It catches Donnie off guard. “What?”

“These are beyond impressive.” Draxum explains. “I cannot say I am not eager to be a part of these ideas, to give them a physical form.”

A smile widens Donnie’s expression, a genuine, self satisfied crinkle to his eyes. “Good.”

Donnie quietly watches Draxum, still flitting through the stack. He didn’t emote enough for Donnie to make any guesses on how he felt about it. That wasn’t any sort of issue to him though. This was bittersweet enough without that clutter of expression.

“One more thing,” Draxum lowers the papers, tucking them beneath an L shaped arm. “I will still require blood draws from you if I am to properly get to work on a new serum.” He moves towards the door. “You’re free to message and let me know where you want to do it.”

Neither had closed the door behind them, and it sits still, wide open.

“Now,” Draxum doesn’t wait for a response, “I’m going to grab a few things I’ve been made aware I left in the medical bay, and leave… Unless you wish to speak more.” He tacks on at the end.

Donnie shakes his head, gesturing to the door. “See you another day.”

Draxum nods, disappearing out into the hall.

That visit was… shorter, than Donnie had anticipated. Not that he was complaining.

He ought to move on, use the time and energy he still had to be productive. What else did he need to do today?

Bathe. Right. Water. He needed water.

He knocked his knuckles against the side of his head, like it would un-jumble his thoughts, stop them from climbing the sides of his skull and knock them down into a big pile. Naturally, it didn’t do anything at all.

Biting the bullet, as to say, he marches, wavering worryingly across the room, gripping the doorframe briefly before continuing down the hall.

It feels something like walking with his eyes closed, he thinks. Like he can’t trust his body to stay upright. Or perhaps, more like his inner ear is off wack.

Would knowing make it any better, or just drive him insane, certain of the cause but helpless to fix it?

He swings open the bathroom door, bracing himself on the sink once he’s stepped inside.

His knee bumps the cabinet.

He knows what he came here for. He knows. He knows.

Fuck.

Why can’t he remember the word. He came here for water. To be in water.

The word doesn’t matter, he decides. 

He pushes off, aiming for the tub, and cranks the faucet on.

He can’t make sense of his thoughts as it fills, watching the rush and flow.

He knows he’s thinking. He has thoughts. They just aren’t forming clearly, no longer making words he can understand, repeating whatever phrases he’d already grasped.

He turns the water off, double checking the drain is securely locked.

It’s not quite halfway filled, a third of the way at best.

That’s fine. He doesn’t really have it in him to get all the way in, as discouraging as that is.

Discomfort homes itself in his very bones, a too familiar dread in his chest, in his hands . He flexes them.

He feels fried, like he’s been sat in an electric chair, exhausted and tense as he awaits the next shock.

Donnie lifts one foot into the tub, lowering himself on the rim and swinging his other leg over to properly sit, feet in the water.

He grabs a clean, small towel, shelved up beside the tub, and dunks it, watching the bubbles rise and color darken.

There’s a long pause before he does anything more, just sitting, urging himself to move .

He drops the towel in the water, reaching up over his head and stripping off his tee, before tossing it behind him. He turns his head, shoulders crooked, to watch where it lands. Right on the bathroom rug apparently, pale blue. Huh, he couldn’t recall ever seeing it there prior.

New rug maybe?

He leans down, scooping the sopping wet towel out of the water, and lifting it up to rub over his neck, down his plastron, and to his knees, tugging his shorts up.

It’s warm, and makes him want to cry. There’s nothing objectively bad about it, but it’s just another thing .

He’s so tired of things. Just like, in general. Or even rather suddenly, like his mood had crashed in this moment of downtime, focus un-split and turned inward.

He pulls the cloth over his arms, one by one, and arches his elbow, forearm behind him to wipe over his shell. He can feel water dripping down his back, slinking off to the sides when it hits a scab or his raised spine.

He dunks the towel, before squeezing it out and draping it over the hanger.

Slowly, he pulls his feet from the water, soaked up past his bony ankles, and unclogs the drain, letting the water swirl away in a tiny, hypnotizing whirlpool.

Grabbing another towel, he wipes his legs dry, before swinging it up to hang with the one used prior.

Finally, his shirt is retrieved again, and pulled over his head, arms crooked and raised as he wiggles into the roomy sleeves.

Sitting on the rim of the bathtub, redressed and debatably clean, he finds he feels rather awful, damp and miserable after his half-assed bath.

His gaze drifts down to his hands, and he examines the scabs and cracked skin, slowly returning as he dries off. They hurt, but he hates lotion more, so they’re not likely to go anywhere anytime soon.

What now, he wonders.

He can’t stand the feelings pooling in his eyes. Can’t stand the weight in his chest or the wobble of his breath.

But what does he do about that?

He stares, and stares, and finally, comes up with something.

Standing on legs that are, simultaneously, too light and too heavy, he opens up the cabinet and reaches is, plucking out the orange, white capped bottle of Hydroxyzine. He has to fight to get it open, pushing down and twisting his arm in a less than comfortable position, before the cap snaps off and he can shake a pill and a half into his hand. The recommended dosage is one, but even like this, he easily counts as more than one human. Mutant functions ‘n all. 

He hopes it’ll kick in faster too, but if anything, that always seems strangely dictated by the time of day.

Donnie drags himself out of the bathroom, struggling to care quite so much about how dumb he may look, trudging around the lair with lethargic, toe dragging steps.

He passes the entrance to the kitchen, and makes for the subway carts, peeking into Leo’s, before moving onto Raph’s. His own skipped entirely.

The curtain is half open, and when he peeks in, fingers tangled in the folds of the fabric, both Raph and Leo are inside, a pile of legos between them and the box, largely titled Jupiter Jim’s Asteroid Jumper!

Funny. That thing only ever appeared in a holiday special.

Leo spots him, waving a large clump of legos, all varying shades of gray or blue.

Donnie feels shaky, like his brain is on a pair of stilts, ready to plummet any direction it’s pushed. He waves back.

“You can come in, Don.” Raph pats the floor invitingly.

Donnie nods, feet carrying him down to Raph’s side, and he hits the floor, knees raised and body pressed to Raph’s as he leans over against him.

Raph turns his head, appearing somewhat surprised, like he’d expected Donnie to take more personal space. “Hey, bud.”

Donnie turns, sitting cross legged and hunched forward, head resting against Raph’s shoulder as he faces him directly. He screws his eyes shut and tries to reign control of whatever torrents in him, while he waits for the meds to really kick in.

Raph begins slowly moving from side to side, and Donnie is rocked, back and forth, back and forth. Within a few seconds they’ve built a steady pace, not too slow and not too fast.

It slows everything down a little, like it’s toppling the weight from his bones and leaving with him a weak, melty exhaustion.

“Donnie’s ok.” Raph rumbles, an old comfort from when they were little kids, a time when Donnie had far less control over his life, and lacked the right words to express his distress. “Raph loves Donnie.”

Donnie makes a miserable sound, curling down and in on himself.

“Donnie‘s ok.” Raph repeats, still rocking. “Donnie’s ok.”

He hears Leo crack the legos apart, shifting and riffling to scoop up some more, and Raph does the same but a moment later, shoulder rolling forward as he reaches for a piece.

“Donnie’s ok.”

Donnie sucks in a shaky breath, dropping his weight in the rhythm he was rocked to.

“Don’s gonna be just fine. Donnie’s gonna be ok.”

Donnie lets that fill his head, melting into the repetitive, soothing motions as he’s beckoned to slumber.

The click of another Lego piece. “Donnie’s ok.” 

Donnie’s ok.

Chapter Text

Donatello stands out front, foot tapping impatiently at the concrete edge of the alleyway that leads back to the sewers. The streets buzz a block over but fall dead around the corner he waits on. In moments like this, he’s taken to lingering outside for his company.

His brothers all insisted, without variance nor dispute, that he ought to have someone with him when he went, wherever he went, whether it be Draxum, or one of them.

He would cope, having grown a hair since the start of all this. Metaphorically speaking.

Still, he had a lingering issue with it. It isn’t that he goes places often, he doesn’t, but more so that he lacks, no, is completely void of any certainty, any hope, that this isn’t necessary. He can’t reasonably argue the absurdity of his family’s insistence because he can’t genuinely believe he’s able to make it down the blocks to Draxum’s alone.

Hell, he can’t even make it down the first block and back without generous support.

The thought has him gripping the fabric of his pants, fingers curling, digging rough against the soft denim.

Maybe, just maybe, that was part of the reason he’d yet to tell Leo, who was set to accompany him today, why he was visiting Draxum.

Donnie’s hand rose to ghost over the space above his plastron, riding the line of his collarbone to his shoulder.

He’d called Draxum earlier to confirm the plans, hidden in his lab to rely on the sweet sweet cheap soundproofing of thick walls and a door.

The internet had told him quite a bit about the procedure they’d be doing today, and he’d called the sheep man, asking if it was going to be an issue, the lack of space between his neck and shell. Draxum assured him there was just enough. That he could make it work.

‘Make it work’, was not the most comforting sentence, but he’d take whatever he could get. Pickiness is not affordable, not regarding his medical care.

Before he can think over this much more, Donnie hears the patter of feet around the alley, and his own legs itch to move, to flee before he can be seen.

He knows it’s not a good thing, not in any stretch of the imagination, but he wants to carve a space between him and home, to skewer into the ground and crack the pavement, to form a jagged valley between him and the blue clad turtle that’s waving his way.

Why?

He turns his head, biting his lip. Shame has the same sting as blood and metal, and it bathes his tongue, sharp and thick.

“Don-bon!” Leo jogs over and Donnie can hear the swish of air as his brother swings his arm enthusiastically behind him.

Don’t you have something better to do? He wants to ask, wants to beg.

“Ready to go?”

“Mhm.” Donnie hums.

He wants to pull away when Leo loops an arm with his, but he doesn’t, hyper aware of the way the slider tugs him close, hip tipping towards him to take his weight. To be a physical support as they walk.

Donnie knows Leo would be strolling backwards or with his hands posed behind his head, legs thrown out with each step, if Donnie were not relying on him.

Something, and yet nothing, sits heavy on his tongue, pressing against his throat. He makes a short noise, quiet and subtle. Somewhere between a grunt and a high singsongy hum.

“Yea?” Leo gives his arm a squeeze as they stroll down the street.

The noise doesn’t quite satisfy the tickle in his throat. He makes another.

“Wild.” Leo responds again, breezy and hardly sparing a glance his way.

Donnie does it again.

“WOW!” Leo explains loudly. “Let’s not get controversial here.” He brings out a faux seriousness, head bobbing.

It’s distracting enough that Donnie falls silent.

They get lucky, hitting a green crossing, and Leo gets a bit pushy across the street, arm unfurling and coming to pull around Donnie, the other crossing his body and grabbing the limb his other arm had been looped with previously.

“I should make a self driving car.” Donnie comments, keeping his voice void of the bitter resentment his brother has done nothing to deserve.

It’s a joke, of course.

“Whaaa~ I thought you liked walking?” Leo’s keeping the playful air he arrived with, but a frown pulls at his face.

“Do you?” Snow gathers on the rims of Donnie’s shoes.

“It’s nice to get out of the lair every now and again.” Leo offers. He’s side eyeing Donnie now, as if trying to be subtle whilst he stares. Studies.

What are you thinking?

“Skateboarding gets you outside.” Donnie points out, shoving his hands in his pockets as Leo switches arms again, hooking his left back with Donnie’s right, free arm swaying beside him.

Leo is quiet a moment. Donnie almost expects him to suggest they both board to Draxum’s.

Instead, Leo’s tone drops, serious. “Why are you being weird about this?”

Donnie bristles at the accusation, hands flexing. “I’m not.”

What am I doing?

Leo is silent again. It’s unnerving.

“I’m not being weird.” Donnie probably shouldn’t have repeated himself. He knows he’s coming off defensive. He knows he’s being weird.

Flurries and flakes wisp past his cheeks, and they have to pause momentarily so he can clear them from his eyes, swiping the back of his free hand across his mask, before carrying on.

“Did you want someone else to go with you?”

Yes? No?

He didn’t want anyone here, and he didn’t know why.

“No.” Donnie dismisses that suggestion.

“Did you want to go alone?” Leo puffs a long breath out, catching the pale cloud on his snout.

“I am aware of my need for company on the walk there.” He can see the apartments coming up down the block.

He’s so aware, so so fucking aware, but that not it, that’s not all.

“But?” Leo is clearly skeptical that that was the end of the sentence.

“But,” Donnie piggybacks off of that, “I think today you may want to go do something.”

He reverts back to his original plan- but no, a plan requires forethought, something he neglected. He’s falling back on his spur of the moment, and riding it dead.

Leo doesn’t respond immediately.

Donnie looks up to the sky.

New York is gray and blue, and the sound that echoes around the city is a low, consistent bustle that has its voice hushed for the slumbering and sleepy. Even the clouds above are heavy, laying low in the sky, and the gaps in them are like long, stretching yawns that make him want to reach up and compress, let the sky’s gaping jaws relax.

“Mhmm mhmm…” Leo hums, “Kinda a weird thing to say.” It’s said under this breath, but entirely intended to be heard, “What kind of things?”

They’ve reached the front door, and subtly slip inside to beeline for the elevator. It’s fortunately empty and the machinery outside its silver walls groan and purr. Ol’ reliable.

“It’s going to be a longer visit than usual today and I think you could be out doing something interesting with your time.” He tries to stress his tone properly on the right words to make the idea seem appealing in some way.

He genuinely cannot see how it wouldn’t be regardless. He’s offering Leo an out.

It’s not taken well, clearly, because he can practically see the gears turning as Leo lets the silence stretch.

Finally, he speaks up. “What, you don’t think I can keep up with all your nerd talk? Hate to break it to you but I’m as good of an expert as anyone after listening to you go on and on and on and on-.”

“Not the issue.” Donnie snaps.

This is sucking. Leo is trained on him, by multiple definitions of the word, eyes fixed and arm tight.

He does not hold the other against his will though, and Donnie slips from his grasp as the elevator dings, letting them out.

Knock knock knock-

“ Donnie .” Leo grits his teeth, leaning sideways, torso crooked, bent at the hip, to get into his brother’s view. “Talk to me, hermano.” It’s not a question.

Donnie stumbles, waving an arm to urge Leo back a step. “I’m simply telling you that you are not required here.”

“Simply.” Leo parrots at him. “You’re not simply doing anything.” He accuses.

“Excuse me?” Donnie angles his body away, a shoulder turned like a barrier between them.

Leo straightens up. “Are you trying to get rid of me?”

Donnie is ruffled and doing a poor job at pretending he isn’t. “I am not. ”

Isn’t he?

“ Then what aren’t you telling me ?”

“I’m not trying to hide something from you.”

Leo grips at his forehead, shoulders hiking. “Do you think I don’t care about your tests or something? I get I haven’t been at every single blood draw but I’m trying to be here with the new progress Draxum’s making and all these tests and just-“ He gestures wildly, “All of it !”

“I know!” Donnie’s gripping his head now, fingers scratching at the fabric of his mask. “I know! But we aren’t even going over results today! We aren’t going over anything you need to know at all.”

“Nothing I-“ Leo’s pointer finger flips between them. “What are you talking about?! What don’t I need to know?!”

Oh you fucking loose lips , Donnie curses himself.

No, Leo is the one playing this guessing game with him.

He opens his mouth, and closes it, rapidly rearranging words in his head, trying to slot them as reasonably as he’s able. “I discussed the last blood test results with Draxum days ago. Over the phone. I didn’t-“ He swallows, “I didn’t need you there.”

Leo gapes at him, before pulling back with a sharp look. One Donnie is furiously trying to decipher. Failing miserably all the while.

“You didn’t- that’s all?! I wasn’t needed?! Since when have I been on a need to know basis?!” His expression falters. “You-“ He waves an accusatory finger. “You said this is going to take longer today. Yet the only thing you haven’t re- gone back on-“

“Refuted.”

Leo glares. “Is the blood draw.” His hand moves from his forehead to swing out and down at the elbow. “You’re doing something else. You have to be doing something else.” 

“That’s- you’re making assumptions now!” Donnie accuses.

Leo’s arms fly out to the sides in a broad gesture and his brow line pushes his mask sky high. “Tell me I’m wrong.” He says simply, voice low, intense.

It’s unsettling.

“Tell me I’m wrong, Donnie.”

Donnie looks away.

“ Tell me I’m wrong. ”

He glowers at the wall, eyes narrowed, burning on the minuscule cracks and chips in the paint.

“So what is it.” Leo had his answer.

“What?” Donnie has no plan. He doesn’t know how to get out of this. How to escape. 

A dry laugh from Leo. “Fine.” He falls silent. 

They’re still. The air is stifling, stale and suffocating between them.

Donnie swears he can hear a quiet shifting inside the apartments, bated breaths against the walls, puffing their surprise as they peer through the cracks. Bodies leaning on creaking hinges, bracing the weight of their nosy intrigue.

“This is about the new medication.” Leo is still quiet. Frighteningly so.

A breath hisses, and the ac in another room rumbles to life, echoing through the hall.

“What, you’re not gonna tell me I’m wrong? You’re not gonna tell me I’m absurd, jumping to crazy conclusions?”

“You’re right, Leo.” Donnie is curt. “You’re right about being on a need to know basis.”

“You have got to be fucking kidding me.” Leo spits, venomous.

The lock on Draxum’s door clicks.

The door opens a crack, slow as to not hit the turtles, before swinging forward freely. “Donatello.”

“We’ve discussed the procedure.” Donnie pushes past Draxum to get inside, shooting the words over his shoulder.

“ Procedure? ” Leo’s voice is raw, strained now.

Donnie, with one hand, ushers Draxum back, grabbing onto him when he nearly loses his balance rushing inside, and with the other, he pulls the door closed behind him, fumbling dumbly with the lock.

Draxum chuffs, heading to his kitchen to snap on fresh blue gloves.

Donnie moves to drop down in the center of the floor, shoulders twitching as he grabs at his sweater, pulling it, along with his shirt, off.

“I admit, I had expected Leonardo would be here during the procedure.”

“Does this change anything.” Donnie stares at the floor, feeling sharp and cruel, running his tongue over the jagged teeth within his own jaws.

“Hardly.” Draxum wheels over the utility cart he’d been keeping for their visits, all the necessary equipment stacked on or tied to it, rolling behind him. It clatters loudly over the ridge that cuts across the floor. “I try not to pry.”

“Mhm.”

“Why do you not want him in here? You two seemed on perfectly good terms until moments ago.” He pries.

“It’s like that, and he doesn’t need to be.” It’s an easy answer. Too easy.

It’s my fault.

Draxum raises a brow, but does not verbally question him. Instead, he starts the procedure, bringing a syringe to Donnie’s arm. “I’m going to give you a blood thinner, something to keep any clots from forming inside the tubes. Your blood is already thinner than it should be,” He sighs, more to pad the time than anything, “but I don’t feel comfortable doing this without it.” 

Donnie makes a noise in his throat and nods understandably. “Do I get a consent form?”

“Your turtle hand is just as unofficial as your left under human law.”

“What is Mikey making you watch?”

“Whatever you can afford on the tv.”

“Excuse me?”

Draxum waves a dismissive hand, pulling away to separate the needle. “Lie back.”

Donnie grumbles under his breath, but lays down, hands curled into fists as his head spins.

“Do you need a pillow?” Draxum asks.

“I’ll rawdog it, thanks.”

“Test tube babies were a bad idea.” Draxum collects a new needle, pressing it to the thick skin above Donnie’s plastron.

Donnie tries not to shift below it.

“Local anesthetic.” Draxum informs shortly.

It stings something fierce.

Draxum rubs over the area for a moment, collecting a disinfectant wipe with his other hand to replace the motion, going back over the spot. Presumably until he’s confident it’s clean, or until he gets the idea it’s numb enough to begin the procedure.

“How does it feel?” The man checks in.

“Tingly.” Donnie subtly squirms, shell tingling quite similarly to the way the skin around the injection site is buzzing, a subtle, fading thing that sparks with each press of the wipe.

“We’ll give it a moment.”

“This one works fast.” Donnie pitches in.

Draxum nods, slowly pulling back to toss the wipe into the easily portable trash can.

The sheep man picks out his sanitized tools from the tray and takes the scalpel to Donnie’s skin.

“The anesthesia will only do so much for you.” Draxum admits, hesitating. The cool, silvery blade is nearly in the mutant’s skin, a pale line drawn where it rests. “It will still hurt.”

“I know.” Donatello digs his nails against his palms and takes a deep breath. “Go ahead.”

Two incisions are slowly made, one higher up towards the base of his neck, and the next carved out below his collarbone.

It stings, and if he looks down over his chest he can see a beads of red welling above his plastron.

Draxum pulls back, setting the blade aside, and returning with the port, gloved fingers gently working it under the skin.

It’s purple, very on brand. The appreciation is ruined when he finds he can feel the intrusion. An unfamiliar object within him, stretching upwards where it has no room, no home under his skin.

It makes him want to roll over and tear it out, rid his body of it. Regrettably, he’s no idiot, and refrains, jaw falling open to let out an unpleasant puff of air.

Draxum shushes him, not unkindly, and tunnels the catheter under his skin, up over his collarbone, carefully positioned within his neck. The higher incision is used to accurately maneuver it, like a window in.

Donnie’s teeth pierce the inside of his cheek.

Draxum pulls up on the catheter where it’s threaded between the port and the jugular vein, and it feels as if his skin is going to rip, tear across like leather, leaving jagged, tender layers between.

Donnie’s finding he can’t really bring himself to focus on the logic of it, not now. Not while he’s under an intensely focused Draxum, neck growing stiff and stomach rolling in anxious protest. Even his bones sting within him.

He ought to let them do a jig and escape.

“We should count ourselves lucky. Accessing the vein was easier than I anticipated.” Draxum soothes, in his own sort of way, pulling back to collect a stark little bandaid, white and rod straight, plastering it over the top incision. “Move your limbs if you must before I start on the sutures.”

Donnie takes the opportunity and lets a shudder roll through him, arms tapping at the soft wooden floors.

They probably shouldn’t be soft, but who is he to give a damn about the architecture of an old New York apartment. At least it didn’t have termites. Probably.