Chapter Text
Ticking.
It always started with the ticking.
There's a clock in the hallway. There's a clock in the kitchen. They tick off beat, and he can hear them every second of the day.
Tick-tick, tick-tick, tick-tick. The sound squirms inside his body, a terrible mimicry of his own quickening heart. It always started with the ticking, keeping him up at dangerous hours. Hours when there was no distractions. Just him, his malignant mind, and the ticking.
Donnie took a deep breath. Tick-tick, tick-tick, tick-tick, tick-tick, tick-tick. He knew it was no use trying to get to sleep like this. This happened every night.
He got up in the darkness, expertly avoiding the ever-growing mess in his room in a weird ballet. He entered the pitch black hallway and found the kitchen with ease. He'd done this route many nights before.
Tick-tick, flick, the kitchen light stabbed his eyes. His feet came to a stop in the middle of the room.
He felt so... pathetic.
He was finding living more and more difficult. Stupidly easy things like remembering to eat, picking up trash off the floor, even leaving his room to go to the bathroom felt like a chore he had to psyche himself up for. Living was, in a word, exhausting. He felt pathetic.
His body worked on autopilot, as it did every night, going to the fridge and picking out a single small juice box. He'd started having the boxes- as unhealthy as they were - because it was somehow miles easier than pouring a glass.
That's what Donnie didn't understand. Even with next to nothing being asked of him right now, even when he gave himself cheats and shortcuts like the juice cartons, or eating the same easy meals, or using his tech arms to do things his own couldn't, he felt like even the bare minimum was way too much. He felt overwhelmed by nothing - a small breeze was a hurricane. It sure felt that way, and he felt so dumb because of that.
The juice pricked the inside of his cheeks, grounding him briefly. He was in the kitchen, he was sat cross-legged on the counter, everyone was asleep. Was he being too loud? They hadn't brought it up. In fact, he barely saw them at all since he'd adopted a stranger and stranger sleep schedule with all inclusive self isolation.
Not that a weird sleep schedule was unusual for him - they knew how he got with his projects - but he'd still see his brothers when he came out to get snacks occasionally.
They thought he was lazy. They must think that. They thought he was being an inconsiderate asshole who didn't care to interact with them anymore. They must. Why wouldn't they?
Donatello took a breath, feeling his eyes sting with that familiar feeling. Why was he such an asshole? Why did he suck at just surviving? His brothers and April seemed to flourish without a second thought.
He sipped his juice, and then started chewing at the straw. In the back of his mind, Donnie knew this wasn't normal. He should probably get help, but he didn't know where to even start. It took him days to psyche himself up enough to do a simple chore, nevermind going out of his way to contact people to talk about... feelings. Ugh. On the to do list it goes, never to be touched or perused for longer than a minute at a time.
He sighed, brain filled with nothing but bad thoughts and loud static.
He wanted to cry but he couldn't. It frustrated him. He has some pills by his bedside, maybe... no he didn't have enough in supply. Maybe he could go down to the active subway tunnels... wait there in the dark for a train to- No, what! What was he thinking!
He glanced around the room to ground himself. His foggy gaze landed on the knives. No, no, no, stop! He hit his palms into his forehead over and over. Please stop please stop just stop for one fucking minute please-
He grasped at his head, fingernails digging into his scalp, and tried a shaky breath.
In, out. In, out.
Tick-tick. Tick-tick. Tick-tic-
"FUCK OFF! PLEASE!"
He panted shakily at his outburst, but neither his mind nor the clocks listened. His skin prickled.
He lowered himself further, clamping his head between his arms in an attempt to muffle the noise. "Shut up shut up shut up shut up shut up shut up-" He whispered, not realizing he was saying it out loud at all.
He felt crazy. He didn't want to die. He just wanted to be able to pick up the juice box off the floor.
Donatello retreated back into his mind with an exhale. When in doubt, logic always helped him come up with solutions. So, let's think of this as an equation.
d (for Donnie) + x (?) = y (feeling better?).
Now to solve x. What did he normally do to feel better?
The answer was simple - work on his projects. But that was the problem, he had neither motivation nor energy for anything - including his interests, and his beloved tech.
Okay, scratch that... What else?
Sleeping worked sometimes, in that his mind would be come less mean when he woke up. But the ticking. That wouldn't work either.
One point stood out above the rest. His brothers. As much as Donnie would rather not dwell on it, his brothers meant everything to him. In fact, most of his tech was designed for them, to keep them safe. All his projects were letters of love to his brothers, in the hopes he could protect them.
Time to find x.
Without letting himself think about it too much, he stood quickly and left the room, making a beeline for the living room that he usually tried to avoid on his nightly schedule.
Because sure enough, he started to hear sounds - Beeping, clicking, shuffling on a beanbag.
There was his brother, tapping away on a controller. Leo didn't used to have trouble sleeping, but recently...
Without pausing to debate it in his mind, Donnie walked in without a word. Leo startled a bit, looking up at him.
"Oh, hey Don... ?"
Donnie still wasn't up for talking, but it was a start. He slumped onto the beanbag next to Leo and leant his head against his brothers shoulder.
"Wha- hey, you okay?"
He gazed up at the screen. Leo was playing some pixelated 2D platformer. Ocean level. Very blue.
Leo shifted slightly, before placing a hand on the back of his battleshell and squishing his cheek into Donnie's head. Leo's palm ran slow circles on his battleshell - he couldn't feel the touch, but he could feel the warmth.
Soon, Leo's hand retreated and he pressed resume on his game, still leaning his head against his brothers.
Donnie closed his eyes, feeling his brother by his side, drifting off to the inconsistent beeps and boops of the videogame.
Finally, no more ticking.