Chapter Text
Donnie knew three things from living with this brothers:
The first- chess, and anything related to it, really really sucks.
2nd was if you ever were in a particular situation, foxes could help you.
And lastly, Donatello wasn't perfect.
When he was nine, a rat found its way into the lair. He followed it. What ten year old didn’t have an obsession with the creatures around them? Donnie sure did. So when it crawled into his brother’s room and pooped on his favourite hoodie, he had no sympathy. He sat with one hand on Leo’s shoulder, watching intently for the moment the crying and wailing finally ceased.
It took twelve minutes and forty eight seconds. He had perfected his time-counting by seven.
At twelve, his first design for a battle shell that could fly was created. He spent weeks perfecting the blueprints, tinkering with the mechanics, trying prototype after prototype that would lift him off the ground with ease. Two days after his eventual success, Raphael walked into the lab and tripped on the last step into the garage.
He face planted, right on Donnie’s newly designed hovershell. The younger brother was furious- he kicked Raph so hard he bruised and ignored him for days.
Four weeks after his fourteenth birthday, Donnie tried to apply for a job at Run of the Mill. He got rejected, and in a fit of rage, set the kitchen on fire the Tuesday after receiving the letter. The culprit is “unknown” ‘til this day.
“And ‘til this day, Donald, no-one has ever known who set the Run of the Mill’s kitchen on fire. Frankly, I found it impressive that they were only closed a-”
“It was me.”
“Let me finish! They were only closed a day- I know, because I checked- and the pizza tasted just as good! We can cross that off the list.”
“Cross what? What list?”
“The list of What Makes ROTM’s Pizza So Good!”
“ROTM?”
“Run of the Mill, duh!”
Leo perches on the end of his twin's bed, waving his hands around as he speaks. Donnie follows his arm with his eyes, nodding slightly from where his head rests on the pillow. He lifts a shaky hand to wipe the shininess from the blue turtle’s eyes.
“I’m not dying yet, dum-dum.”
Leo stops talking. His waffling about the crime Donnie committed years ago halts. He looks at his brother's face, hand, then face again. His eyes are red, and the sick brother pulls away in fear of doing something wrong.
Leo lets him. “I know.”
He opens his beak to continue his rant, and Donnie rolls his eyes. He reaches out again, ignoring the tremor in his fingers, and squeezes his older brother’s cheeks.
“Look at me,” he orders. He can see the IV coming out of his hand, and his speech is slurred slightly from the heavy pull of sedatives. Leo watches with wide, watery eyes.
“It’s gonna take a hell of a lot more than a shell infection to kill this genius.”
Leo gulps. “It’s so bad, though,” he whispers, voice shaking, “What if I got the wrong antibiotics?”
“If by got, you mean stole?”
Leo squawks in playful disbelief. “Donatello Hamato. I am a functioning, tax-paying, present member of New York’s society. I would never steal.”
“Of course not, he says without a hint of sarcasm, my mistake.”
Leo laughs- it is a crackly sound. Donnie tries to smile back, but the world isn’t quite 3D and he can feel the pain pulling him under. His brother- ever the observationist- notices this, and pries his hands away from his face. He places them down on the bed gently.
“Go to sleep, Donnie. I’ll be here.”
Donnie goes to speak, say something snarky- and can’t. So with one final glance at his twin’s red-striped face, he falls backwards into the sludgy void of antibiotics and pain.
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His arms aren’t just shaky- they are painful.
Donnie isn’t one to startle awake for something basic like pain. He likes to think he was more original than that. So when his eyes fly open and a strangled half-gasp scratches out his throat, he feels a dull sense of annoyance, then confusion, then poison-laced pain.
Something is beeping- his ears hurt. The lights are too bright. He curls his feet in, wincing at the uncomfortable pull of his infected shell. His arms lay forward on the cool pillow in front of him. Why are the lights on? He tries to do something, even stand up, but pulling his head off the pillow causes dizziness he doesn’t want to deal with.
His phone is on the bedside, purple case up. Donnie grabs it- his hands flare with pins and needles and nearly drop the device as he cradles it to his chest.
11:09 am
In #hakuna-matata
CoverMeInSunshine: @Bootyyyshaker9000 ru awake?
COOL-LIKE-THAT: he isnt but i am wanna go get slushies
CoverMeInSunshine: Sure!! Coming to ur room now :-)
helikeshotsoup: Do not take long my boys, or I might worry.
COOL-LIKE-THAT: *replying to @helikeshotsoup* 👍 👍
12:04pm
In #actually-respond-pls
Donnie smells: @everyone i’m picking up shopping wat do yall want
Donnie smells: anyone??????
Donnie smells: fine ur loss ig lmao
There is someone next to him- Donnie can feel it. He inhales sharply before turning his head. Mikey stands next to the beeping machine. He purses his lips, picking slightly at the anti-tremor gloves that stretch to his forearm. Eventually, with an annoyed sigh, he slams a fist against the screen.
Nothing.
He tries again. Donnie chuckles inwardly, scrunching his eyes up in pain as he twists the rest of his aching, overwhelmed body to face his baby brother. Eventually, Mikey walks over to the powerpoint and extension cord, tugging at the wire until it pulls away from the socket.
Donnie sighs as the beeping disappears. He smiles slightly at Mikey before closing his eyes again. He listens as Mikey walks out of the room without another word, and falls back asleep still clutching his phone.
He must have been given more painkillers, he thinks slightly. The thought is murky, somewhere else. As if someone plucked the sentence from his head and threw it to Leo’s room on the other side of the lair.
He amuses himself with the idea of Leo first toying with his thoughts like tennis balls- tossing them in the air and priding himself on juggling them all. Or maths problems; by sitting at a bench to solve them, only to give up because they felt too complex. Even his favourite movie: something to study, or talk about, not put on a shelf to collect dust.
Donnie smiles slightly at that half-thought, almost aware he isn’t quite asleep at all.
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He doesn’t like crying.
Donnie opens his eyes slowly, trying to shake the sleepiness that clings to him. His eyes are puffy and mask sticky with tears. He doesn’t like crying.
When he pulls himself to his feet, there is a jolt in his knee. He leans against whatever is behind him, immediately grateful that his shell doesn’t have the uncomfortable twinge he’d been accustomed to recently.
Someone was next to him, wailing.
“Nononono,” he cries, pulling a green figure closer. His mask is gone, but the red markings are instantly recognisable.
Donnie doesn’t like crying, but Leo doesn’t mind it.
He certainly didn’t now, hugging his twin’s limp body close. His sobs were heart-reaching, turning his stomach. Donnie looks down. He is floating, transparent.
He takes a few steps towards his body helplessly, reaching out. His arm goes straight through Leo, who doesn’t even flinch, simply clutching his broken frame desperately, knuckles white against the ridges of his scarred shell.
Donnie falls back in shock, landing on the ground and going through it, Leo disappearing from view as he falls
down
down
down
down
back into his bed.
Awareness. He gasps.
Donnie can feel a slight sheen against his forehead, a shiver of warmth despite the afternoon hour. April is asleep next to him, glasses slowly tipping off her nose. Her usual poof of curly hair is slanted and greasy like she’d recently washed it but it isn’t quite dry. His mind latches onto the thought, trying to distract itself as his pulse drops back to normal numbers.
He doesn’t say a word.
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[ One week, four days, and twenty-six seconds later ]
3:02pm
In #hakuna-matata
helikeshotsoup: @Bootyyyshaker9000 come eat my son. I miss you very much.
Bootyyyshaker9000: [sigh] I’m busy father later later
CoverMeInSunshine: cmonnnn deeee I made zucchini breadddddd
COOL-LIKE-THAT: DIBS
Donnie smells: nO FAIR I WANT SOME TOO >:((
aaaapril_oneeeeil: Am coming over for some cu all soon xx
CoverMeInSunshine: *replying to @aaaapril_oneeeeil* kk cu <3
Donnie smiles and places his phone against his table. He flips the screwdriver around his pointer finger before placing it on his workbench with a clang. He screws his eyes shut and leans back in his chair, pushing away from his desk so it rolls into the middle of his workspace.
The lab is a mess; a new prototype for his battle shell- a stronger one, preferably more discreet incase of being surprise ambushed- lies discarded on the floor. Monster cans litter the multiple workbenches.
One of Mikey’s amigurumi whales has fallen over.
Donnie sighs, scooting over to the whale with his hands planted firmly against the office chair. It takes effort, but he crosses the final strength with a grunt and rights the gift.
It is the lightest purple in his collection, with its signature white belly and a small embroidered sun. The purple ninja squints, moving the periwinkle animal a fraction to the left before nodding in satisfaction.
The lair is mostly quiet, even without the sound-suppressing technology Donnie had recently installed. He had been rather proud of it- being able to almost completely erase up to 40 decibels of sound. With that and his custom-built headphones, overstimulation in the lab is 10x quicker to ease. His brothers understand, he is sure. It isn’t his fault, and he knew that.
Mostly.
Someone is walking around, and Donnie peels his shell away from the chair with a slight groan. His infection is almost completely gone- just three more days of the treatment and he was done and dusted.
The lab door pulls open, and Donnie steps out to see his brothers shuffling around the living room, desperately putting items away and throwing pieces of trash out. Splinter sits lazily in his favourite armchair, snacking on caramel popcorn balls and watching a soap opera. The purple turtle resists the urge to roll his eyes, heading over to his oldest brother instead.
“Raphie,” he says curtly, picking up a half-full bottle of sugar free lemonade.
His older brother nods in acknowledgment before kicking a sock under his father’s armchair. Splinter doesn't notice.
The lair is mostly quiet until there is a bang, a very manly yelp from Leo, and a scream as a pigtailed figure ran into the room like a headless chicken and brandishing a baseball bat. Donnie smiles slightly, placing the lemonade bottle he had crushed on the coffee table.
April comes bearing two small paper bags, filled with snacks. “My mum,” she says as an explanation, “I told her some of my friends were temporarily homeless from the invasion and she gave me some money.”
“April,” Mikey wrings his hands together. They tremor slightly. “The invasion was six months ago- we aren’t homeless.”
“I know, but she wouldn’t have minded either way. And Donnie’s been complaining about those noodles he liked being gone for ages.”
“2 days.”
“Exactly, ages.”
Leo smirks, taking a bag from his sister in a flamboyant gesture. He pulls a jar of Nutella from the pristinely packed baggie and places the rest of the items on the bench. Raph puts it into containers, and Mikey sorts them in the cupboard.
Donnie stands awkwardly for a few minutes before finally clearing the rubbish from the surface. The spoil is plentiful- 2 bags of chips and gummy snakes, a jumbo pack of his noodles, more butter, eggs, flour, and even a few more bottles of lemonade.
Mikey bounces on the balls of his feet and picks up a box of cereal Donnie hadn’t noticed before. He spins around before placing it in the cupboard, and turning towards his sister.
“I’m going to bake a slice with the butter. Could someone please take the rubbish?”
Instantly, Leo and Donnie draw their fingers out like guns and pretend to fire a bullet from each hand. “Not it!”
Raph groans, but the sound has no bite. He tugs the handles of the trash bag into a knot and throws it over his shoulder. “I’ll be back,” he says gruffly, before stomping out of the house.
Leo grins. “Mikey, my sweet,” he starts, voice overly smooth and sweet, “can you also stick a pizza in the oven? Me and hermano over here are going to set up Mario Kart.”
Mikey nods before turning back to his cookie dough. “Sure, Leo.”
Donnie taps away at the calculator on his phone, trying to work out the optimal amount of time the pizza should cook for-
“Come on, Donald.”
Donnie looks up sharply, smiling in his twin’s direction and walking towards the living room.
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8:12pm
In #don’t-cry-weakling
aaaapril_oneeeeil: somebody anybody everybody scream
COOL-LIKE-THAT: AAAAAAAAAAAAAH
COOL-LIKE-THAT: THERES SQUIRRELS IN MY PANTS
Donnie smells: that gurl’s got some SERIOUS squirrels in her pants
COOL-LIKE-THAT: THERES SQUIRRELS IN MY PANTS
CoverMeInSunshine: nooo I missed it asdfghjkl
Donnie smells: get better /lh
CoverMeInSunshine: shut up leo /j
Donnie Smells: NEVER MWAHAHAHAHA
aaaapril_oneeeeil: weirdos, the pair of ya
The day is sunny. With his brothers out running for pizzas, Donnie scrolls through the messages from last night and the nights before.
Summer is coming- it is significantly warmer every week, and there is less excuse to bundle. Someone is crashing, and the sound of Mikey’s hyperpop is bleeding through the walls of his room. He doesn’t necessarily mind- not today, at least.
Someone is standing in his room. “Donnie? Are you alive?” April asks softly, flipping a strand of hair out of her eyes. The room is dark, and he can only just make out her fluffy-haired silhouette.
He nods, and she must see, because soon she is in his room, looming over his bed.
“You look like Slenderman.”
“Good.”
Donnie snickers, turning off his phone and dropping it against his bed. He reaches over slowly, wincing at the uncomfortable pull of his shell, and switches on the lamp on his bedside. It illuminates his subway cart with a small click.
April is clutching three different shades of purple nail polish and a receipt. She collapses onto the bed with a huff, slamming the piece of paper against Donnie’s bedspread and cracking open the darkest bottle.
Donnie rolls his eyes. “Reluctant sigh. Go on, then.”
April’s gaze flicks from the bottle to her best friend. She grins before lining the other two bottles next to his lamp.
The plum-coloured nail polish bottle opens with the slightest crack, and Donnie makes sure to sit perfectly still as she lays the open bottle on his bed and picks up the brush.
“So,” April says, brows furrowing, “what do you want for lunch?”
Donnie blinks. “What time is it?”
“Nearly 12.”
“Oh.”
There is silence. Donnie’s gaze wanders from his fingernails to the wall next to him, a periodic table chart pinned on the wall parallel to his bed. He scrunches his nose, almost reaching up to scratch it, but his sister hisses and he stops moving immediately.
The chart itself had been made by Mikey. Mostly purple, and with way too many illustrations, his younger self had originally thought.
He misses the times that his little brother could doodle without having to worry about his hands.
They’d get better over time, of course, but that didn’t mean Donnie didn’t worry. He’d made the best anti-tremor gloves he could, only for them to be uncomfortable. He designed special pens, only to have the resources for one. He’d tried to create a bubble around Mikey so he never got hurt again, but here he was, getting hurt again and again-
“Donnie? Are you even listening?”
“Mikey has finally decided to make lunch and I should go eat with them because he spent time cooking the bacon and scrambling the eggs just how I like it and it would be really nice if we all sat together as a family. End quote.”
“Damn,” April grumbles. She scoops up the tiny drop of polish pooling at his cuticles and wipes it on the edge of his bedspread, ignoring his squawks of protest.
Donnie tugs his hand away and inspects the damage. The polish has tiny beads of glitter in them that sparkle in his lamp’s warm light. Despite himself, he smiles and nods slowly, making sure April sees. “Rather impressive, indeed,” he muses, blowing on the nails.
April shoots him an asymmetrical grin, almost like a smirk, before concentrating on the other three fingernails. He looks down, a feeling he guessed was love pooling in his stomach at the sight of her own fingers.
Red, orange, green, blue, purple. Each with a mall design significant to the corresponding person and a french tip.
Raph’s have a simple outline of the bandages on his chest. The orange pointer fingers both have a line of chains crossing over the centre. The green ones have tiny flames at the base. Leo’s have a lighter centre- almost baby blue, with a circle outline to show a portal. The pinkies- Donnie’s nails- have a brickwork-type pattern to match the markings on his skin.
He churs; the sound is a happy growl in his throat. The black nailart must have been made with holographic paint. It shimmers brighter than Donnie's own nails.
“You like them, I guess? I got them done in the Hidden City- this yokai nail tech was a-maze-ing!”
Donnie looks with interest as the rainbow nails swipe at his now purple ones one last time before letting go and closing the nail polish bottle.
April is triumphant as she stands up and offers her brother a hand. He takes it with the drier side, ignoring the uncomfortable feel as the slightest bit of polish slides off his nails and comes into contact with April’s hand.
She leads him gently, out of his room and into the kitchen. It smells of eggs, bacon, and freshly-baked bread.
When Donnie walks in, hand in April’s, he finds his twin already at the table. His plate is stacked high, a tower of toast and bacon and multiple fried eggs. There is a spot of yolk gathering on the table next to his fork. He doesn’t care.
Raph passes Donnie a plate that is warm to the touch. He smiles slightly- they must have just been watched. Behind him, April hugs the snapping turtle and grabs her own plate, walking down the line of food, complimenting Mikey’s cooking.
“Thanks, April,” he gushes, holding his own plates gingerly. It shakes in his hands, and he nearly drops it. Raph takes it from him gently, scooping his preferences onto it with a soft smile. A pang of hurt flashes in Mikey’s eyes before he continues. “It took a while, but it was totally worth it.”
April smiles widely and nods, shoving a handful of blueberries on her waffles and walking over to sit across from Leo.
Donnie walks along, picking up halves and quarters of a serve of an item so he could have a little of everything. Half a waffle, half a piece of toast and a little more of a quarter of a bagel, a couple of different types of mixed berries, a fried egg, a rasher of bacon, the smallest hashbrown available and a small scoop of scrambled eggs. He turns the plate in his hands to double check nothing is touching before sitting down next to Leo.
“Dude, why is your plate so huge?” he asks, placing a piece of bacon onto a slice of toast. Donnie watches him drizzle the meat with barbeque sauce before speaking.
“I bought multiple bigger plates.”
“Why, again? I know you told me but the brain isn’t braining.”
“Braining isn't a verb. So I can satisfy both the craving to have a little bit of everything available and not let anything touch.”
Mikey and Raph find their spots, and the family eat the rest of their meal in near-silence.
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7:14am
In #youre-all-gay-haha
Junior :)): anyone awake?
Donnie smells: no
Bootyyyshaker9000: no
aaaapril_oneeeeil: no
Junior :)): oh. Then how are you all texting
Donnie smells: we aren’t
Bootyyyshaker9000: this is all an illusion @Junior :))
Bootyyyshaker9000: @Junior :)) ?
Donnie switches the LEDs in the lab to a dark plum colour, turning the brightness almost all the way down.
His inventions and tools darken to silhouettes, making even the familiar shape of his battle shell look almost sinister. Donnie rubs his eyes, pulling away from his desk. The chair groans, and he spins in a slow circle before finally standing with creaky joints.
The lair is cool and quiet. The hum of the fridge and slight shifting of blankets are the only sounds that penetrate silence. Donnie wanders into the kitchen, pulling open a few cupboards in search of a mug. He pours leftover coffee from the night before into the purple cup with a tiny splash of creamer before wandering back towards his lab.
He is not even two steps away from the lab door when he hears someone cry out. Instincts heightened, he places his untouched mug on the coffee table near Splinters armchair and turns around slowly.
Leo comes out of his room, muttering to himself and wringing his fingers. Donnie shuffles uncomfortably before finally clearing his throat.
“Hey, Nardo,” he says softly, “Shouldn’t you be asleep?”
Leo looks up, meeting his gaze for a second. “Hypocrite.”
“That joke was weak and unfunny.”
“Hypocrite.”
Donnie cracks a smile despite himself. “What do you need?” he asks, voice echoing through the emptiness of the lair. Somehow, he knows Mikey stirs a few rooms over. Leo goes to speak- doesn’t. Goes to smile, and doesn’t do that either. Worry churns in the purple ninja’s gut, but he smiles slightly anyway.
Leo blinks once. “It’s Raph.”
More dread. Why does he feel dread? He assumes it is, at least- a hard ball of ice in his stomach, as if his heart had dropped into his feet. It felt like a rollercoaster, or being really cold. “What’s wrong with Raph?”
Leo splutters. Donnie’s eyes narrow, and he instinctively begins typing on his wristpad as his twin speaks. He almost misses the words.
“He’s gone.”